The Ruining (23 page)

drive you crazy, Annie. The door, the wallpaper, our breakup— for all we know, she’s had a hand in everything that’s come between us.”

“I’m so sorry, Owen,” I said, my eyes welling up. “I didn’t mean to bring you into this. You’re always saving me.” My heart thudded madly at the implication of what he’d done for me: he’d uncovered a murderer on his own. He’d wanted to do it for me. He’d exposed the truth, and in doing so, he’d given me my future back.

I feel about you?”
“I do now,” I told him, bringing his fingers to my lips. “And
I feel the same way. I’ve loved you all along.”

“ANNIE, I’d LIkE TO sEE yOu in my office.” Dr. Clarkson’s authoritative voice rang out across the hallway. Nine heads turned toward me, their eyes appraising me curiously. It was rare that Dr. Clarkson wanted to see patients outside of scheduled appointments. He disappeared again before I had a chance to stand. My heart thudded with expectation; he’d heard Owen’s and my theory and had promised to check it out. That was more than a whole day ago. Twenty-seven hours with no word.

“Sit down.” He gestured to the leather-backed chair, an unexpected luxury in the hospital, and waited until I got settled. I still felt nervous around Dr. Clarkson, even after our sessions. He had never put me at ease. “I had a private investigator look into your theory,” he began, “and I have to admit I was skeptical. I’ve known Mrs. Cohen for a while and had believed her to be an exemplary individual.” He crossed and uncrossed his legs and gritted his jaw as though he were about to say something distasteful. “However, even I can be a poor judge of character at times. Especially when it comes to master manipulators of Mrs. Cohen’s variety.”

“So you found something.” I leaned forward in my chair, eager.
“Yes. It’s almost as if she wanted to be caught. She wasn’t very careful at all. The police opened up the case, and sure enough, the brakes in the former Mrs. Cohen’s vehicle had been slashed. The police determined justified cause to search the house, and they seized both her computer and Mr. Cohen’s. Libby’s hard drive was riddled with allusions to the late Mrs. Cohen’s murder. It seems she was fairly obsessed with Adele Cohen. Libby is in custody now, and there will be a trial. Naturally Mr. Cohen is devastated. The family is ruined. Those poor children.” The news seemed distasteful to Dr. Clarkson. Rather than reacting as if a murderer was about to be put behind bars, he seemed to think Libby’s arrest was somehow regrettable.
“As you know, you are able to leave the facility at any time. However, it is my recommendation that you remain here under my care. Frankly, Annie, I believe you must.”
“No,” I said, trying to prevent the smile from spreading across my face too quickly. The thought of freedom was dazzling. And terrifying. “No, I would like to leave.”
“I thought as much. You may leave tomorrow at noon unless you inform me otherwise. You and I will meet tomorrow morning at nine o’clock as usual to discuss your medication and outpatient options. For now, you are free to take advantage of group therapy and say your goodbyes as you see fit.”
I tried not to let his voice haunt me all the way back to my room, where I unearthed the outfit I’d arrived in from my cubby. I tried not to let it mirror the tiny seed of doubt that wondered if I was truly ready for the real world.
“Why are you pulling that out?” Aurora asked timidly. She was lying on her back, reading. Books were the only form of entertainment allowed from the outside. Aurora let me borrow from her stack of novels sometimes. She was eager to please. Her mother brought new ones every time she visited, and she was happy to share.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” I told her, trying to keep my voice even and quiet. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” I didn’t want the others to know.
“Okay,” she said dreamily.
“I’m not meant to be in here. I was never meant to be here in the first place.”
“I know,” she responded seriously. “Neither am I. Bring me McVittie’s from the outside, okay? If we’re not playing pretend, I mean.”
“We’re not playing anything,” I snapped.
“We’ll never forget you, you know.”
I sighed, taking her hand in mine. It was frail and crisscrossed with scars. “I know,” I told her. “I’m sorry I snapped. I’ll bring you entire cartons of McVittie’s, okay?” Aurora leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek, so light it could have been the brush of a feather.

IT wAs EIgHT FIFTy-FOuR. Just over three hours until I could leave. I only had to get through my appointment with Dr. Clarkson and bide my time until Owen arrived. It was only then, as I lay on my bed killing time, that I realized something so terrifying it made me turn on my side and gag, a series of painful dry heaves that felt endless. All the times Libby had told me she was behind me despite my history ran through my mind. I thought of the times she’d told me she’d checked out my background in advance and that we were two of a kind, she and I. And then I thought of the times she’d turned from Zoe’s embraces, carelessly disregarding even her most pitiful needs. And how Zoe’s bedroom was the only room in the house that was practically bare, completely free from Libby’s designer touch.

Why had Libby hired me? Why had she hired someone who had been indirectly responsible for a child’s death? The only plausible truth was so cold that I reeled from it, hardly able to believe it despite everything I knew now.

Libby had wanted Zoe dead. She’d wanted a perfect life with Walker and her baby, all traces of Adele eliminated. She’d wanted me to be held liable if an “accident” happened. It was the only thing that made sense. No one else would have hired me to watch their kids. No matter how much they believed I deserved a second chance.

I walked into Dr. Clarkson’s office with a smile. I hadn’t bothered to take my medication the night before. I wanted to be alert and ready to leave. But now I felt strange, like the whole world shifted when I moved my head too much. Like my brain was sloshing around in there and trying hard to keep up. But it was also like a sheet had been lifted from my eyes, erasing some of the fog.

“You’re looking well today,” he said dryly as I entered. “I feel well,” I said. He squinted at my eyes.
“Are you taking your proper dosage of medicine?” he

wanted to know.
“I cut back a little,” I admitted, glossing over the fact that I
hadn’t taken any the night before. “I figured I’d need to taper
off.”
“I see,” he said. “Though I wish you’d have consulted me
first. Stopping psychotropic drugs abruptly can often cause
dangerous withdrawal symptoms. I’m going to go ahead and
prescribe you a lower dose right now. I want you to take this
dose once per day for another two weeks, just to make sure
you do this safely. Can you promise me you’ll do that?” “Yes,” I promised him. “I will.”
“And Annie,” he said, handing me a folded piece of paper.
“Here are some numbers for fantastic psychologists in the area.
If you return to school, you should be covered under a good
insurance plan. I strongly urge you to contact one of these
doctors. I think you should continue seeing someone after you
leave Richmond-Fost.”
“Why?” I asked, my voice guarded.
“You experienced a great tragedy at a young age,” he said. “That sort of event doesn’t just disappear from someone’s psyche once it’s done its damage. You need to work through those feelings so you can heal properly. And, Annie, can I be
frank?”
“Of course,” I told him. I would have given him anything
just then.
“Libby is clearly a master manipulator, and a very dangerous one. There’s no question that she toyed with you, exploiting your weaknesses. But the fact remains, Annie, that you
were able to be targeted. If you had been stronger, things may
never have reached this point.” A sharp pang of fear lanced my
heart.
“Are you saying this could happen again?” I asked warily. “Theoretically, yes. But is there a likelihood that you’ll
encounter another person as pathological as Libby in your life?
I’d say the odds are slim. Nevertheless, you need to get well.
These kinds of people are eerily adept at targeting victims.
They recognize psychological vulnerability a mile away. So I
need you to be careful. I need you to get well.”
“Okay,” I told him. “I’ll make sure to see a doctor.” “At least once per week,” he said firmly. I nodded in
response. For the first time, I felt something like affection for
Dr. Clarkson. Maybe he did care how I turned out. Maybe he
wasn’t so awful after all. Or maybe Libby was just that good:
she’d been able to manipulate both of us.
“Tell me about your friend Owen,” Dr. Clarkson prompted,
just as I was about to dismiss myself.
“Well,” I began, a question in my voice. “I trust him. I really do, and I don’t think I’ve ever said that about anybody. I think he genuinely cares about me and wants to help me get my life
together.”
“I only ask because he hasn’t really come up previously,”
Dr. Clarkson said. “And I want to make sure you’re protecting
yourself. That you’re going to be with someone who can support you.”
“I know,” I said.
It had occurred to me that with Owen’s support, maybe
I could reconnect with my mother. Maybe when I was well
enough.
“Does Owen resemble anyone you know?” Dr. Clarkson
persisted. Your father, maybe? Try to remember back.” “No,” I said, shifting around in my chair impatiently. “Why
would he remind me of my father? I barely remember my
father.”
“I’m just suggesting that maybe Owen serves an important
place in your life. Maybe he’s your way of filling some sort
of male void. You’ve been betrayed by men before, after all;
maybe Owen is your subconscious’s way of seeking out something you crave.”
“Or the universe’s way, I guess,” I said skeptically. “But
really, Owen is the most genuinely caring person I’ve ever met.
You don’t have to worry about him.”
“Annie, I have to say, I’m pleased with your positive outlook. I think it bodes well for your recovery.”
“Thanks, Dr. Clarkson,” I said, standing up. It was time for
me to get my things together. I felt strangely reluctant to leave, in a way. A little dose of fear had wended its way through my extremities. But I could do it. I was stronger now, I was sure of it. I knew to trust my instincts when I felt something wasn’t
entirely right.
“Be well,” he said. “And keep in touch, if you’d like.”

I wALkEd dOwN THE HALL after signing my discharge papers, and I couldn’t help noticing the faces that peered from their rooms as I passed through the stark hospital corridor. I was careful to take measured steps, not to seem too desperate. It was odd how now I had to focus on appearing especially normal, because what I’d become accustomed to, and where my instincts had led me for the past few months, was on the opposite end of the spectrum from that. I’d have to retrain myself. I realized then that the human brain is endlessly changing, its inner workings restructuring and recalibrating to form new systems of thought and feeling. Now I needed to realign myself with what was considered normal.

I never wanted to be one of those gaping faces myself again. The problem was, I felt perilously close to crazy. Like I was just one of the many walking the tightrope between normal and not. How long could I continue walking the rope without tumbling down?

IT’s suNdAy MORNINg. I wake up to Owen’s sleep-face next to mine, his arm draped around my waist. He likes me to face him, even though I fit better the other way. Even asleep, he holds me like he’ll never let me go. I trace his cheek stubble gently with my fingers. I love tracing his jaw, and I love when he feels it in his sleep and smiles just a little. His smile is my favorite thing. Waking up next to him will probably always feel like a miracle. Being safe will always feel like a gift, like something I don’t really deserve but am incredibly lucky to have.

It took me a long time to feel comfortable with Owen, to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. To know that I deserve happiness.

He stirs under my fingertips. His eyelashes flutter open to reveal the depth of his startling green eyes as they look into mine. I run my hands through his hair softly, and he smiles his adorably crooked grin. He has one tooth that’s a little longer than the rest. He has a little bit of hair on his left shoulder. His earlobes are shaped slightly differently from one another. I take in all of these details because I can, because discovering the things about him that no one else sees is my favorite thing.

“Hey gorgeous,” he says sleepily, leaning toward me for a kiss. He presses his lips against mine and pulls me close until I feel my naked skin pressing against the length of his. It’s been months and months and my heart has never stopped speeding up at the touch of him. He teases me a little, touching my bottom lip lightly with his, then moving away again, playing a game that leaves me hungry.

We lie there for a while, kissing and talking, like we usually do on Sundays. It’s my favorite time with him: when the afternoon stretches ahead and we have nothing to do but touch each other’s bodies and look into each other’s eyes and talk about things that only matter to the two of us and laugh.

Eventually we’ll go out to brunch, because that’s what we always do when our growling stomachs are painful enough to make us want to move from bed. We like to pick a different place each time. San Francisco has so many good places to eat. And today, I want tacos. I don’t want breakfast at all. I want a carne asada burrito from El Tonayense. I know if I ask him, Owen will laugh and say it’s okay with him. Everything that happened with Libby now seems impossibly bleak, and, contrasted with those six months, my new reality is heaven. I need to find my own place soon, but neither of us is in any particular rush.

I like to wander outside Owen’s apartment without asking anyone’s permission. I like to go to the hiking trails that stretch through the outskirts of town. Sometimes Owen comes with me, but sometimes I wander the trails by myself, wade through the creeks and cross the fallen trees that serve as bridges, just like I did with Lissa when we were little kids.

Once I finish getting dressed, we hop into his car, a sleek black convertible. Owen’s business has taken off in the past year. “After tacos, let’s go to Cups and Cakes,” Owen suggests. “After all, this is a celebration.” He reaches over and clasps my hand in his bigger, stronger one. I tense up despite myself at the word “celebration.” This morning, Libby was sentenced to life in prison for the murder of Adele Cohen. I guess it’s something to celebrate, but I don’t want to think about it at all.

“I really want to see Zoe,” I tell Owen. All this time, he’s urged me to wait until Libby’s trial was wrapped up and things died down for Walker. But I’ve missed my little buddy. I hope she and Jackson are doing okay. She must be just about ready for preschool by now.” Owen takes a left out of our neighborhood, and I realize we’re taking the long way. I can’t help but smile slightly, despite my worry over the kids. I love driving past the townhouses that decorate the hills in little rows, and Owen knows it.

“Soon,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’ll go visit. Let’s just give them a little time to get over the shock of the news, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree. “Owen,” I add, “we have another thing to celebrate.”
“What’s that?” He grins over at me, his green eyes sparkling as we speed down the highway, the San Francisco Bay flashing on our left, just the way I always imagined it would.
“My course catalogs came today. I’m almost ready to register.” I’d taken the rest of the year off as I sought intensive therapy with a doctor Owen helped me find. I’m excited to go back to school. It will complete my transition to “normal.” And then I’ll visit Dr. Clarkson in person, let him see what a success story I am, how far I’ve come. How I’m not a victim anymore.
“That’s great, babe,” he says, although I can see his brow creasing with worry. I know he’s concerned about what the pressures of school might do to me, now that I’ve just gotten back to a place that feels really safe. “Let’s look at it together later, okay?” I nod, a little annoyed, and he senses it.
“I’m sorry, Annie,” he tells me, bringing my fingertips to his lips. “I’m just worried about you. But you’re right, we have so much to look forward to.” He turns and smiles at me, and I settle back into my seat, leaning my head against the headrest. He understands why it’s important for me to start over, why I need an entirely new life. He worries, but he knows. We’ll look through the courses together, he’d said, and I know we will. Owen never makes empty promises. But for now, I’ll just enjoy the drive until we get our tacos. Besides, I’m feeling a little tired, and I could stand to rest my eyes.
I gaze at the sky, my head leaning against the warm leather of the seat cushion. I think about my second chance, the future I have to make for myself. I’m determined to have it this time. I know I can have the life I want, as long as I am strong. I think about this as I let Owen’s hand caress mine, let my eyelids droop closed. I am so profoundly exhausted that I miss my favorite part of the drive: watching the California coastline zip by. I always wanted to see the California coastline, I think dreamily. But I can’t seem to find the strength within myself to open my eyes just now. It doesn’t matter, I decide, giving in to the weight of my eyes. The California coastline can wait. It’ll be here, and I’ll be here too, no matter what.