The Wave by Kristen Crusoe (smallest ebook reader txt) 📕

with all that had happened, why didn’t she just go without him? Jet’s voice called her back to the room. They wrapped up by checking out, reciting their numbers again. When her time came, she said four and a half. She knew Jet would want to hear this, to know that this work had helped, and that she was improving. What she really wanted to say was zero. The memory of that final morning, so pathetic in its mundaneness, in its predictability, so lowly. Devon, he was like the sun. He shone so bright but all Adam, and yes, maybe by that time she too, could see was the shadow of the perfect child they had expected. And so, they mired themselves in their prosaic worlds of work, argument, loneliness, and heartache.

* * *

After group, it was time for therapeutic activities. She had been working hard to fit in to the milieu of the unit. Getting up, dressing in the blue scrubs that came without even a string tie around the waist to hold them up. Anything that could be used to strangle, choke, cut off blood was censored. Contraband they called it. She ate, exercised, and participated in group activities. One day, they were creating a group collage from magazine pictures. They would find a picture that looked like how they felt that day. At first, she had found a photo of a canyon, empty of all but shadow, cut in two by millions of years of wear, its river so far removed it no longer seemed to exist. This was how she felt, empty and dredged. But, instead of cutting that one out, she chose a picture of a valley, with sheep grazing on green hillsides, a red barn sheltering daffodils and crocuses. This was the opposite of how she felt, and this was what she shared. It gave her a sense of power, of control. She could find an equation that fit here. She just had to first figure out the numbers. Having a future to look forward to – being ‘future-oriented’ was how they put it. This was essential in not being suicidal. She did have a future she was looking forward to – a future where she would die. And maybe this time, he would too.

Annie, the recreation therapist, was rounding, looking at the different pictures patients were gluing to the large sheet of white paper. She stood behind Clair, leaning over, resting a hand on the back of her chair.

‘That is really lovely, Clair. Does this remind you of any place in your life or is it something you look ahead to?’ she asked.

‘It does remind me of an area I used to pass on my way from home to the coast. Yeah, I hadn’t thought about that, but it does. It always brought me a sense of peace and hope.’

‘That’s good. I’m glad to hear that you are able to connect with those feelings again.’

Annie walked on, looking over another patient’s shoulder. Clair remembered the day, the drive to the coast, that morning. There was that red barn. Devon had called out to look at the lambs. To look at the baby sheep. The memory of that joyful expectation – his belief in her, that she would keep him safe, that his world was a place of wonder and delight, not one where a monster wave could come out of nowhere and sweep you away from all you knew and loved – brought tears, shame, and she bolted, knocking over her chair.

She walked quickly to her room, private now without a roommate, and curled into a ball, clasping her pillow against her aching chest. She lay there for several minutes, rocking herself, tiny moans escaping from deep inside. Linda, the psychiatric aide checked on her. Clair waved her away. Once the emotional avalanche had passed, she sat up. I have to get out of here, she thought. I just have to get out.

Clair looked out the window and saw Jet coming across the parking lot, a man walking with her. Small, slender, black hair. He wore a suit with a white shirt, thin, dark tie. Clair felt a churning in her gut. Jet had said there might be an interview soon, because of the attempt on Adam. Oh God, she thought. Is he coming for me?

Chapter 4

Clair

It was the first time Clair had been off the locked unit since she was first admitted. Jet’s office was in the hallway along with several staff offices and a clinical pharmacy. It felt strange to see and hear normal people going about their day to day jobs, talking about the coming weekend, plans for kids’ ball games, shopping trips to Eugene, and those simple activities that make up a life. Her legs felt shaky, steps uncertain as she followed Jet through the door into a square room, with floor to ceiling windows looking out towards the mountains to the east. A marine layer caressed the tops of Douglas firs, spruce, and scattered redwoods that lay a deep green covering over the land. A clearing, where fir and spruce forests had been cut down, stood out like a wound. It made her sad to see this, and then she remembered why she was here. Looking to her right, she saw him; the detective. Her heart contracted; her mouth suddenly dry. She pressed her lips together to keep from crying out. Jet motioned for her to sit on a chair, next to a small wooden table holding a vase of holly, her back to the window.

‘Clair, this is Detective James Santiago, of the Harbor Police Department. He’s here to ask you some questions about what happened. Do you feel up to talking with him? It’s up to you. You can refuse, and you can also request an attorney to be present. I can stay with you, if you like.’

‘I’m OK,’ she said softly. ‘I can talk.’

‘Do you want to have an attorney present, Clair?’ the detective asked.

He was