Chapter 5 #2
During my drive to the hospital, I suck down my iced latte like it’s water, and take few bites of my bagel sandwich for good measure, even though my appetite has disappeared.
Once I’m in the parking garage for Evergreen Hospital, I navigate to the second floor and the sky bridge.
The lot is more than half full. I don’t know whether this makes me grateful that the patients inside have visitors, or sad that there are so many sick people. Maybe it’s both.
My phone chirps with an incoming text .
WREN
Hey girl, how was the drive?
I cradle my phone for a moment, trying to draw Wren’s warmth into my body. I’m already so tired and it’s not even nine o’clock. How am I going to get through weeks of this?
I type out my reply:
Not too bad. I’m about to see Mo
WREN
I’ve been keeping her in my thoughts
Want to grab a bite tomorrow? I’ll be in town late aft.
That she’s not holding my lackluster attempts at keeping in touch against me stings my chest, making it tough to draw in a full breath.
We settle on meeting at The Sweet Spot for a late lunch, then I stuff my phone into my purse and walk across the bridge.
Inside the hospital is a welcome desk, but the mental health wing has a separate entrance, so I walk to the end of the spacious foyer and continue down a short hallway.
At the end, there’s a sliding glass door with JACKSON BEHAVIORAL HEALTH in frosted white lettering.
As it slides open, another piece of my heart cracks loose and falls into the abyss.
I hoped I’d never see this place again. I’m sure Morgan feels the same way…
and yet, it’s well-staffed and generously supported by the community, so it’s better than a lot of places she could be.
Inside, a young woman with a thin, dark ponytail wearing a white button-down shirt glances up from a computer terminal. The nametag clipped to her breast pocket says ALEX.
“I’m here to see Morgan Hannah,” I tell her .
Alex gives me a kind smile. “Do you have a profile with us already?”
“Yeah. I’m Charlotte Hannah.”
Alex is already typing, then nods at her screen. “We just need an updated consent form.” She slides a clipboard across the desk.
I tick off boxes. No, I will not bring anything that could be used as a weapon to the patient.
No, I will not bring medications or drugs of any kind to the patient.
No, I will not take photographs or video of any patient or of the facilities.
Yes, I will be respectful of all staff members.
When I slide the clipboard back, Alex taps a button and the printer spits out a stick-on visitor badge with my picture.
“I brought her a bagel sandwich. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” Alex says.
A nurse in pink scrubs exits from the other side of the entryway just as I’m pressing the sticker nametag across my collarbone. She’s short, with curly, white-blonde hair. “I can take you back,” she says, tapping her badge to the sliding door leading into the facility.
The door slides shut behind us. I know that patients aren’t held here involuntarily, but it’s hard to not also feel like I’m walking into jail. Does Morgan feel that way too?
We enter a large communal space with a nurse’s station on the right, facing padded vinyl chairs arranged in clusters, tables with sturdy metal chairs, a big TV mounted on the wall and two sagging couches, a shelf of puzzles, games, and books.
The big windows that make up the back wall overlook a verdant space of flowering shrubs and pretty trees to a parking area.
“Have a seat,” the nurse says, nodding to the rec room, occupied only by a mid-fifties man in conversation with a young couple and an early twenties woman typing at a computer terminal. “I’ll let Morgan know you’re here.”
I pass the TV playing a sitcom I haven’t seen in years at low volume to a table where someone has started a puzzle and lower into one of the heavy metal chairs.
The puzzle is a grid of antique Christmas postage stamps, the box’s corners worn thin.
Most likely, it came here second or third hand.
Whoever has been working on it has completed the border and is working on a stamp depicting a sleigh piled with gifts.
Shifting clothing alerts me a split second before Morgan appears.
I leap to my feet just as the lump in my throat threatens to burst.
“Hey,” Morgan says, blinking her tired eyes.
I pull my sister into my arms and hold her. Her body feels fragile—too thin—but I don’t let that heighten my anxiety. Morgan’s strong. We both are. We’ll find our way through this.
Morgan inhales a steady breath, her frail body swelling into mine, then steps back. The nurse heads for the station, where I know she and the other staff will be supervising.
Morgan tucks her shoulder-length hair behind her ears, the long sleeves of her hoodie covering up her wrists. Not that I need to see them to know what’s there. Her care team debriefed me already.
“Puzzle?” Morgan asks with a dry chuckle.
“Sure.”
Morgan chews the corner of her lip and pulls out the chair to my right.
I sort through the main pile of pieces, searching for ones with a lime green stripe, which belongs to a stamp featuring a cartoon Christmas tree.
“I’m sorry,” Morgan says, her hands in her lap.
“What for?” I try connecting two pieces but they don’t fit.
“For making you come back here.”
I glance up and wait for her to meet my gaze. “You know I’ll be here anytime you need me.”
She looks away and swallows. “But you hate it.”
Does it hurt? Yes. But hate? No. “There are parts I’ll always love.”
She reaches for a puzzle piece and tries to fit it to a section of the sleigh stamp, confirming my suspicion that she’s the one who brought out this puzzle. “How’s Henrik doing?”
“Okay.” Though this is the brief version, it’s accurate. The disease progression seems to be accelerating, but he still has some good days. “Has Dad come to visit?”
She shakes her head.
Well, that’s something. At some point I’ll need to ask about Mom, but I’ll try to figure that out on my own.
“Theo’s living with Will.” She tries another piece.
“Yeah, I kind of figured that out.”
She cringes and I instantly regret the edge in my tone.
“Sorry.”
I put my hand on hers, and a gentle warmth blooms beneath my skin. “Mo. It’s okay.”
She gives me a soft smile, then pulls her hand away.
“How are your providers? Do you like Dr. Shreeve?”
Morgan’s shoulders rise in an exaggerated shrug. “I’ve only met with her like twice.”
“Have you made any…connections?” I ask, eyeing the young woman who has moved to the couch with a paperback.
Morgan shakes her head. “Not yet.”
Right. After her twenty-four hour hold in lockdown for stabilization, she was admitted to Jackson’s inpatient program just yesterday, so the past three days have been a marathon of sharing excruciatingly personal details with strangers, hours of waiting, and assessments, maybe even some detox though that is confidential. I wince just thinking about it.
I slip the bagel folded up in the white paper bag from my purse, and her eyes light up. “Thank you.”
“Recovery is hard work,” I say with a wink.
She gives me a slow nod, and the tension in my chest eases a little.
“You need me to get some of your things?”
“Would you? I didn’t, um, know I’d end up…” She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t have to. She likely had been holding it together for weeks, until she couldn’t, and it all came crashing down. Just like last time. I want to ask what triggered this, but it’s too soon.
“Jesse offered, but…” She shrugs.
I hide my surprise with a warm smile—Jesse’s a family friend, but I had no idea he and my sister had become close. “Sure. I’ll pack you a bag. Anything in particular I should get?”
She shakes her head. That she’s not asking for her guitar brings a hard, cold ache deep to my core.
“I wish you could bring Misty and Mav,” she says.
I lean over and kiss her on the temple. “You’ll be back home soon enough.”
A tear skids down her cheek but she swipes it away and gives me a brave smile. “Yeah.”
“How are things at The Limelight? You and Dad need help?”
She blinks and turns away from me. “So, about that.”