The Speed of Mercy by Christy Conlin (good books for high schoolers txt) 📕

not literally a journalist.” Mal handed Grace a business card. And as soon as she did, she wanted to take it back. Under the Arbor, it said. Stories of Mental Health. Malmuria Grant-Patel.

Grace glanced at the card and put it in her pocket. She smiled as Mal poured out her story, how she wanted to talk to Stella Sprague, and hoped to speak to Stella about her father, because he was in the Fellows United newspaper article with Franklin Seabury.

“People are a tad paranoid about visitors, from the whole COVID-19 thing. I’m sure you understand. If you want to speak with Stella, you would need to talk to the head nurse, and her social worker. But it would probably be hard. And I’m not sure Stella can help you. She doesn’t even talk.” Grace put her hand to her mouth as if to stop the words. “Look, I can’t discuss her, okay, Mal?” Her voice was guarded, but still kind.

Mountain Top.

Now

It was sunny as Eugene drove Stella across the Valley and up the South Mountain, the ditches full of asters and brown-eyed Susans.

The road was bendy, rolling up and down. Eugene did most of the talking on the drive. He told Stella about various living options. Staying at the Jericho Centre, of course. And group homes such as Mountain Top. Or an alternative family support program, where a person could live in a private family home, as Dianne had done with Sorcha. Stella’s stomach lifted up and then down as Eugene finally turned left into the driveway of an old home painted green with white trim. There was a sign, Mountain Top, and off to the side in the lawn, a circular garden with a glider swing in the middle with two tired-looking middle-aged ladies sitting on it, rocking back and forth, back and forth. Stella thought of Dianne at the centre, sleeping in her chair.

Dianne had been wandering the halls at night, on lookout, she explained to the staff. Stella knew this was because the woman had come and terrified them on the lawn. Yesterday? Last week?

Stella had been at work on the English country garden puzzle after lunch, putting together an elegant gazebo beside a rose garden. She had an eye for colour and patterns, and enjoyed puzzles. This one had two thousand pieces. Stella had just put another piece of the puzzle in place when Nurse Calvin summoned her with a snap of her fingers. She stood up and looked at the clock over the door. It was 1:45 p.m. She lost track of time when she did puzzles, and her mind emptied out. She thought about the riddle of Isaiah, wondering where he was, why no one would tell her. And the woman who had appeared on the lawn the day before. It was hard to remember. Cat padded into the room and jumped up onto a chair beside Dianne where it sat, flicking its tail.

Eugene had fiddled with his watch, as he always did when he was frustrated. They went into the meeting room behind the nurse’s station and sat down, Stella at one side of the table, Eugene across from her, and Nurse Calvin beside him. He told her Mountain Top had called and there was a room available she could see today.

Stella had watched Nurse Calvin cross her arms. “You don’t have to make a decision. We’ll be the ones to decide that.”

“That’s not how patient rights work, Pauline.” Stella could tell Eugene didn’t want another confrontation.

“If you ask me, not that you bother, it’s all about rights these days. She can’t make a decision to help herself. She can hardly remember what day it is. But she has rights.”

Stella and Eugene went in the front door. It looked like a house but the staircase was closed in and it smelled of institution, like the Jericho Centre — cleaning fluids, floor polish, air freshener. But it was supposed to be a home. The smell was all wrong here. A glowing exit sign stuck out from the wall, like at the centre. A framed list of fire escape procedures was on the wall beside a fire extinguisher in a case beside pictures of cats and sunsets, the smell of banana bread coming from the kitchen. She wanted to go back to the centre, walk with Dianne out to the river. To check her room, the bookshelf, to find Cat. These people didn’t understand what home was to her — it was Dianne. Dianne was her family. And her routine.

Stella rubbed her hands together as they waited. A lady with dyed red hair and grey roots came to the office door and shook Stella’s hand. “I’m Lenore,” she said, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you, Stella. I think you’ll enjoy living here.”

Eugene patted Stella’s shoulder. “If you want to. We’re just taking a look, right, Stella?”

They took Stella upstairs to see the room, with a western exposure. Lenore pointed at the beds. “You would only have one roommate, Stella. Her name’s Ruth. She’s away visiting her brother for a few days.”

Ruth’s side of the room was very neat. She had a bed with a quilt made of different blue fabrics and a bedside table and a rocking chair. There was a bookshelf full of books on embroidery and the wall by her bed was covered in framed embroidered pictures of country houses and gardens and seaside views.

Lenore spread her arms out. “You should see this view on a clear day. All the way down the Valley to Mercy River, almost to Seabury by the Sea.”

Stella started panting. She needed to get back to Dianne. Dianne might have woken up. Maybe Nurse Calvin would spirit her away to the old folks’ home while Stella was out, no goodbyes. And maybe the woman in the yellow dress was right, that someone was watching them. You are being watched. Be careful. Stella rocked from one foot to the other and back again, wringing her hands, looking