Emerson had said Tessa was in Unit C and I found it directly across the parking lot and to the left. The front door was locked and it took a while for a uniformed nurse to answer the bell.
“Dr. Delaware for Tessa Bowlby.”
She gave me a doubtful look.
“Dr. Emerson’s waiting for me.”
“Well, he’s in back.”
I followed her through a butter-yellow hallway. New chocolate carpeting, framed lithos with a tilt toward flowers, a few rock-concert posters, seven doors, all locked. At the end was a nursing station where a man sat charting.
He looked up and stood. “Dr. Delaware? Al Emerson.”
He was in his early thirties with wavy brown hair trailing down his back and a thick brown beard squared meticulously at the bottom. Tweed hacking jacket, brown wool slacks, chambray shirt, blue knit tie. His grip was confident and quick.
“Thanks, Gloria,” he told the nurse and she left. I read Tessa’s name on the chart’s tab. The ward was silent.
“Peaceful, isn’t it?” he said. “All the pain locked up for the night.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s starting to express regret, which is good.”
“Is her dad still here?”
“No, he left a short while ago. He was in with her but only for a minute or so. Tessa’s pretty mad at him.”
“For not believing her?”
“That didn’t help but it goes a lot deeper.”
“It usually does.”
He nodded appreciatively. “They’re very nice people. Well-meaning, sincere. But simple. Not stupid, just simple.”
“As opposed to Tessa.”
“Tessa’s as complex as they come. Creative, imaginative, artistic temperament. Likes to deal with existential issues. In the best of circumstances, she’d be high-maintenance. With this family it’s like giving a Ferrari to a couple of perfectly competent Ford mechanics.”
“Fate’s little tricks,” I said. “I’ve seen my share. Will she talk to me?”
“I haven’t asked her yet. Why don’t we find out?”
“Just pop in on her? The two times I tried she became highly anxious.”
“But now you’ve got something to tell her. And my wife does know what’s going on, heard rumors of a student busted for the Devane murder. If he’s Tessa’s rapist it would be nice for her to know he’s in custody.”
“It would be, but the D.A.’s keeping it quiet for a couple of days.”
“I could convince Tessa to stay here for more than a couple of days. She told me she likes it here, finds it restful.”
“What if I talk to her and she gets agitated?”
“Better here, where I can deal with it. Worse comes to worst, she freaks and I spend the whole night here.” Grinning. “My job. Sure beats sitting with your feet up having a beer, watching Comedy Central, right?”
I laughed.
He laughed, too, then turned serious. “Want to give it a try?”
“Can you keep it confidential?”
“She’s got no phone and I ain’t known as a blabbermouth.”
“All right,” I said.
“Good,” he said. “Come on, she’s in Three.”
Effort had been taken to make the room look homey: white wallpaper stamped with pale blue, wavelike abstractions; real wood furniture; a big window; flowers in a vase. But a closer look revealed padding under the paper, no sharp edges on the furniture, the light fixture Allen-bolted into the ceiling, external wooden bars striping the window. The vase was plastic and also bolted. The flowers were real lilies. Lilies are related to onions. Nontoxic.
Tessa sat on the bed reading The Atlantic Monthly. Other magazines were piled nearby. She wore a gray University sweatshirt and denim cutoffs. Both other times I’d seen her she’d been in all black. Her legs were long and skinny, nearly as white as the walls. A triangle of bandage peeked out from under her left sleeve.
She kept reading.
Hunched vulnerability. Muscadine had read it as fair game.
“Hello again,” said Emerson.
She looked up, saw me, and that same look of panic filled her eyes.
“It’s all right, Tessa,” Emerson said, striding to her side. “Dr. Delaware’s a good guy. I vouch for him.”
Her lower lip shook.
I smiled.
She looked down at her magazine.
“Good article?” said Emerson.
She didn’t answer. Her chest was heaving.