Chapter 58
Hannah
Just to make sure I’ve got this straight,” says Dr. Xavier, leaning back in her chair in the Atone Treatment Center’s beachfront garden, in the middle of yet another beautiful, sunny day.
“The entire time I was treating you, you were hiding the fact that you believed your dead sister was a ghost you could talk to?”
“I wouldn’t say believed.” I go for a smile, but Dr. X doesn’t return it.
Even her silver bob is extra severe today.
“More like strongly wished.” She rests her hands in her lap and cocks an eyebrow.
It’s surreal to finally meet the doc in person, especially here at rehab, which has already been one of the more surreal experiences of my life.
Atone is a recovery center right on the beach in Malibu.
In some ways, being here feels sturdier and more intense than daily life, with all the time I spend talking to specialists.
But in other ways, being so removed from the world has made these past weeks feel like a waking dream.
I tap a rhythm with my bare foot on the grass as a flock of brightly colored butterflies flit over the rose garden. No matter what strange rehab paradises I find myself in, I’m still me, which means I think best in tempo. “I will admit, though: when you phrase it like that, I sound a little nuts.”
Not even a sliver of a smile from Dr. X.
I sigh. “I appreciate it, but you really didn’t have to drive all the way to Malibu to meet me in person.
Especially so close to Christmas.” There’s a part of me that’s grateful I’ll be here for the holidays.
I don’t think I’m ready to struggle through another Christmas in Bonita Vista without Ginny.
“You had a major depressive episode that was broadcast for all the world to see.” Dr. X’s tone is softer than I expected.
“Followed by the release of your album and nominations for the top accolades in your field. That’s a pretty wild roller coaster to ride.
And as much as I respect my peers here, I felt compelled to see how you’re handling the roller coaster in person.
” She dips her head. “Congratulations on the Grammys, by the way.”
“Thank you.” I’d received the news from the director of Atone him-self.
For my mental health, and the privacy of other residents, I wasn’t allowed any communication with the outside world.
No cell phones, internet, magazines, or newspapers, which I was delighted to discover still existed.
And absolutely no visitors, Dr. X excluded.
It’s so strange not knowing how Kenny, Ripper, or Theo reacted to the nominations that part of me still hasn’t accepted the news as real.
Dr. X peers at me. “So? How are you doing?”
I draw my legs up on the wrought-iron chair and wrap my arms around them. In the distance, birds swoop through the treetops. I watch a few other residents ambling down the walking trail and sigh. “You want the truth?”
“Always.”
“Some days, I’m okay. Other days, I’m as lonely and furious as I’ve been since Ginny died. Doc, sometimes I get mad at the fucking sun for rising. Sometimes I still hate other people just for being alive instead of her.”
“Those reactions are normal. They’ll pass with time. Inventing a ghost, less so. Where did that come from?”
I cross one leg over the other. It’s oddly comforting that even here in this surreal place, with D-list celebrities in white robes wandering the lawn and waves lapping in the distance, Dr. X is still the same. Her no-nonsense approach has always grudgingly reminded me of someone.
As we study each other, it finally, finally hits me. Fuck. Dr. X reminds me of my mother.
She raises her eyebrows. “Why do you look vaguely nauseated?”
Oh god. This whole time, I’ve sought advice and caretaking from a woman who subconsciously reminds me of my mother. I’m going to need a whole session with the shrinks in here to unpack that one. I clear my throat. “Never mind. What were you asking me?”
“Why cling to your imaginary sister?”
“Right. Well, Doc, I don’t know how you grew up, but I was taught that if you want something badly enough, and worked hard enough at it, you could will it into being.
I know that’s one of those ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ things my parents drilled into me and Ginny because they wanted us to work our way up, seize the American dream, et cetera.
But it turns out that stuff really worms its way into your brain.
Part of me honestly felt like I could will Ginny back into the world. ”
“No offense,” Dr. X says, “but thinking it was on your shoulders to save your sister from death is one of the more narcissistic things I’ve heard you say. Though I suppose that’s not the worst track record, considering you’re a musician.”
“I’d prefer to be addressed as ‘Grammy-nominated narcissist’ from now on, please.”
“Let’s agree to stop using humor as a deflection, yes?”
I swallow a sigh. “My parents told me Ginny was planning to leave the band before she died. Guess what she was going to do instead?”
Dr. X waits patiently.
“Go to med school.” I say it with a scoffing laugh that fails to cover the hurt.
“Isn’t that what your mother wanted her to do all along?”
“Turns out, Doc, it’s what Ginny wanted all along. I had this whole narrative in my head that she chose me when we were young and we were best friends and soulmates, us versus the world, but . . . I don’t know.” My voice catches. “Maybe I did something wrong, or our life just wasn’t enough.”
The fact that Dr. X asks me this with a straight face says a lot for her. “Is Ginny here in the garden with us right now? Can we ask her?”
“No.” I wipe my nose. “I know the ghost of Ginny didn’t really exist. I was talking to myself the whole time.”
“Does admitting that feel like you’ve lost her all over again?”
“A little. But it’s weird.” I scratch my leg through my Atone-branded sweatpants.
I own five sets of these now, all in soothing colors like “Mentally Stable Mint” and “Blissful Blue.” “Remember how I thought I was building a monument to her with the new album? I thought I was writing all those songs to keep her alive and with me. I mean, I told the world that on a late-night show.”
“But?”
“But now that the album is finished and released . . . Doc, I think I was building a tomb.”
She tilts her head. “Monuments and tombs are often the same thing. At least, historically speaking.”
“I poured my heart and soul into those songs. Told Ginny how much I loved and missed her every way I could.” I press a hand to my chest. “And now all the weight I was carrying . . . I can feel it leaking away. It’s terrifying.”
“You weren’t trying to, but you worked through your grief with your art,” says Dr. X. “You laid Ginny to rest. That’s nothing to be frightened of.”
Slowly, I nod. I’d so hated that my sister was forever trapped in that awful cemetery that I’d tried to take the essence of her and put it in my music. Maybe now that the album was out everywhere, all over the world, Ginny could be free. No longer stuck in the ground, but floating through the air.
“You don’t look happy,” Dr. X observes.
I exhale. “It feels . . . unfinished.”
“Hmm.” She settles back in her chair. “What if you said a more formal goodbye?”
“You want me to bring back ghost-Ginny?” “Just one more time. You never got to say goodbye to her in real life. It could be important closure.”
“I don’t know. I feel weird about it now. I thought I knew Ginny well enough to picture how she’d act and what she’d say. But she was keeping things from me. Maybe I didn’t know her well.”
“Hannah.” Dr. X’s voice turns sharp. “Will you consider an alternative narrative? It’s going to sound wrong when you first hear it, because you’re so used to thinking otherwise, but I’d like you to mull it over. Do you agree?”
I nod, strangely nervous.
She leans forward. Above her, the clouds shift in the sky.
“Consider the possibility that Ginny wasn’t rejecting you by planning to leave the band.
That instead, she was simply exploring a new adventure, confident in the knowledge that no matter what she did or where she went, you would always be there for her.
Perhaps you did such a good job loving her that she believed there was nothing she could ever do that would cost her her big sister.
Can you entertain the possibility that Ginny applying to med school was a demonstration of faith in your bond? ”
Tears of protest fill my eyes.
“And,” Dr. X continues, before I can say anything, “I’d like you to consider that Ginny might not have believed she was responsible for you in the same way that you, the elder sister, decided you were responsible for her.
Consider that Ginny never expected you to burden yourself with maintaining her legacy or keeping her alive.
That you put those tasks on your shoulders out of misguided love, and guilt, and pain, but your sister would hate to see you struggling. ”
For a long time, I can’t speak. What Dr. X has described is not the version of the truth I’ve been living with, but God help me, it sounds like something Ginny would say. I take a deep, shaky breath. “She always was the smart one.”
To my surprise, Dr. X reaches forward and covers my shaking hand with hers.
“Loss gives us an unexpected gift.” Her grasp is warm as the sunlight.
“Yes, it turns our lives inside out. But in tearing everything up, it can force us to make radical changes that were long overdue. You’re alive and Ginny isn’t, Hannah.
There’s nothing you can do to change that.
But Ginny’s giving you a second chance to start fresh. I know she’d want you to take it.”