The Believing Game (25 page)

“When he's done? When he wakes up?”

“No. Beforehand.”

I didn't understand. I waited for Addison to explain, but then the phone trembled in his hand. He drew me closer with his other arm so that I could see the text too. Getting ready. Reflecting on Brother Jared. “Wait. Joshua's texting now?”

“He said he would.” Addison sighed. “He wants to have each of us on his mind. Remember? Greer, he explained this.”

“Right, but they're letting him use his phone? After he's been put under anesthesia?” I tried to sound more surprised than dubious.

But Addison still heard the doubt edging my question and he bristled. “He's all alone there. Who else does he have?” The phone shuddered again. “Sophie. He's reaching out for her wisdom.” Addison bit his lip, nodded to himself. His breath whistled with suppressed sobs. I tried to stop myself from picturing Joshua in the coffee shop. Probably he'd stepped out of a cab minutes before. He'd settled in somewhere, poured a cup of tea, and then began emotionally torturing my boyfriend.

Another text arrived. “Hannah,” I said.

Addison smiled at me, pleased that I remembered how Joshua had ranked us. He said, “I wish we could all gather together, to wait. For Joshua's sake, you know? But I couldn't get to everyone. And maybe it's selfish, but I'd rather just sit here with you.”

A few miles away, Joshua sat on some sinking sofa, casually typing. I forced myself to focus on Addison — right in front of me, more scared than I'd ever seen him. “I love you,” I told him. Usually we didn't say it so baldly. There was usually a joke attached or even the remnants of some fight. “It's going to be okay.”

He assumed I meant Joshua. “The surgery itself will take four hours and then he'll be in recovery for one night and on a regular floor for six more. If everything goes okay.” Addison stared at the quiet phone. “It's been a while now.” The phone leapt a little, like it had been listening.

He tipped the screen so I could read it. I whispered, “Tell Elizabeth, remember the star.”

“It must be the anesthesia. It's affecting him now.” Addison examined the message more closely. “Remember the star?”

“I don't know what he means.” It felt like I'd failed at something.

“Maybe ‘remember the scar'? The ‘stare'?”

I shook my head. “We'll have to ask him when he wakes up.” It felt dangerous to ask, also necessary. “You don't think it's strange that they'd allow Joshua to send text messages while he's actually in the operating room?” Addison's head reared back and I braced myself for his temper, but then the phone shivered in his hand once more.

We read Joshua's message together: Addison, brother, you are my greatest gift to the world. Be brave. Embody integrity and know that I love y. “He must have passed out then.” I stopped myself from pointing out the convenience of Joshua's pristine spelling. Addison gripped my hand. “You think he just passed out? He didn't — it doesn't mean that he — we haven't lost him. Right?”

“No way.” At least I could be sure of that. I wrapped my arms around him and felt his sobs break across his whole body. Addison moaned and wept while I sat and kept watch and silently swore that somehow I'd find a way to stop Joshua.

Sixteen days later, Hannah asked Sophie and me back to her dorm room after dinner. She sat us down on her bed and pulled up her desk chair to face us. I expected her to launch into a lecture about renewed faith or sharing strength or something.

We'd scattered briefly for the single week McCracken Hill stingily allotted for winter break. Jared went home for Christmas; Sophie met Josie and an aunt and uncle for a ski trip to Vermont. Addison decided to stay close to Joshua. And I decided to stay close to Addison. That and my parents and sister went to Europe without me. “Eliza's deeply interested in the London School of Economics,” my father crackled through the speakerphone during our December family session. He didn't even offer to bring me. Maybe my mom had convinced him I'd steal the crown jewels or something.

Instead, I got to spend Christmas Eve with Addison, eating Chinese takeout with about two dozen other extreme cases at McCracken Hill. Mr. Mikkelsen and Coach Tyson stayed too, and for that whole week we gathered in the faculty lounge instead of the dining hall. We played board games and watched cartoon specials and
Judge Judy
reruns. Addison and I sometimes escaped by pacing around campus, just like we had that first night we'd spent together. He checked in with Joshua on the phone a lot, but we couldn't always slip out to town
and that was a relief — to not always have a destination. To not always need to punctuate the night at Sal's Pizzeria, facing off with Joshua. It was heaven. Like the Poconos retreat, but without the religious indoctrination.

A week after his “surgery,” I'd gone with Addison to pick up Joshua from a bench outside of the hospital. Afterward, when everyone returned, we'd all gathered twice to celebrate his astonishing survival. Joshua occasionally demanded coddling before his stint as a medical miracle, but afterward, he would barely walk by himself. He used a cane all of the time now and called over Addison to help him rise from his chair. He drank from a straw or had Hannah lift the mug of tea to his lips.

Sophie could barely sit through it all, and knowing how she felt about my performance as the best apostle ever made me self-conscious. So we busied ourselves brewing coffee or buzzing around like diner waitresses on Sunday morning. Sophie showed up late and apologized. I left early, claiming meetings with my treatment team. I knew we were only biding our time. Joshua would call us out in some kind of spectacular fashion.

Hannah had gone home for the holidays. She came back early and didn't speak for three days. So when she finally asked us back to her room, I felt reassured. Partly because she was talking again. And partly because I thought maybe Joshua's big confrontation would be that quiet. He wouldn't want to make a scene in front of Addison. So he'd asked Hannah to bring us back into the fold. I waited with the same look fixed on my face that had been there for months. Patient belief. Ready inspiration. And then Hannah said, “I might be pregnant.”

Even with the
might
, it counted as one of the most definitive statements I'd ever heard Hannah make. She didn't sound panicked or fearful. She sounded hollow.

Sophie was the one who sounded panicked and fearful. “What are you talking about?” And then, “Hannah?” I watched the door, half-expecting to see Ms. Crane standing there. Maybe the whole thing was a setup, meant to fulfill a role-play requirement for healthy communication or something. But, nope. The white door stared blankly back at me. And Hannah stared also. Earnestly.

“My period's late and my breasts feel … kind of sore.”

Sophie recovered a little. “Well, that could be stress or even the flu, really. You shouldn't worry yet. Any number of things could throw off your hormones.”

“Including pregnancy,” Hannah interrupted. She tugged on her earlobe and looked up at us. “Guys. It's not like I haven't been through this before. I can tell.” She looked away and then back at us. “I can just tell.”

“Whose is it?” Sophie asked.

And Hannah answered as if insulted. “Well, Joshua's.” As in,
Obviously
. And then I ran out to the bathroom and didn't even reach a stall. I had to puke in the sink.

No one came chasing after me. That's what happens when one of your only friends announces your fake spiritual guru has impregnated her. No one has time to follow you to the ladies' room to hold your hair back while you vomit. Even after I doused my face with cool water and returned to the room, Sophie didn't even bother to feign concern. She tried to lighten up the mood and said, “Greer will grab any excuse to puke dinner after pasta night.”

“Unwarranted,” I declared. But judging by the stifling
vibe in the room, we hadn't yet moved into the realm of lighthearted banter. “Hannah, I'm really sorry. You just surprised me and the shock made me … shaky for a second or two.”

Hannah nodded. Offending my delicate digestive tract hovered on the bottom half of her priorities. I wondered if this part felt familiar to her. Sitting someone down and confessing about the missed period, the slow-building panic. I felt myself sway a little and for one heinous moment thought I'd actually pass out — that's what most guardian angels do, I'm sure. Joshua would expect me to be supportive and reassuring. That was my first thought: that I had to work to keep my status as resident angel. Sophie patted the mattress next to her and I moved unsteadily over to her side. Hannah's eyes darted between us. “You're both really freaked out.”

“Well, yeah,” Sophie said. I let her explain as I fought down another bout of nausea. “I mean, you can see why we'd be freaked out, right? Did he …” Sophie's eyes begged mine for help. “Hannah, did he hurt you?”

“God, no. Joshua would never do that. How could you even ask that?” She hopped out of her chair and onto the cot beside us. “You're so quick to judge him, Sophie. When you let doubt seed your heart, it takes root. You never demonstrated your faith, and we can all tell. There's a difference in how you treat him.”

“Well, some seeds are taking root, all right,” I muttered.

Sophie glared at me. She spoke to Hannah carefully. “I hear you, Hannah, about having faith, but I'm wondering how you interpreted welcoming Joshua into your bed.”

I broke in with, “It was a trust exercise. The point of which was that Joshua wouldn't touch you.” That earned me another look from Sophie, who acted as if I'd just slipped Hannah an answer on a test.

“I don't understand.” Hannah's voice crept higher. “You welcome his spirit.”

Sophie chose her words precisely. “By sex, Hannah? Is that how he told you to show your belief?” She looked confused.

All of a sudden, I understood. If running out of the room to hurl wasn't so offensive, I probably would have tried it again. Just to get out of that room and the choking awareness that I'd played a part in Joshua's manipulation.

“You knew Joshua had spent the night in my room?” I asked. Hannah looked toward me and nodded, almost gratefully. “So you figured, even though maybe it weirded you out when he asked, that I had also … complied.” Sophie exhaled loudly. Hannah kept staring. “Maybe he even implied that he had touched me.” I remembered standing outside the bedroom door at Sophie's cabin. I'd heard Hannah sobbing and hadn't even knocked on the door.

Reaching out to grab both Hannah's hands in mine felt awkward and stupid. But I felt like she needed something to anchor her. When I started to say, “Joshua slept in my bed …” she knew before I finished my sentence. Hannah went very still, and when I told her, “but we never had sex,” it seemed like my words blew past her in a gust. Her face rippled.

I braced myself for Hannah's inevitable breakdown, but instead it was Sophie. It seemed like our cool, calm queen of sass suddenly left the building. She'd buried her head in her hands. “Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ,” she kept saying. “So he's a rapist too. We're dealing with some psycho rapist. Did he threaten you, Hannah? Jesus Christ.”

I tried to maneuver an arm to elbow Sophie without letting go of Hannah's hands. “Shut up,” I mouthed at her. She
needed to keep it together. Hysterics were as useless at that point as chucking in the sink.

Hannah finally tore her hands from me. She wiped them on her jeans as if she'd been contaminated. “Joshua did not rape me.” Her voice quivered and then steadied. Sophie still had her arms wrapped around her head, so Hannah glowered at me. “You don't throw words like that around.”

“Well —” I tried to phrase my words just right, but Hannah wasn't having it.

“You don't.”

“He manipulated you.” Sophie looked up and revealed a face streaked with tears. “You see that, right? He's older than you and holds some place of authority in your life. He tricked you and made you believe that it was some kind of ritual —”

“It
was
a ritual,” Hannah argued.

“No. No, Hannah. A ritual is dunking someone in water or singing ‘Happy Birthday.' Tapping the roof of the car when you blow through a red light — that would qualify as a ritual. He's fashioned himself as some sort of spiritual leader. And then he controlled you. That's rape.”

“I knew what I was doing.” Hannah crossed her arms over her chest. “Just like you knew what you were doing with Jared and Greer knew what it meant when Joshua assigned her to sleep in the same room with Addison that weekend.”

“Okay — that's not exactly the same thing —”

“Sure it is. You hadn't had sex with Addison before that weekend, had you?” Hannah tilted her chin up in a challenge when she asked the question. I couldn't see where she was headed. I couldn't even catch my breath yet to think things through. What were we arguing about anyway?

“No. But —”

“So why did you?”

“Hannah, this isn't important right now —”

“It is. It so is. Why did you decide to do it that weekend?”

My eyes snuck to Sophie. “Well, we had the room to ourselves. And I felt this distance. I wanted — well, you know, I wanted to be sure of him.”

Hannah threw up her hands, like,
There you go.
“I wanted to be sure of Joshua too.”

I looked down and realized I'd been chewing on my fingernails. The truth was that none of the words the two of them were choosing seemed to ring as particularly well adjusted. Hannah acted as if she couldn't afford to think of Joshua as a predator. And Sophie seemed like she saw the whole thing as completely cut-and-dry. It was hazier than that. I felt like everything was crumbling around me. I couldn't find my footing.

Sophie scooted to the back of the cot and leaned against the wall. She looked as if she wished she could just tunnel right out of Hannah's room. “It's not the same, Hannah. Maybe it helps to tell yourself that. But he let you believe that Greer did the same thing. That's dishonest. So if the whole point was to feel closer to each other … well, he based that on a false premise. So it can't count.”

Hannah leveled an irritated look. “Okay, well, I'm still pregnant. Does that count?”

“Of course it does.” I rushed to fix it. Sent Sophie another secret stare message.
If we let Hannah down, we'll send her straight to Joshua.
I'd already ignored her once when she needed my help. Had I just knocked on the bedroom door, we might not even be in this situation. “Have you told him?” At first, I couldn't even say his name. “Have you told Joshua?”

Hannah shook her head. “He has enough going on. And …” She trailed off miserably.

“What?”

“He asked about the possibility.” Hannah chewed her lip. “You know? He asked but I told him there wasn't any.”

I blinked. It still didn't compute.

Hannah sighed. Sophie translated. “She said she was on the pill.”
Well, of course she had been on the pill,
I thought to myself. Hannah had already dealt with one unplanned pregnancy. Her doctor or her mom, someone would have made sure that she protected herself. My sister was a sanctimonious twat, but when she first saw a hickey on my neck, she left a box of condoms in my backpack. Maybe as a passive-aggressive jab, but at least they came in handy. I remembered chasing Hannah out into the woods that weekend, her tear-streaked confession. It's not like she could have blocked out the reality of that first pregnancy in the nights right after. You can't muster up that kind of denial.

“Why?”

“He wouldn't have otherwise. That time would have passed and it seemed like the universe meant for me to prove myself,” Hannah whimpered. “And now it might change everything. What if he gets mad? Or what if the dean finds out and sends me somewhere else?”

We tried to talk her down from that. Sophie and I ticked through all the reasons Joshua couldn't be angry, how Hannah really needed to allow herself some space to be self-centered right then. We decided that we needed to walk to town and get a stick test first. Then once we had a definite answer, we'd figure things out from there. Together.

Hannah looked up and smiled at that last part.

During dinner that night, I begged off going to see Joshua. I knew that looked sketchy. Since Sophie and I had spied on him, it had become more and more difficult to sit across from Joshua, to listen to him lecture about the power of integrity and extraordinary possibility. And Joshua felt my pulling away. He'd started whispering to me as he hugged me good-bye. “Elizabeth,” he'd murmur in my ear, “why is your star fading? You're traveling so far away from me.”

When I whispered to Addison that Hannah, Sophie, and I needed to work on a project together, he paused and looked at me carefully. “What kind of project?” Addison was a terrible actor. I could tell he had meant it to come out casually.

“Women's health initiative.” That sounded like a class McCracken would make us take.