A Cure for Madness (26 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The first thing I noticed was the lamp beside me. It was the same lamp I’d had as a child. Had someone brought it to the hospital? I turned my head, expecting it to be sore. I was in my old bedroom, in my parents’ house. Why wasn’t I in a hospital room? I touched my head, expecting to feel bandages, but instead my fingers wove through a full head of hair. A wig? I tugged on it and winced.

“Hello?” I called. “Dr. Hansen?”

The door opened, and Wes came in. “Wes!” I cried, sitting up. It didn’t hurt like I’d thought it would. “You’re okay!”

“Hey, sis,” he said. He was carrying a mug of coffee, which he set down on the nightstand. I jumped out of bed and hugged him close. “How did you get here? Is it safe?”

“Yeah, it’s safe,” he said. He wore a strange, closed expression I couldn’t decipher.

“Why am I here? How come I’m not at the hospital? Did it work?” The last thing I remembered was being wheeled into the operating room as the anesthesia took hold.

“It worked,” he said, putting an arm around me. “Gaspereau is gone. You did it.”

I collapsed back onto the bed, tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes. It was over. It was actually over.

“So soon?” I asked. “They’ve given the treatment to everyone?”

Wes nodded. “Yeah. They worked fast. You’ve been out for a while.”

“Oh. Are you angry?” I asked, sitting up again and grabbing his hand. “I wanted to tell you, but I—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I’m not mad. They moved you here to recover. Uncle Rob and I are going to stay here with you until you’re ready to go back to Seattle.”

Seattle.
Latasha.

“Has anyone heard from Latasha?” I asked. “Where’s my phone?”

“She’s fine,” he said quickly. “She’s a hero, actually. Took down the whole fucking government single-handed.”

I laughed. That sounded like her. Then I hesitated. “Wait—how long was I out?”

“Oh . . . a while,” he said. “I was exaggerating—they’re just starting the grand jury thing.”

I was surprised Wes even knew what a grand jury was, but I didn’t press him. I’d get all the details from Latasha later.

“And Maisie? She’s okay?”

“Maisie’s great. She lost another tooth. She and Kenneth visit lots. I think he’s coming by later today.”

My heart swelled in anticipation. But I felt I was missing something, some vital piece of information.

“Wes . . . am I okay? I mean, I feel fine, but I know there were severe risks—”

“You’re great,” he said quickly. “Like I said, the doctors think you’re going to be fine.”

That confused me. “Like you said . . . when?”

Wes turned red and jumped up off the bed. “Uh . . . I left my coffee downstairs. I’m going to go get it.”

“Okay.” I brushed off the feeling. Obviously there was a lot to get caught up on.

Before he reached the door, I said, “Wes?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for taking care of me.”

He grinned. “It’s what I’m meant to do.”

I sank back down into my pillows, savoring the smell of the coffee beside me. Latasha was safe. Wes was safe. Gaspereau had been cured. And I still had my memories.

I grinned up at the ceiling, almost delirious with joy. I had hoped against hope that things would turn out this way. My whole life was opening up before me, a vast expanse of sunlight and love and possibility. I remembered Kenneth’s last kiss—and laughed aloud with delight, realizing it wouldn’t be the last. There could be many, many more. Perhaps—I marveled at how little this thought frightened me anymore—perhaps I would call Clarkeston home once again.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my parents, for encouraging me on this path ever since I wrote my first words, and for inspiring me in so many ways.

Dr. Kim Foster, Dr. Melina Roberts, and Dr. Greg Montgomery helped with the medical research, for which this liberal arts grad is extremely grateful (all errors, of course, are mine). I’d also like to thank the neurosurgeon who wanted to remain anonymous in case she got the details wrong (you didn’t).

My first readers gave invaluable feedback. Thank you to Mike Martens, Nell de Jager, Erika Holt, Craig DiLouie, David J. Fortier, Adam Cole, Susan Forest, Janice Hillmer, and Jason Goode.

Paul Lucas, Kjersti Egerdahl, Angela Polidoro, Jacque Ben-Zekry, and the team at Thomas & Mercer have my gratitude for their professionalism and enthusiasm surrounding this book.

As always, I’m so very grateful to my husband and children for their unflagging support.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © 2015 F8 Photography

Jodi McIsaac grew up in New Brunswick, Canada. After stints as a short-track speed skater, a speechwriter, and a fund-raising and marketing executive in the nonprofit sector, she started a boutique copywriting agency and began writing novels in the wee hours of the morning. She loves running, Brazilian jujitsu, and whiskey, and is an avowed geek girl. She currently lives with her husband and two feisty daughters in Calgary.