Chapter 14
The rest of the group therapy session is less intense than the first hour; Martina pivots away from having us talk about our past relationships, and instead has us play word association games, come up with examples of strategies for moving on from past relationships, and lectures us about the neurobiology of break-ups.
For the last half hour, she even brings out a whiteboard.
I keep sneaking looks at Pernilla, who barely seems like she is there at all. Martina doesn’t ask her any questions, either; she just sits there, occasionally attempting to twist the ring that is no longer there.
At the end of the session, when we all pile out for lunch, Pernilla doesn’t follow.
Once lunch is over, when the waiters are clearing away the plates, I lean over the table and ask Anna, as casually as I can muster:
“Hey, do you know why Pernilla isn’t here?”
Anna shakes her head.
“Maybe she just wasn’t hungry,” she says. “People have different circadian rhythms. She might just not be someone who eats lunch.”
“I bet she doesn’t,” I hear Leyla mutter, but I ignore it.
“Is she okay, though? She looked upset.”
Not just upset. She looked devastated. And that ring … I think about the way Pernilla was moving when she left the group therapy room. Slowly and with great effort. The way she didn’t engage with what was said during the second half of the therapy session.
She almost looked like she’d been drugged.
“It’s sweet of you to worry,” Anna says, smiling. “But I’m sure she’s fine.”
I stare at Anna long enough for her smile to begin to falter; only then do I realize that I’m acting weird, and I shake my head, force a laugh.
“Sorry,” I say. “Yeah, of course she is. And either way, we’re in a safe place. You guys have medical training, right?”
I smile.
“We’re trained in therapeutic caretaking,” Anna responds. “We’re perfectly capable of handling anything that might come up with any of our patients. Don’t you worry.”
Leyla clears her throat.
“But you don’t have any medical training?” she asks Anna. “Like, say one of us had an accident. How long would it take for an ambulance to reach us?”
“I don’t know why you would even be thinking about that,” Clara butts in. “How would you even get hurt in a place like this?”
Leyla slowly raises her eyebrows.
“There are lots of ways to get hurt,” she suggests. “It’s only realistic to be prepared for it.”
“Jesus,” Clara mutters.
“Seriously.” Leyla turns back to Anna. “If someone was to get hurt, how long would it take for an ambulance to get here? Or a police car?”
Anna sputters.
“I … well, I don’t—not very long, I’m sure.”
“Stop bullying her!” Clara bursts out. “What does it matter? No one is going to get hurt!”
Leyla makes eye contact with me and smirks for a moment.
I feel a tugging sensation under my ribs, and I force myself to swallow, look relaxed, like nothing about this conversation is out of the ordinary. Just a spat between two fellow “patients.”
There are lots of ways to get hurt.
What did she mean by that?
Leyla relents and shrugs at Anna and Clara.
“I’m just saying. Doesn’t seem very safe.”
Anna’s eyebrows twitch for a second; I see her take a deep breath before plastering the now-familiar Himlafall smile on her face.
It’s funny; in a way, we’re not so different, the Himlafall staff and I.
We’re all acting.
The only difference is that they’re putting on a face in order to maintain the illusion, and I’m putting one on hoping to shatter it.
“Well,” Anna says, “if we’re done worrying about that, I have your schedules for the afternoon. You’ve all got individual therapy, and physical therapy as a group. Other than that, it’s free time until dinner.”
She clears her throat.
“We recommend you use that time to take a walk, or journal, or simply process. Together or apart.”
She collects a stack of papers from the tote bag next to her chair and reaches over the table to give them to me.
“Take one and pass them on,” she says.
I grab the top page and hand the rest of them to Leyla.
02:00 p.m.—Leyla Demir, Individual Counseling
03:00 p.m.—Clara af Sperling, Individual Counseling
04:00 p.m.—Isobel Anderssen, Individual Counseling
04:00 p.m.—All, Physical Therapy
05:00 p.m.—Pernilla Boman, Individual Counseling
06:00 p.m.—Katarina Karlsson, Individual Counseling
07:00 p.m.—Dinner
“Well, looks like I better get a move on,” Leyla says, pushing her chair away from the table and standing up. “I guess I’ll see you all in physical therapy.”
“Have fun,” Clara chirps. “Enjoy getting healthier and happier.” She shoots Leyla a poisonous glance.
Leyla grins at her. “I will.” Her voice is sugary sweet. “Thank you so much for wishing me well.”
I look closer at the schedule.
“Anna.” I look at her. “Why is my therapy at the same time as the exercise?”
Anna blinks.
“You’ve been exempt from the physical therapy,” she responds. “Because of your injury.”
“What injury?” I ask.
“The doctor told me you had problems with your knees,” she says. “So when we were making the schedule, we put you as exempt.”
Wa-wait, n-no, I—I don’t…” I stutter.
“Do I need to be exempt, too?” Katarina asks. “I have an old ankle thing from a marathon.”
“Ellen has been informed of your limitations, and she’s altered some of the exercises for you,” Anna hurries to reassure her.
“No, wait. I don’t have problems with my knees.” My voice is too high, too pitchy, but the surprise has thrown me for a loop.
Anna raises her eyebrows.
“But…” Her eyes are wide. “But it was in your file?”
“I don’t know why it was in my file, but it’s not true,” I insist. “I want physical therapy. For … the full experience of the treatment. It says in the materials that it’s important. I don’t want to miss out on part of the journey.”
I can’t miss physical therapy. I need to speak to Ellen, need to ask her about Susannah Wallin—look her in the eyes as I’m doing it—for any clues to what she might know. Whether or not she was the one who slid that note under my door.
I haven’t seen her at either breakfast or lunch; haven’t seen her since last night, in fact.
It’s enough to make me think she’s avoiding me on purpose.
“Gosh, I’m really sorry, Isobel.” Anna looks bereft. “There must have been some mistake. Is there any way you accidentally checked the box in your application?”
“No,” I start to say, but even as I’m speaking, I begin to question myself.
There were so many fucking boxes to check and uncheck in that application form. Pages and pages of probing questions. Is it possible I ticked a box, tired and trigger-happy and just wanting to be done with all the paperwork?
“Either way, I really want to participate,” I insist.
Anna bites her cheek and frowns.
“Ellen said she couldn’t take responsibility for such a severe injury,” she says. “She was worried about the potential of making it worse.”
“But there is no injury.” I’m having a hard time keeping the frustration from distorting my voice.
“I don’t know if anything can be done today.” Anna frowns, biting her lip. “But if you talk to the doctor about it, I’m sure your file can be adjusted so that it’ll all be taken care of by tomorrow. Is that okay?”
I swallow hard, twice, and then I nod.
“Yeah.” I twist my lips into a smile. “That’s fine.”
Anna exhales.
“Again, I’m so sorry,” she says. “Try not to let it ruin your day. We can’t dwell on anger and resentment. The world is full of little accidents. Most of them turn out to be happy if you wait long enough.”
“Oh,” Clara interrupts, “that’s from Martina’s book, isn’t it?”
Anna smiles. “Yes. From her second one. Chapter six.”
Katarina puts her hand on my arm as they start talking about the genius of Martina Hastings.
“I’m going for a run after lunch, if you want to come with me.” She smiles, all sympathy. “I get it. I lose my mind when I don’t get to work out.”
I return her smile. “Thanks,” I say. “I might take you up on that.”
I already know that I won’t.
One thing Anna said stood out to me.
“Ellen said she couldn’t take responsibility for such a severe injury.”
Ellen is a physical therapist. So is Sandra. I’ve heard Sandra talk about her job enough to know that that is bullshit.
Was there really a mistake in my file? Or did Ellen make that up, knowing no one would check, so that I wouldn’t be able to ask her any more questions?
I’m not going to go running. I’m going to go to the staff quarters and ask Ellen about Susannah Wallin.