Chapter 30 Lee
Lee
Markos guided Lee unnoticed through a basement door to the parking garage, then drove her back to Regan’s apartment. “We’re getting many calls now,” said Markos. “I can only hope one is a credible lead. It was brave of you to speak.”
“Thank you,” Lee managed. Her mind was racing, her skin electric…as if tiny shocks were running just beneath the surface. When she turned her head too quickly, light outside the car window lagged behind her vision and made her dizzy. Her brain chemistry was definitely off.
It had taken months to get the right balance.
A doctor had shown her a chart, the way her moods could veer frighteningly high, then dangerously low.
She had to be watchful, the doctor insisted.
“If you don’t take these medications religiously,” he said, “you need to understand that mania will return…and eventually, so will suicidal ideation. I want you to buy one of those plastic pillboxes, with the days and ‘AM’ and ‘PM.’ Do you promise me, Lee? This matters. I want you to live a full life, and you can, but if you mess with the meds, your moods will get out of control fast.”
“I promise,” Lee had said, picking at the wrist of her mental hospital sweatsuit. She had meant it, had been very careful since her release. But how could she anticipate an entire country with no Walgreens? “Markos,” said Lee. “Can I ask you something?”
“Hm?”
“I need to talk to a Greek doctor. Could you help me…” She intended to ask him if he could help her find a psychiatrist, but he was staring straight ahead as if he hadn’t heard her. “Markos?”
“I’m sorry, I am distracted,” he said. “My apologies. What were you saying?”
“Oh,” said Lee. “Nothing, never mind.” She fell silent as he drove toward Plaka. The last few blocks were narrow and cobbled. “You can drop me here,” said Lee.
“No, it’s OK,” said Markos. He ignored the Pedestrian Only signs, drove straight to Regan’s door. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, putting the car in Park.
“I’m not brave, actually,” said Lee.
“I disagree,” said Markos.
“I don’t have a choice,” said Lee. “People want to watch dramatic things. If I can bring attention to Regan, if I can find her, I’ll do anything.”
Markos nodded. “I would do the same,” he said.
As he spoke, Markos seemed preoccupied, gazing fixedly at a spot over her shoulder. Typical chauvinist, thought Lee. “Good night,” she said.
“My apologies,” said Markos, looking straight at her. “I’m nervous to be around you because my job is to treat you like a normal person and you are…extraordinary.”
To be honest, Lee heard this a lot. But it was nice, coming from this man in his rumpled clothes.
Weird, badly timed…but nice. “Thank you for helping find Regan,” she said softly, being kind but also distant.
She had one goal in Greece and it was to make sure her sister was safe.
“Please let me know as soon as you have any news. Anything,” she said. Markos nodded.
Lee stepped from the car and walked to Regan’s locked door, pressed the bell. Flora let her inside and Lee practically collapsed once she was in the apartment. “I need to sleep,” she moaned.
“Why did you cry and stuff on TV?” said Flora.
“I thought it would make people talk,” said Lee.
“Smart,” said Flora. “Do you want some tea, Auntie Lee?”
“You know, calling me ‘Auntie’ makes me feel old,” said Lee.
“I mean, you kind of are old,” said Flora, turning on the kettle.
Lee laughed. While Flora made tea, Lee looked through her phone at the coverage of the press conference. In every image, she was positioned for the camera, her despair artful. “I always know where the cameras are,” Lee mused.
“What?”
“I did the press conference to help find your mom. But look at me. Look at my face.” Lee enlarged her own anguished visage on her phone screen.
Flora came to her aunt’s side and studied the photo. “You look sad.”
“I look like an actress playing sad.”
Flora was quiet for a moment. “Mom does that too. Performs, I mean. Even when she’s alone.”
“Yeah?”
“She takes selfies constantly. Like she’s trying to prove she exists.”
“Ugh, that sounds about right,” said Lee. “I wish I knew how to just…be here.”
Flora was silent, then said, “I wish someone would see me.”
Flora’s words were sudden, and out of left field.
It took Lee a moment to process them. She turned to look, really look, at her niece.
Flora’s hair was thin and stringy. She needed to see a dermatologist: Her skin was a mess of pimples across her nose and along her chin.
Depression, quiet for days, stirred: You can’t save her. You can’t even save yourself.
“I…like your shirt,” said Lee lamely.
Flora looked down at her faded pink top. “Thanks,” she said. Lee could almost hear the words left unspoken: Thanks for nothing.