Unlocked Read online

  “Sure thing, Lyd,” answered Dylan.

  “Sure thing, Lyd,” Court mocked.

  Aggravated, she swung the bedroom door closed and didn’t come out for the rest of the night. When Dylan’s company finally left and he came to bed, Lydia was still awake.

  “Why didn’t you hang out, Lydia?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t in the mood. When you stood me up at The Pub, I was furious, but when I came home and you were here, for a second I was happy. When I saw you were staying in tonight, for a moment, I thought it would be just you. Just you and just me. Obviously, I was mistaken.”

  “So, what? I can’t have friends over?” He slurred defensively.

  “No, you can have friends over whenever you want. I would just like to know about it before I walk through the door. I’d also like to have some one on one time with you. Especially, when you are supposed to meet me for dinner. What? You can’t even call to cancel? I just have to wait for an hour, alone, looking like an idiot? It would be nice if every once in awhile we could just spend an evening together. The two of us.”

  “It’s just the two of us now,” he said softly as he reached his hand under the covers and caressed her breast. She moved his arm. He rested his hand on her hip and kissed her neck.

  “Dylan—”

  “What, Lydia? Now I can’t even touch you? First, you’re mad because I have friends over to our apartment. Now you won’t even let me touch you. You are absolutely impossible!”

  Lydia, realizing he hadn’t heard a single word she had said, threw his hand off of her hip and bolted upright in bed. “No, Dylan. You know what’s impossible? This relationship. This relationship is what’s impossible.” She flung the covers off and violently scooped up her pillow and her phone. “I’m done. I want you out by the weekend. Have Rick and Court help you move.” She stomped out the bedroom door toward the couch, and he didn’t try to stop her. She hadn’t really wanted him to anyway; she wasn’t the type of woman who said one thing and meant another, or put on a show to get attention. She meant what she said. She was direct and didn’t play games. She figured she must have missed the day they taught all that in “Girl School”. Being dramatic just wasn’t her thing.

  She brushed crumbs off the couch and collapsed pulling a blanket around her. She closed her eyes, relieved at the decision she had just made and was asleep within minutes.

  The next morning, she woke to the sound of sizzling. She had wanted to sleep in—it being Saturday and all, so at first, she was annoyed. She rubbed her sleep-heavy eyes and opened them to find a mug of steaming coffee and a single rose on the coffee table directly in front of her. She sat up and smelled the salty-sweet aroma of sugar cured bacon. She sipped her coffee, confused at what was happening. Dylan had never cooked her breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. He turned away from the stove and saw that she was awake. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and trotted in to kiss her good morning.

  “Hey, sleepyhead. How’d you sleep?” He asked softly, guiltily even.

  “Uhhh, okay I guess? What are you doing?”

  “Making you breakfast, Lydia. Bacon and eggs. Oh, and toast. Do you want orange juice?”

  “I see that you are making breakfast, but why? You haven’t cooked a meal since I’ve known you.” She accused warily.

  “Lydia, I just. I was up late thinking, you know? About you and me. And I realized, I don’t want to lose you. Not over something stupid. I’ve been an ass, I know that. But if you’ll let me, I know I can fix things. I’m starting with breakfast—speaking of which, hang on...I have to turn the bacon...smells like it’s burning.” Dylan trotted back into the kitchen to fight the grease pops while he ineptly turned the bacon in the pan. “Hope you like your bacon extra crispy,” he laughed from the kitchen, “because that’s what we’re having, whether we like it or not.”

  “Crispy is fine,” she answered, still confused. She sipped more coffee, hoping that would help. It didn’t.

  “So, anyway, when you left the bedroom last night, I had time to think, you know? And I thought about what life would be like without you, Lydia. And it was a thought I couldn’t bear.”

  “Because you’d have to work full time and buy your own toilet paper?” Lydia snapped. She wasn’t a morning person, and today she wasn’t “Dylan-person” either.

  “No, Lydia. Like I said, I love you. I don’t want to lose you. Really.” He pleaded as he buttered the toast. “You didn’t answer. Do you want orange juice?”

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

  He poured a glass and plated the food as he said, “You mean so much to me, and I’m sorry I haven’t shown you that. You are worth my time, and I need to give you more of it. If you’ll give me the chance, I’ll show you that I’m worth your time too, Lydia.” He set the plates on the patio table through the sliding glass door and came into the living room. He folded Lydia’s blanket and threw it over the back of the couch and escorted the lady to breakfast.

  She picked at her eggs and said, “So, if you stay, we’re going to make this work? You’ll prioritize your time? Our time together?”

  “Yes. It’s a promise.”

  “And you’ll ask before you invite company over?” She grimaced as she hurt a tooth on a hard piece of burnt bacon. The clinked the bacon back down on her plate next to the runny eggs.

  “Of course. I’ll limit the amount of time I spend with them too. All eyes on you, Lydia.”

  “And you’ll help more with the bills? You’ll get a job?” She crunched a bit of eggshell and summarily spit it into her napkin, “and help with the housekeeping?”

  “If we both work, it’s only fair that we both clean.”

  She debated for a moment or two and pushed her food around on her plate. Finally, she looked up and smiled, “And you promise you’ll never cook again?” She said and laughed.

  “Promise,” he winked, and led her into the bedroom.

  Chapter Twelve—A Visitor

  Instinct forced Clara to shoot straight up in bed which, in turn, caused the dream she had been having to shake loose from her mind. Clara looked to her left where the diary and dull pencils lay on the nightstand. She began to write:

  Sunday, May 24th

  Mom and Dad. Me. A vacation maybe? I can’t remember. I know we were smiling. Dream is gone, though. Where were we? What were we doing? It was my real parents, I think. But it could have been the “imposters”. Was it both? Who cares. It was a stupid dream anyway. And this journal is stupid. And my whole life is stupid. I need to get out of this room. I need something to do. I need this stupid, stupid tv to work!

  Clara punctuated the sentence and the thought by stabbing her pencil into the lined paper like a dart on the ‘point’ of her exclamation point. She tossed the book aside and angrily threw off her covers. “This is boring. There’s nothing to do but THINK and I don’t want to think!” She screamed aloud and began banging the television remote/nurse call button against the railing of her bed. “Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!” She accentuated every other syllable with a slam of the remote. On the last syllable of the last smash, the tv buzzed to life. “What the…?” Clara said, wondering why the tv had never come on before. She looked at the remote, the screen, and back to the remote. She shrugged her shoulders. “If it doesn’t work, bang it around a little.” She thought, and somehow wondered if that was another of her mother’s weird words to live by. Who knows? she thought and flipped the channel. Finally, something to do!

  #

  On Monday morning after the usual knock and request to enter, Lydia greeted Clara. “Good morning, you look well rested.”

  “I feel well-rested for a change.”

  “That’s good. They did reduce your sedative over the weekend. Maybe the sleep you are getting is a deeper, more rejuvenating sleep. Wonderful.” Lydia smiled. “Oh, and I see they’ve repaired your television,” Lydia commented nodding toward the outdated box tv mounted on the wall.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I guess they did.”


  “Well, Clara, I have good news.”

  “Really?” Clara asked excitedly, wondering what it was.

  “Yes. Would you like to leave this room?”

  “Oh my God! Seriously?”

  “Yes. But first, we need to discuss some rules, Clara.”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “You will need to be on your best behavior. No outbursts, or they’ll revoke your privileges.”

  “And you are not to interact with other patients. Not yet.”

  Clara nodded.

  “And you are to stay with your chaperone—me—at all times.”

  “Okay, “Mom”, geez!” Clara blurted out and then froze. Lydia saw the tears welling her patient’s wide eyes. Lydia began to speak, but Clara pushed her emotions away. “I mean, yeah. I get it,” her voice quivered slightly but never fully broke. Lydia thought it was best to move on.

  “Okay. Good. So, we’re clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “More ready than I’ve ever been for anything in my life.” She answered. “Almost,” she added.

  “Let’s go,” Lydia instructed as she stood and motioned for Clara to follow. She rang the buzzer and the door opened. Clara had been stuck in that room for over a week now, and she was ready to see what lay beyond that door, even if it was just more hospital.

  The first thing Clara saw was a familiar face: Jamil. She smiled and nodded to him. He did the same, and then went back to his paperwork at the nurses’ station, copying information from one chart to another. She noticed for the first time how cute he was. He had the same smirk as Michael, though Michael seemed like a distant memory of a time when she was sane. Jamil was an ever-present reminder that she was losing it. A very cute reminder at least, she thought. They walked down a long hall. Lydia pointed to a consult room. “This is where I meet with your parents.”

  Clara paused and touched the plaque that read CONSULTATION and felt a shock of familiarity as if something was waiting for her on the other side. She held the knob in her hand and wondered which set of parents Dr. L spoke to in there, her real parents or the imposters. She drew her hand back and wondered again if they were one in the same. She also wondered if the two realities would ever merge again. She desperately longed to be normal.

  The pair continued to move silently down the hall, Lydia in her sensible flats and Clara in her skid-resistant socks. They passed through what seemed to Clara to be more of an atrium than a hallway. It wasn’t huge, but it was windows all around. To her right, she saw a courtyard complete with ornate white metal bistro sets, a fountain, and in the corner, was that…were those…bunnies?

  “Dr. L, can we go out there?” Clara begged.

  “That’s the plan, Clara. I thought some fresh air would do you some good. It will do me some good too. We both need a change of scenery.”

  Lydia opened a glass side door and held it open for her patient. She led her to one of many bistro sets, and they both sat. Clara watched the rabbits hop and bounce about in the grass.

  “Can I hold one?”

  “I suppose, if you can catch it.”

  “Why are there even rabbits in here?”

  “It’s therapeutic for patients. Makes them feel more at ease. People like to pet them. The repetitive stroking motion calms them.”

  Clara stood and playfully chased down a fat rabbit. She finally detained one and held it tightly as it tried to wriggle away. Hmmm…therapeutic for the patient, traumatic for the bunny, she chuckled. She thought of Lennie and George and hoped that situation never happened here at Breemont. As she sat and snuggled the bunny, he submitted and allowed for the petting. The morning sun felt good on her face.

  Dr. Lindenhurtz began: “Have you used your journal?”

  “A little, but I didn’t write anything important. I wrote about wishing my tv would work. And now it does. I wrote about how I wanted to get out of my room. Now we’re here. Must be magic.” She said in her teenager’s voice with a teenager’s snide inflection.

  Lydia took it in stride. “Keep writing, Clara. It will help.”

  Clara agreed, and continued to stroke the now sedate rabbit.

  “Quite the magic touch, you’ve got, huh?” Lydia commented nodding at the rabbit.

  “Oh. Yeah. He really calmed down.” She surveyed the courtyard. “If I’d have known I could get out of that sardine can they call a room and get to sit in a place like this, I’d have refrained from throwing that last fit.” She said attempting to laugh but grunting instead.

  “Clara,” Lydia looked serious, “There’s a visitor here for you today.”

  Clara cut her off before she had the chance to say more: “No! I’m not ready, Dr. L. I don’t want to see them yet. I can’t.” Clara’s nervousness transferred to the fuzz ball on her lap which had also become agitated.

  “Clara, it isn’t your parents. Breemont has cleared another visitor,” Lydia explained and then waited for Clara’s reaction.

  Clara was confused. She ran through a mental rolodex trying to think of anyone other than her parents who would come visit her. Someone from school? Not likely, she hadn’t tried to make any friends this time. A sibling she didn’t know existed? Doubtful. Surely, a sibling she currently couldn’t remember would have been pictured in the crazy, changing scrapbook her “mom” had dropped off. A “mom” whom she was now cautiously considering could actually be her mom.

  Who is it, she thought and then her entire face lit up with excitement. “Oh my God! Is it Aunt Karen? It’s Aunt Karen, isn’t it! I mean, she’s not my real aunt, but if she’s here, if she’s really here, you already know that.”

  Lydia smiled, “Yes. When your parents told her about what had happened, she flew out to see what she could do to help. I’ve already spoken with her, and she’s very excited to see you. If you want to see her, that is.”

  “Of course I want to see her! Are you flipping kidding me?” She asked, not expecting an answer. “Oh, God. Oh my God. But…what if…” Clara trailed off realizing her excitement may have been premature. “What if I don’t…don’t recognize her?” The rabbit, clearly distressed scurried off of Clara’s lap and away from the table. He found a safe corner in the courtyard and nibbled his little bunny mouth on something invisible.

  “She was worried you might have that concern, Clara. She had a great idea. Here,” Lydia instructed as she held out her phone, “if you’d like, you can see her photo. I took it in the consult room when I met with her earlier.”

  “Aunt Karen? Which consult room?” she asked, not yet allowing her eyes to view the screen of Dr. L’s phone.

  “The one I meet with your parents in. The one I showed you.”

  Clara finally turned her face toward the screen. When she saw the picture, she sucked in her breath and stared at Dr. L with her mouth agape and tears in her eyes. Clara stood so quickly that her heavy bistro chair flew backward and toppled over. Before Lydia knew what Clara was doing, the patient was off and running in her socked feet into the atrium and down the hall. Lydia sat frozen until Clara had run past the last window in the long hall and rounded the corner toward the nurses’ station. When Clara disappeared, Lydia snapped back to life. Worried that she’d never recover from another blow to her career, Lydia bolted after her patient. She had to stop her before she did anything, well, crazy. Lydia’s mind raced as quickly as her feet. She could see it now: PSYCHIATRIST LOSES PATIENT IN LOCKED FACILITY, or LINDENHURTZ LOSES ANOTHER, or even LOCAL PSYCH WARD ON LOCKDOWN AFTER PATIENT STABS ORDERLY WITH DULL PENCIL; PSYCHIATRIST TO BLAME. She had been lucky the Bedford issue stayed mostly out of the papers, well, her name had stayed mostly out of the papers, anyway. She didn’t think she could get that lucky again. She didn’t want to find out if her luck had run low, so she kicked it into high gear, running purely on adrenaline. When Lydia rounded the corner after what seemed like an eternity, she stopped short with her arms flailing for balance. It took a moment for her brain to decipher what was happening
, but finally it did. Lydia watched as an outside observer of what seemed to be the most genuine showing of affection she had ever been privy to: Clara was hugging Karen—Aunt Karen—and crying with exuberant joy. The women wailed together, a reunion for the ages.

  Clara and Dr. Lindenhurtz returned to the courtyard and pulled up a chair for Karen who, along with Clara, was still fighting residual sobs. The pair continued to hold hands and smile at one another as they sat down across from Lydia.

  “Well, that, ladies, was a thing of beauty,” Lydia beamed, shaking her head. “How are we feeling?”

  “So good, Dr. L. You have NO idea.” Lydia didn’t. She had experienced harsh loss—both her parents were dead—but never the happy reunion. “I’m just so happy. So, so happy!”

  “Me too, Bug-a-boo!” Karen answered, squeezing Clara’s hand. “When your momma told me what happened, I jumped ship at work and landed at your house. Your mom is beside herself, hon. They both are. They miss you so badly, and they are unbelievably worried about you. I was too. Until now. You look great, Bug.”

  Clara squeezed back and then felt embarrassed. “Aunt Karen, I recognize you, but I don’t…I don’t recognize them. I don’t understand, but even with pictures, most of the time I don’t recognize them.”

  “It’s okay, Bug. I told them I’d look out for you, okay? I’m here for as long as you guys need me. Dr. L, here, thought it might do you some good for us to have a little chat. Catch up on things, reminisce, blah, blah, blah—shrink stuff.” She giggled and winked at Lydia. Lydia smiled back, at least on the outside. “We’ll get you right as rain, you’ll see.”

  Clara bent to pick up the bunny that had returned and nuzzled her ankle with its cold, wet nose. She cuddled it in her lap. “Thanks, Aunt Karen.”

  Dr. Lindenhurtz pointed to the locket around Clara’s neck which was now half hidden by rabbit fur. She already knew the story from Melanie’s point of view—Lydia had asked her about it when Clara began wearing the locket—but she wanted to hear it from Clara. “Clara, you’ve been wearing that locket for a few days. Can you tell me about it?”