Life on the Level (7 page)

Maddie waves at someone downstairs. I can’t see who it is from up here, and I can’t stand up or I’ll be seen. She walks over to where the shadow stands at the front door, and she heads outside.

When they’re gone, I stand. I could follow her outside, but that’s a level of creeper even my worst boredom couldn’t lead me to.

Moments later, one of the younger girls who’s even newer than me—I think she’s a heroin addict—walks from the men’s wing and down the stairs. I push myself against the wall that hides me in the dark. She isn’t looking at me anyway. What’s even more surprising is that she’s holding a guy’s hand. They’re the worst at sneaking around. I can hear their footsteps, all heels against the ground and their failed attempts at holding back giggles. They race down the stairs and out the door.

“Huh,” I say. Was there an activity I wasn’t invited to? I vacillate between taking a step down to the main floor and going back to my room. Then I hear his voice.

“River?” Hutch says, standing at the bottom of the stairs. He’s coming from the direction of the kitchen.

I nearly jump out of my skin. “Hutch.”

“What are you doing up? Curfew was three hours ago.” He has a flashlight in his hands. He’s wearing a black tank and maroon sweatpants that say “Grizzlies” down one pant leg.

“Couldn’t sleep. Are you living out your Hardy Boy fantasies?”

My lame joke is worth the smile he gives me. He rubs his hand over his bed hair. I want to jump over the railing and run my fingers through that thick dark hair.

“Depends. Want to be my Nancy Drew?”

“Careful, Counselor,” I say. “That’s against the rules.”

He shakes his head. “I heard something. Seen anything while you were up?”

In the shadows, I can’t see his eyes. He’s daring me to rat out everyone I just saw. I’m not a snitch, even if I’m not their friend. Besides, I want to solve this mystery on my own.

“Nope,” I say, and I wonder if he can tell I’m lying.

“All right.” He waves at me. “Get some sleep, River.”

I go back to my room and climb into bed. The next thing I know, the red and orange daybreak shines through my curtains. I miss my 100 percent blackout curtains. I miss sleep, too. I wish I hadn’t thrown out all my percs.

But now I’m five days sober, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, I miss a man who wasn’t even mine to begin with.

In the morning I watch Maddie’s movements. She’s spacey and doesn’t want to talk. To stop myself from searching for Hutch everywhere I go, I decide to run. It’s kind of like running away, except I have Ransom’s permission, and I have to return at some point.

The last time I volunteered to go running like this I was running from a collector. Two years ago I had a hard time paying a bookie. I decided to place a bet on the Mets, because they were my dad’s team. He had just been diagnosed, and I felt reckless.

I didn’t realize it was reckless at the time—I thought I was being a good daughter. We’re not a sentimental family, but I thought it was right. Five grand later, I remembered that even if I didn’t know anything about sports, I should’ve remembered that the Mets suck.

I shake the memory from my head, and run the way I ran from that guy down Tenth Avenue. He didn’t catch me, and I paid the money back. Here, there is no one chasing after me. There is only me, and the sound of my heart in my ears. I don’t have an iPod, so I sing to myself.

The wind is delicious against my sweaty skin, and the sky is unbelievably blue. I get tired in about ten minutes. My legs hurt, and my lungs ache. I grab onto my knees and wheeze up a grassy hill. In the distance there’s a dilapidated barn and a patch of trees that leads up a small mountain.

I can’t remember what’s still part of the property, but I keep walking. I haven’t been this alone in forever.

I realize I don’t really like being alone with my thoughts. I like noise and smoke and darkness.

I’m going to have to do something less exhausting. Maybe finger painting will be more my speed. I wonder where Hutch works out. I’m sure he doesn’t get those muscles by reading patient files, or finger painting, for that matter. All at once I’m thinking of his fingers and the way they felt against my skin.

It makes me run faster. One thing that sucks about this is that I can’t run from my thoughts. Thoughts stay with you. They pop up, unwanted, and run laps around you.

When I get to the barn, I hang back a little bit. The grass grows tall up here. It’s dry and tangled. I walk around the perimeter a bit and notice a worn trail.

Then the door flies open, and I throw myself into the grass. It pricks my skin, but I don’t know if I’m supposed to be up here.

I hear a male voice talking on the phone, but a wind blows and cuts out his words.

“I’ve got it, all right? Last night was a great turnout, promise. It’s at the pick up. Nope… Yep… I told you, you don’t have to worry.”

The voice sounds familiar. Male. Young. Perhaps one of the guys from group. I don’t dare stand up and finish my run. I’ll stay put until I’ve made sure he’s gone.

“I need to get back.” That’s the end of the call. I hear the rumble of an engine starting up, and wheels on gravel. Dust billows high into the air as he drives away.

Now I know where everyone was sneaking off to last night. I sit up and pull the hay out of my hair. I finish my run (though by now it’s mostly walking) back to HCRC. And for the first time since I got here, I wish I had someone to talk to.

• • •

“How was your run today?” Ransom asks me.

“Painful.” I lean my head back in the chair. My muscles ache fiercely. “You know, I’m not really the outdoors type.”

He laughs in that high-pitched way of his, surprising for someone so big. “This isn’t a spa.”

“There’s still time,” I say.

“Tell me. What did you think about while you were out there?”

“I don’t know.”

He stares at me for a bit. “I always replay the old days when I run. What about you?”

I look at my lap. I decide to tell him about running from the bookie.

“I can’t lie. I’ve been in similar situations. Though, I’d never bet on the Mets.”

For the first time during our sessions, I really laugh.

“When did your father pass?”

The question throws me off. I knew talking about my dad would come up eventually. I’m surprised Steven’s waited so long. I’m a walking case study of the Electra complex. At least that’s what Sky told me once. At first I thought she was talking about the shitty movie.

“A little over a year ago,” I tell him.

“Is that when you first decided to change your life?”

“That’s a funny way of putting it. Change your life.”

“What would you call it?”

I shrug one shoulder. “I still worked at a bar. I just decided to drink a little less. I stopped going to games.” I grab the book on the table beside me and thumb through the pages. The pages are thicker than a normal book’s, so it almost sounds like a deck of cards. The sound soothes me.

“I’d say that’s a change.”

“Okay.” I don’t want to talk about my dad anymore. “Hey, what’s that barn down the road?”

Ransom looks confused. “You must’ve run quite a bit.”

“You can tell that to my leg muscles tomorrow.”

“There are a few abandoned barns around here. I remember the first time I came out here. I didn’t know the difference between a farmer and a rancher.”

“Do you miss the city?”

“Sometimes,” he says. “Do you?”

He’s good at bringing the conversation back to me.

“I miss the noise. I miss real people.”

“What makes you think the people here aren’t real?”

I hold my arm out and point at the door. “Come on. You see them. They act like there’s nothing wrong with them. Fucking Pete’s back here because he’s afraid of the world. It’s like they’re hiding.”

He’s silent, and I’m afraid I’ve offended him. “Do you think you’re a real person?”

“I’m not lying to myself by thinking I’m okay. Sometimes I don’t think I belong here. I know I’ve fucked up, but it can’t be as bad as these people. I’ve never put someone in the hospital or abandoned my kids.”

“What have you done?”

I shut my eyes and try to push away the thoughts that run through my mind. Who have I hurt? I hurt Pepe and Tony by bringing my mess to their wedding. I hurt Sky when I get so messed up that she has to take care of me. I hurt myself. I hurt myself most of all. And maybe I’m okay with that. Maybe that’s who I am.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. I flip the pages of the book over and over again until Ransom stares at my hands.

“I want you to try something today.”

“You’re not going to make me run laps again, are you?”

He smiles softly. “I want you to have dinner in the main hall.”

“You want me to make friends.”

“Not necessarily. Being friends with people involves trust. Trust is hard to come by. I want you to open yourself up to the possibility of getting to know the people here. I think you might be surprised.”

I don’t tell him that I don’t like surprises.

The dining hall is bustling. It has the feel of a small-town diner and smells like burning oil and french fries. It’s burger night and Lunchman Larry grills, while one of the patients mans the fixing stations.

I load up my burger with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, onions, guacamole, and ketchup. I smile at Larry, and he gives me extra fries.

I feel nervous again. Sure, I like to think I have thick skin and a general New-York-don’t-care attitude, but as I stand in the middle of the room, I get that terrible feeling of not belonging. I kept telling myself that I didn’t want to make friends with these people. But for the first time I wonder if they feel the same way about me.

Pete and his table seem inviting, but I think I’m too dark for them. I don’t see Maddie anywhere, which is weird because she’s always here.

The counselors are spread all over. They don’t separate themselves, but eat with the patients. The longer I stand here without somewhere to go, the more my hands start to tremble.

Get a grip, River Thomas.

“Hey, New York,” Vilma, the Hispanic girl from Hutch’s group, shouts at me. “Come here. Sit.”

I’m so relieved that I practically sprint to sit beside her.

Then I realize Hutch is at the table, and I knock over my drink.

“I’m so sorry,” I shriek.

“It’s okay,” Hutch says, grabbing a bunch of napkins to mop up the water.

Some of the girls giggle behind their hands.

“So,” the dark-haired girl with the runny nose I met on my first day says, “you finally decided to come down from your lair.”

“Yeah, we have a bet going,” Fran says. “Julie thinks you’re a vampire. I said you were maybe a cutter, but now that I look at you, you haven’t got a scratch on you except that scar on your thigh. What’s that from anyway?”

“Guys,” Hutch says warningly. “Ease up, she hasn’t even touched her food yet.”

Vilma slams her hand on the table, and gives a telling look at Hutch and me. “Fran, what did I tell you not to say?”

Fran smacks her hand on her head. Then covers her mouth. “Sorry. Gambler. I’m sorry. We were just kidding.”

I grab my burger with both hands. “I went for a run today. In the daylight. So your vampire theory is out. You’re shitty at reading people.”

Hutch cocks his eyebrow in my direction. Is he just going to sit there, or is he going to tell them to stop? Is he “off duty” all of a sudden?

Vilma flicks a fry at Fran.

“Vampires can go out in the daytime,” Julie says. “They sparkle.”

“I’m a vampire purist,” I say, biting more of my burger than is polite. But if I have something to occupy my mouth, I’ll have more time to think before I speak. I can’t help but look at Hutch and think of something better to do with my mouth. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing, because suddenly he looks away from me.

“What about the scar?” Fran asks.

I look around the dining hall and try to catch Ransom just to give him a side-eye. My hand instinctually goes to my thigh where my pearly white scar is. I try to block the memory of it by replacing it with something better—Hutch’s naked body walking away from me.
Damn
, he said.
Damn yourself
, I said. I think I damned us both.

“River, you don’t have to answer that. Fran, what did we talk about this morning?”

“I’m just curious,” she says. “Besides, she might just hide in her room all over again, and we’ll never get the chance to know.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “And the scar is from going through a window. Broken glass.”

Fran widens her eyes. She’s waiting for me to tell her the circumstances, but I smirk and keep eating.

“Is that all?” I ask them. “I have to say, I’m a little disappointed.”

“For now,” Vilma says. “Maybe you can help us figure something out.”

“All right, enough,” Hutch says, pointing a fry all around the table. Now it’s his turn to be clumsy. He almost knocks his water over, but his reflexes are better than mine.

The girls hoot and holler.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“We’re trying to figure out what Hutch’s girlfriend looks like.”

My daddy liked to tell his friends, “You don’t want to go up against my baby girl. She’s got the meanest poker face in all the city.” I think he’d be really disappointed right now as I choke on a fry.

“I still have to learn to chew my food,” I say self-deprecatingly.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Hutch says quietly. I don’t know if it’s for my benefit or to quell the rumor mill. “And I’m starting to feel pretty uncomfortable with this conversation.”

“Come on, Hutch,” Fran says. “It’s just a game. It’s not like you guys have bought any new gossip magazines in over a year.”

Vilma turns to me to fill me in. “We think he’s totally full of shit. He’s been in lala land for a week now. Usually he’s all quiet and cool, but lately there’s something off.”

“Yeah, I catch him grinning to himself when he thinks no one is looking.”

Hutch shuts his eyes. “Okay, enough. Helen’s going to kill me.”

“No way, you’re her favorite,” Vilma says. “It’s River’s turn to guess. I say he’s into Latin girls. You’re part Spanish right?”