Sister Pact (5 page)

The smell of Dr. Applegate's building gets inside me as soon as I open the door to the lobby. Clean. Antiseptic. The scent of hygiene makes me feel like I'm choking on mental health.

I sign in and nod at the receptionist, who is so small and meek, it's like she's trying not to take up too much space. I duck into the bathroom and lock the door. My hands shake as I pull out the bottle of NyQuil and think about not drinking any. Maybe I could white-knuckle it through this session? I look at the bottle, then in the mirror. Its beveled edge makes my face seem cracked and messed up, like a Picasso painting. I take that as a sign and unscrew the cap. I bring it to my lips. There's still time to stop. I don't have to do this.

There's a knock on the door. “Allie? Are you okay in there?”

“I'm fine,” I bark. “I'll be right out.”

“Okay, just checking.”

My lips open this time. I take a drink, letting the gaggy cherry taste slide down my throat. Just three sips. No more. Just three. How bad could three gulps be? I close it, turn on the water, and splash some on my face. I open my mouth and wipe off my tongue with one of the paper towels from the basket. I grab a mint, flush the toilet, and push the door open.

I flop on one of the waiting room chairs and take my phone out. I feel like such a cheat and a liar, but honestly, I'm doing the best I can.

Mom picks up a
Good Housekeeping
magazine and pretends to read it. I pretend to not notice the irony. The cough medicine needs a good twenty minutes to kick in. Till then, I look at my phone. A new text blinks at me.

I slide my fingers across the screen.

Hey. Allie? This is Nick.

The next one, also from him.
Was thinking about our concentration. We need twelve paintings? We could do the months of the year.

I curl my fingers over my lips. Send him a smiley face text back.

Or maybe the apostles?

This time I laugh out loud. Mom turns to look at me. “It's good to see you smile,” she says.

The receptionist appears at the opened door, leans on it to let me know Dr. Applegate is ready to see me. We walk down the hallway to her office. The walls are lined with black-and-white pictures of oversized flowers, stock photo art that's insultingly generic. The door opens and Dr. Applegate comes forward, hand outstretched. “Come on in, Allie.”

I duck into the room and take my place on the couch I hate. Burgundy. The worst color in the world. Dr. Applegate stands in front of me, all stiff colors: super-white skin, black-cherry lips, and chemically whitened teeth. Her hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail. She's dressed in a tight, gray pencil skirt and a crisp white shirt. Dr. Applegate is wearing her perfection like a talisman. I hate to tell her how ridiculous that is. If that worked, Leah would still be here.

She sits. “So, Allie, what would you like to talk about today?”

I look out the window and try to buy time. Her window faces a courtyard. There's never anyone out there and generally nothing to see, but it's a pretty green courtyard with a small maple tree that someone planted next to the window. Its leaves are vibrant, tree-frog green. God, I love greens. Greens and blues are the best colors in the world.

“Allie?” Dr. Applegate tries to make me pay attention. She sits in her sleek black chair, her posture perfect. Her pen taps a pad of lined paper. Her nails are Opi Red. She's so completely refined. So perfect. She's all about power and control. Like Dad. And Leah.

Until she killed herself.

“I'll start. First question, are you taking your meds?” Dr. Applegate shifts in her chair, her crossed leg pointed at me like an accusation.

I stare at the framed certificates on her wall, and the writing goes a little blurry, like my head. I don't answer. The thing is, she doesn't expect me to, because she's got her next bullet loaded and ready to fire.

“Okay, moving on. How was your first day at school?”

That one I'll answer. “Fine.”

“Allie,” Dr. Applegate starts again. “In order to get the full benefits of therapy, you have to participate. This is your time. For you.”

I want to ask if her friend, Dr. Gates, gave Leah the “benefit” of therapy. Does she think he was successful with my sister? I want to ask her, but I don't, because Dr. Applegate isn't who I'm mad at, despite the burgundy couch. She didn't know about Leah's and my pact. I remind myself that she had no idea. And so far, she's stayed far enough away from the danger zone. She deserves something.

“It was weird,” I say. “It felt like everyone was staring at me.”

“That made you uncomfortable?”

I hate this crap. Of course it made me uncomfortable. She's using these questions to settle me down, to lull me. I know this trick. I can't let Dr. Applegate get to me. I can't let her break into the vault. I can't tell her that I'm seeing Leah and hearing her, not just in my memories but as if she's alive. With me. Now.

“We talked about how it was going to be hard to go back. You said you were ready.”

“I am ready. It was just hard.”

Dr. Applegate lasers her attention on me. “Let's talk about the medication. I'm going to ask you again, are you taking the meds?”

I consider lying. But right now, that's not the secret I need to keep. “No. I'm not.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“Because I'm not depressed. No matter what you guys think. I'm the one who didn't do it. Remember?”

Dr. Applegate leans forward. We've danced around this point for weeks. I know she thinks it's time for her to make progress on this. I brace myself for her next question. “Do you think Leah was depressed?”

“I guess so. I mean, obviously, she must have been. Right?”

“You and Leah were close, weren't you?”

I nod. She knows we were.

“She called you her ‘bunker buddy.' Do you know what that means?”

Leah told Dr. Gates. I can't believe it.

“She said it was like a war with your mom and dad always fighting. How was it like a war?”

“They were always so mad at each other. They were ruthless. Horrible.” The tears are building up. I almost don't even care. My mouth feels weird, as if my tongue is swollen. I take a drink of Gatorade and choke on it. “They acted like they wanted to kill each other.”

Dr. Applegate's voice softens. “Like they hated each other?”

I nod. “They acted like they'd never even cared. Like everything that happened between them was a mistake. Even though it wasn't always like that.”

Dr. Applegate shoulders relax and she clasps her hands in front of her like Mr. Hicks did in our meeting. Like she didn't hear my screwup referring to Leah and I as
we
still. “So you devised a battle plan, right?”

“Leah did.”

“Just Leah?”

I nod. It's not quite true, but it's mostly on target.

Dr. Applegate gets up, goes to her desk, and brings back a chart with Leah's name on it. “Dr. Gates gave this to me to help you.” She makes this big pretense like she's flipping through the pages, trying to find the right words, even though I know she's already read the chart, that she already knows what she's looking for, maybe has the passage highlighted. “She decided because she was the ‘general,' you were the ‘foot soldier'?”

My face heats. I feel the rage build. Why would Leah tell them these things and give them ammunition against me? Why did she always break team? I'm not going to answer Dr. Applegate's insulting questions. I shouldn't have to.

“Was Leah the general?”

I shake my head. Not always. She wasn't always in charge.

“Did Leah take her meds? The ones you don't want to take?”

I stand and turn away from her. “I don't know. You have the chart. What did Dr. Gates say?”

“I thought you and Leah were close.”

“No, she didn't take the meds. She didn't want to.”

“Was that a good decision? Not taking her meds?”

I bat at a tear that's gone rogue. “No. I guess not. But we don't know exactly why she did what she did. She might have had other reasons.”

Dr. Applegate nods. “She might have. But what's a good enough reason to kill yourself?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you have reasons to kill yourself?”

“No.”

Dr. Applegate pauses as if she's considering my response. Then before I can tell myself this portion of the session is officially over and we're changing topics, Dr. Applegate says, “If Leah made all your decisions before, who decides now?”

Anger wells inside me. I feel it build, and I can't stop it. Leah said I was stupid about people. She was right. I was stupid to trust Dr. Applegate when this whole time she was ready to pounce on me, using our secret code against me. That was our language. Mine and Leah's—until Leah gave it up to the enemy. She may as well have painted a big bull's-eye on my chest.

“Allie? Who makes the decisions now?”

“I do.”

“You do? You are deciding not to take your meds. Just you? Not Leah's voice in your head telling you not to?”

The room spins with her allegation, but I steel myself. “No. Of course not.”

“Sometimes when people lose someone they love, they continue to see them, hear them, feel them long after that person's gone. It's completely normal.”

I breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in again. I need to stay calm. Not get rattled.

“I think it's important that you see the difference between you and Leah. Even if you were ‘bunker buddies,' you were also different. She danced; you paint.”

She died. I didn't.

“She was depressed; you say you're not.”

“I'm not. I'm just sad. My sister killed herself. Aren't I allowed to be sad?”

“You certainly are, Allie. But what I want to know is why you agreed to the pact to begin with.”

I press my hands into my head.

“Are you getting a headache?”

“Yes.”

“You need to take something?”

“No. It's not bad.”

“Your mother said you need to take your pills when you get headaches.”

I push in harder. As much as I want the headache to stop, I might need it. I might be able to use it to get to Leah. Because I feel her there, behind the headache, like she's backstage waiting for her cue. “No. Don't need them.”

“So why does your mom think you do?”

“Because that's what she does. Whenever anything hurts or is hard, she takes a pill or gives us one. You think that worked for my sister? Is that what you want for me? Because I'm not okay with that. I saw what my parents did and didn't do with Leah. They gave her pills. Like Mom takes. And now she's dead.”

I collapse back into my chair, stunned by the words that came out of me, worried that the firestorm that runs through my veins when I think about Mom and Dad will consume me. And then there is Leah. My hands go to my face, which is hot with shame on top of the huge pile of mad. I should be stronger than this. Leah was.

Until she killed herself.

“I know that was hard, Allie. But it's important to talk about what happened and how you are feeling. That's why we have to find ways to help you cope.”

I nod and I'm not even faking it. Coping would be good. I'm all in for coping. Now that I've been stripped raw and beaten bloody with my own admissions, a little coping might be in order. Suddenly, coping sounds fun.

“Let's try some relaxation exercises. They can help. Go ahead and lean back.” Her voice shifts to a lower register.

I don't think it's going to work, but there's no arguing. After all, she did go to a recent workshop on the subject, the certificate of attendance already proudly displayed in a jet-black frame. Her wall is like her Girl Scout vest with her merit badges, all lined up. Dr. Applegate loves her some workshops. And credentials. She's a freak show of cred, my psychiatrist. Lucky me.

“Let your shoulders relax.” Dr. Applegate's voice is low and steady.

Despite my reservations, I feel myself sink into the leather. It's cool and envelopes me. My body's already on board with her agenda. The cough medicine has made me obedient. They should list that on the label as a side effect.

“Let your body go loose. Feel yourself floating.” Her voice soothes me, and my mind starts to unwind.

My mind takes me straight to snapshots of Leah that pass one by one. I see her posing for me in my studio. Leah laying on her stomach on her bed, holding her new iPhone, the one Dad gave us on his way out the door to live with his girlfriend. The girlfriend he lied to us about. The girlfriend he lied to Mom about. The girlfriend he left us for.

“Let your mind completely relax and find a happy time. Go there.”

Leah looks up at me, her phone in her hand. She starts to talk, but the memory disintegrates till it becomes something else. Till I can't see her anymore, but I can hear her. “I can come back,” her voice loops around me, making me happier than I've been since she did it. “Is that what you want?” she whispers.

She can come back? What does she mean? How?

“Will you do it? Will you bring me back?”

I want to ask her what she's talking about, but I'm so distracted by the scent of mangoes and another smell layered underneath it. Cherry ChapStick. The kind Leah used.

I feel myself nodding.

“That's it, Allie, stay with it,” Dr. Applegate coos.

Leah laughs. I hear her voice so clear and strong that it makes a vision form in my head, like in a movie or a dream. My feet follow a path that seems so real, I can feel the ground under me as I walk barefoot through the woods. Leah is just ahead of me. My mind paints a scene that my heart is happy to follow. I see gray, brown, blue, and green hues. A bird chirps in the distance. A twig underfoot bends and snaps, but I don't care, because I know when I make it through the thicket, I'll find her. I call to her with my mind.
Wait for me
.