No bathroom. A single immovable window, embedded with metal mesh, offered a view of the parking lot and the supermarket that was the hospital’s neighbor.
Lucy sat on the bed, on top of the covers, dressed in jeans and a white button-down shirt. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbow, her hair was pinned up, and her feet were bare. An open magazine rested in her lap. She could have been a college girl relaxing in a dorm room.
“Hi.” She put the magazine aside. Good Homemaking. The cover promised “Holiday Snacks Your Family Will Love You For.”
“How’s it going?” I said, sitting in the chair.
“I’ll be glad to get out of here.”
“They treating you okay?”
“Fine, but it’s still prison.”
“I spoke to Dr. Embrey. She seems nice.”
“Nice enough.” Flat voice.
I waited.
“Nothing against her,” she said, “but I’m not going to have anything to do with her when I get out.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because she’s too young. How much experience could she have?”
“Did she do or say something to weaken your confidence?”
“No, she’s smart enough. It’s just her age. And the fact that she’s the one who’s keeping me in—a jailor’s a jailor. Once I’m out, I’m finished with this place and anyone associated with it. Do you think that’s foolish?”
“I think you need someone to talk to.”
“What about you?”
I smiled and touched the gray at my temple. “So I’m old enough for you.”
“You’re experienced, Dr. Delaware. And we’ve already got a relationship, why start from scratch?”
I nodded.
“You don’t agree,” she said.
“I’ll never abandon you, Lucy.”
“But you think I should see Embrey.” Her voice had tightened.
“I think ultimately you make the choice. I don’t want you to feel abandoned, but I also don’t want to sabotage Dr. Embrey. She seems very capable, and she’s interested in you.”
“She’s a kid.”
I said nothing.
She scooted to the edge of the bed and sat there, legs dangling, toes brushing the carpet. “So that’s it for my therapy with you.”
“I’ll always be here for you and I’ll help you any way I can, Lucy. I just want you to do what’s best for you.”
She looked away.
“Who knows, maybe I don’t even need a therapist.” She turned back to me sharply. “Do you really think I tried to kill myself?”
“It looks that way, Lucy.”
A painful smile flickered. “Well, at least you’re honest. And at least you call me Lucy. They call me Lucretia. He gave me that name. After Lucretia Borgia—he hates women. Jo’s full name was Jocasta. How’s that for Oedipal?”
“What about your brothers?”
“No, the boys’ names are okay. He let the boys be named by their mothers. He was only out to ruin the girls.”
“Ruin, how?”
“Rotten names, for one. How can I have confidence in this place when they don’t even respect me enough to call me what I want? I keep telling them Lucy, but each time a new nurse comes on shift, all they do is read the chart. Lucretia this, Lucretia that. “How are you, Lucretia?’ ”
She got up and looked out the window.
“I didn’t put my head in that oven,” she said. “I have no idea how I ended up there, but I didn’t do it. Not sleepwalking or any other way.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I just know. Not that I’d ever tell Embrey that. She’d think I’m crazy.”
“She doesn’t,” I said. “And neither do I. But I do think you might have done it while sleepwalking. It’s unusual but not impossible.”
“Maybe for someone else, but not me.”
She turned around. She’d cried, and moisture streaked her cheeks.
“I know it sounds bizarre and paranoid, but someone’s trying to kill me. I told Embrey I changed my mind about that because I didn’t want her to lock me up forever. But there’s something you should know about. Can I tell you in confidence, without your telling her?”
“That puts me in a bind, Lucy.”
“Okay,” she said. “I understand. I don’t want to do that to you. But either way, she won’t know. Not until I get out of here.”