In the Wake of Wanting (31 page)

“I need to call Pryana,” she tells me. “I wonder if she knows.”

“Yeah, call her.”

I listen to the one-sided conversation. It’s obvious that Pryana has already been informed of the arrest, and it sounds like the police were the ones to tell her. Coley starts repeating parts of what our friend tells her so I can get more of the story. Both Lucy and Kamiesha reported their incidents last Thursday. This was enough to raise suspicions and force the cops to keep investigating. They found a cab driver who identified Asher and Pryana and said that he’d taken them both to Pryana’s apartment after picking them up at
The Wit
at one in the morning. The cabbie said Pree could barely walk.

A little more research led cops to a surveillance camera outside a nearby bank. It showed Asher walking back toward Central Park about two hours after the cab dropped him off.

The police got a search warrant and found Pryana’s keys in the back of a desk drawer in Asher’s apartment.

Nothing positively identifies him as the rapist, but it puts him at the scene of the crime that night. It also shows him as a liar.

After Coley gets off the phone, she looks up and around her. “We’re here,” she says, the excitement from the previous conversation draining from her face and sullenness taking over.

I look out the window to my left, seeing two main buildings. Behind them are many more buildings, all connected with a tall, black fence that lines the walkways. It looks very much like a prison and not much like a hospital.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says.

“No,” I say, trying to shake it off.

“It could be so much worse.”

“He’s, what, twenty?” I ask her, feeling overwhelmed with sadness. The driver opens the door for us. “Shit, Coley.” I let her get out first, making sure she has all of her things, plus her water.

“Sir, here’s my card. Just call when you’re ready for me to come back.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, giving him a cash tip that I’d gotten out of the ATM last night.

Coley and I stare at the hospital for a few seconds. “What’d you expect? A vast expanse of green pastures? Horses? A hotel-like facility?”

“I’ll sound like an idiot if I say yes, won’t I? I don’t mean to make you feel bad. Shit,” I say again, just trying to get my wits about me. “Is it all necessary?”

She nods her head and starts walking toward the entrance. I follow her, wondering how she does it every month, and at the same time understanding why she doesn’t do it any more often.

“Coley,” someone at the check-in desk says to her warmly. “No Joel today?”

“No, he had too much prep work to do for school,” she says.

It’s at that moment the woman looks up at me and drops her jaw. “Is that–” She looks back at Coley. “Is that? That’s not who I think it is. That’s Jack Holland’s son. Is that Trey Holland? Are you Trey Holland?” she asks, finally working her way back to me.

“Hi,” I say, holding my hand out to her, “it’s nice to meet you…”

“Henrietta, and oh, my, I need a hug from you, cutie! Oooo!” she says loudly. As I hug her, Coley stands behind her and points at my cheeks, making sure I know just how badly I’m blushing right now. “How do you know my sweet Coley?”

“Sweet? I don’t think we’re talking about the same girl,” I tease, then shake my head to let her know I’m kidding. “We write for
The
Columbia Daily Witness
together.”

“He’s my editor, Ms. H,” she explains.

“Is she not the best poet you’ve ever met?”

“She’s one-of-a-kind,” I agree.

“I bet she writes
you
some love poems.” Henrietta winks, and
finally
Coley turns a shade of red that almost rivals my own crimson hues.

“It’s not like that,” Coley says. “He has a–”

“Hard time getting her to focus on anything other than our newspaper,” I interrupt, completing her sentence in a way that surprises her. “Most of the poetry I’ve seen from her has been work-related. I have a hard time getting her to focus on anything else,” I finish.

“She’s always been such a hard worker.”

“Definitely a good quality.”

“Definitely. Especially when it comes to her brother. It takes hard work and patience with Nyall. And a lot of unconditional love. She’s got it all.”

“You’re too sweet, Ms. H,” Coley says, thanking her.

“I think they’re ready for you.”

“Should I wait out here?” I ask.

Both the women look at me, then at each other, then back at me. In sync, they shake their heads.

“Nyall needs exposure to outside people,” Coley tells me. “He may not like it, but it’s good for him. I think
you’ll
be good for him.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Side-by-side, we walk down a long, nondescript hallway together where the only thing that distinguishes one door from the next is the number above it, embossed in white paint on a gray plaque. Looking in the square windows that are centered in each door about five feet from the floor and only a foot squared, I can see the rooms themselves are not so different, either. The comforters are all the same color, and the beds are made. Small, pine desks sit on the opposite walls. Above them, pictures are taped to the wall. It’s the only space in the room that differentiates one from the next, from what I can tell. Each room has three small windows allowing light to come in, but they’re even smaller than the window in the door and they’re up too high for anyone to see out without moving furniture to stand on.

I doubt the furniture can be moved, either.

As far as I can tell, this is barely an upgrade from prison. From what Coley has told me, Nyall would likely be in jail if he wasn’t in here, anyway.

After turning down a few other hallways, we end up in a large room divided into six different sections. Each one has a different pastel-colored rug beneath a matching couch that faces two chairs. A long, narrow ottoman separates the seats. A few of the areas are filled with people sitting around, talking. At the blue one in the far corner sit a brown-haired guy and a middle-aged woman on the couch. Two burly men in scrubs lean against the wall, both taking an intimidating stance with their arms crossed. I notice the addition of some sort of utility belts to their uniforms.

The woman stands up, but the man stays seated, his legs on the couch as he leans against the armrest.

“Coley,” she says, shaking my friend’s hand.

“Hi, Dr. Schubert. This is Trey. I mentioned he might come.”

“Of course, welcome.”

“Nyall,” Coley says as she leans down to give him a hug. I watch their interaction, noticing how tightly she embraces him and how he barely lifts his hands to touch her arms. I also see the two men step closer, taking a more defensive posture. “How are you?”

“Why didn’t Joel come?” he asks, clearly upset. I set my bag down between the two chairs but remain standing, myself nervous with the tense situation.

“Nyall,” his doctor says, “I told you that your brother couldn’t get away from his schoolwork today.”

“Oh, but he sent you these,” Coley says, unzipping her backpack and pulling out a plastic container of something. “They’re homemade potato chips. Your favorite.”

“Thanks.” She sets her bag down next to mine.

“Nyall, this is my friend, Trey Holland.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say as I step forward and hold my hand out to shake his. I mistakenly think he’s going to take it, but instead he starts signing something to my friend. Looking exasperated, she finally takes a seat, and I follow suit.

She signs something back to him quickly, the expression on her face showing her stress and frustration. I look at his doctor, who’s letting them communicate, but I notice how intently she’s watching their hands. I presume she knows ASL.

“He’s signing because he doesn’t want you to know what he’s saying,” Coley explains.

“
That
part didn’t need a translation,” I tell her sarcastically, earning a chuckle from Nyall. I look up at him and shrug my shoulders. “I can go wait–“

While her brother nods, Coley interrupts. “No, he doesn’t make the rules here, unfortunately. He wanted to know why your name sounded familiar.” Nyall rolls his eyes as she relates what they were talking about in silence. “I explained that you were Jack Holland’s son, and he said that couldn’t be… that you were just a little kid.” She turns to me. “They have very limited TV choices here and no Internet. No magazines either. Just books and approved shows and movies. It’s been a few years since he’s seen pictures of you, I’m sure.”

“Do you read a lot?” I ask him. He shakes his head. “Have you read any of Coley’s articles? They’re pretty special,” I tell him.

“No, she’s never showed me any of those.”

I look over at her, wondering why she wouldn’t share them. “I’ll send you copies,” she promises, but it doesn’t sound sincere to me. “What have you done this week?”

“Sleep. Eat. Exercise. Therapy. Eighties sitcom reruns. Repeat.”

“Did you see Mom and Dad?”

“Mom on Tuesday; Dad on Thursday. Same thing every week.”

“What’d they bring you for dinner?” Coley asks, struggling to get him to talk more.

“Nothing memorable.”

“Well… at least you have Joel’s chips. That’s memorable, right?”

“Yeah, these’ll last me an hour.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, feeling bad.

“What do you do around here to exercise?” I ask him, trying to think of something to talk about.

“They have an indoor pool.”

“Nyall’s the reason I love to swim like I do,” Coley tells me. “He taught me everything I know. He was the YMCA champion every year in his age group.”

“Yeah?” I ask him. “I swim, too. I was a lifeguard when I was in high school.”

“He’s on the roster at Columbia. He made it his freshman year. Lucky.”

“I bet I swim faster than you do,” he says.

I laugh. Not many people do.

“Maybe we can test that out over spring break,” Coley suggests.

“We provide swimming suits here,” Dr. Schubert says. “I’m sure we have something that fits you. Nyall’s one of the few that utilizes the lap pool, too. Coley, you, too.”

I look at Nyall first, whose eyes have come to life for the first time today. Grinning, I glance over at my friend to see if she’s game.

“Do you want to, Nyall?” she asks her brother.

“You’d come swimming with me?”

“I never turn down a chance to go swimming,” I tell him.

“I haven’t practiced this weekend,” Coley says. “And I’d love to show you how much I’ve improved.”

I follow the doctor’s eyes as she looks at the nurses. They don’t look thrilled, but they both nod minutely and approach Nyall on the couch. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, raring to go, and follows them down the hall to his room.

“I’ll show you to the locker room,” she tells me and Coley. “Nyall will meet you at the pool.”

Coley’s shivering outside as we’re waiting for the car to come. After I take a few pictures of the facility, I return to her side and put my arm across her shoulders in an effort to warm her up. She already has my coat, so there’s not much more I can do. “They should have hair dryers there,” I say to her as I comb through wet strands of her long blonde hair.

“Well, it’s not a gym,” she comments.

“True.”

“They don’t like anything with long cords.”

“Right.”

“So how many times did my brother beat you fair and square?” she asks, looking up at me and squinting in the mid-day sun.

I grin as I look down at her. “None. But did you see how happy he was? And he was a damn good swimmer. Not a bad competitor at all. Give him a year with my coach, and he
could
beat me.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I’m only competitive when I need to be. I was just having fun today. But you, Coley. Shit, you’ll definitely make the team this year.”

“Don’t get my hopes up.”

“You’re better than half the women they currently have. I know, I see them practice all the time. I see their times, and I clocked you once or twice. I wouldn't lie to you.”

The limo pulls up moments later. I don’t wait for the driver, ushering Coley into the backseat so she doesn’t have to stand outside any longer. It’s warm inside, but I sit next to her anyway and kick my feet up on the seat across from us. I’m about to ask her about her brother when I realize she’s crying.

“What’s wrong?”

“Leaving him is hard. Every time. Knowing what he has to look forward to in the coming weeks. How monotonous must it be in there?” she asks.

I shake my head and link my arm through hers. “I don’t know, Coley. If you weren’t crazy before going in there, I think it would drive you to the brink. But maybe it’s not so bad from his perspective. We know certain freedoms that he’s never had. He lived with your parents and went to live with other guardians.”