Too late. “Okay.”
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Sometimes when I look at you, I see something’s different.”
That stops me, and the shirt I’m folding falls to the bed. “What do you see?”
“I see that your spiritual energy is at odds with your physical being,” she says, and her hazel eyes turn a deeper shade of green.
I wonder if this is a test, if Ingrid’s testing me before I leave the mental hospital, and I carefully say, “That’s real interestin’.” Is Katrina only acting deranged as part of Ingrid’s plan?
“You have a mysterious aura. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I didn’t know you’re psychic.” She shrugs a shoulder and I breathe a sigh of relief. There’s no plan. She really is deranged. “Give me a holler when you get out,” I tell her, but I doubt that will ever happen.
“What’s your phone number?”
“I don’t know.” Which is the truth. “I don’t know where I live, either.”
“I’ll figure it out. Everyone’s information is on the internet if you know how to find it.”
I’ve done my share of stalking, but I’ve never been able to find everyone’s information. “We can have coffee and catch up.” Where there are people around and she can’t stab me.
She nods and hugs me tight, stunning me with her sudden emotion. Now I feel lower than a snake for thinking she could stab me. That probably wouldn’t happen. At least not in broad daylight.
I never was the popular girl. Not in my hometown, or at school, or when I sang at competitions. I was always just there. Even on Daddy’s side of the family, I was “Pudge’s girl,” like they didn’t remember the name of his only child.
I’ve never known what it’s like to be the center of attention until I walk toward the front doors at Livingston the next morning. A lot of the women have gathered to say goodbye to me, Brittany, the No Time Before You cosmetologist, and I feel as if I should have bedazzled my blue tracksuit and stuck a tiara on top of my Carhartt hat. If I didn’t have my red vanity case in one hand and a plastic personal belongings bag in the other, I’d wave back. It feels like I’ve been voted the most popular girl at Livingston Mental Health, and that makes me smile with mixed emotion as the doors sweep open to let me out.
A crisp morning breeze brushes my face and carries with it the smell of what I now associate with autumn. There is a world of difference between Marfa and Michigan, and I breathe this new kind of fresh air deep into my lungs. I wish it was my first breath of freedom, but it’s not.
A silver car with suicide doors is parked at the curb and a man is loading my cardboard box of clothing into the trunk. He’s wearing a sharp navy suit, white dress shirt, and blue tie, and I gather he must be Donovan. I stop by the back bumper because I don’t know what to do. Should I introduce myself or not?
“May I stow those for you?” He points to my plastic bag and red case.
“Yes. Thank you, sir.” The trunk is spotless and looks like it just came from the showroom. “What kind of car is this?”
He shuts the trunk and says, “It’s the Phantom.”
I’ve never heard of a Phantom, but it sure is fancy. “You must be Donovan.” I don’t know what he’s been told, but it feels awkward not to introduce myself, so I stick out my hand. “I’m Edie.”
He nods and gives my hand a quick shake. “Good to see you again, Young Edie.”
That stops me. “Is there an Old Edie?”
“Your grandmother,” he answers in an even tone, so I can’t tell if he believes the amnesia story or not.
“Is she still alive?”
“Alive and well.” He moves to the back door and opens it for me. “Your mother arranged an appointment for you at Chantal.”
“What’s Chantal?”
“A ladies’ spa. Your mother knows you’d want a massage with Ginger first thing when you arrive in town. It’s been a while since you pampered yourself.”
I don’t know if this is her way of pampering me or putting off my homecoming. The closest I’ve ever been to a spa was when Lida and I made appointments at Tina’s Tranquility off Highway 90 in Alpine. Tina’s idea of tranquility turned out to be a grueling massage and a flute CD playing in the background. I was sore for days and never went back. I suspect Tina and Ginger have different ideas when it comes to spa treatments. “Do I go to Chantal very often?”
“Regularly.”
That’s what makes me nervous. What do they know about Edie? What have they heard, and what questions will they ask that I can’t answer?