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  Mr. Song patted Adriana on the shoulder. His face looked troubled. Fiona reached over and took one of Adriana’s hands in hers. “Mayflower is not really different from here,” she said. “Only there you can stay longer.” Adriana despaired at the thought. She couldn’t imagine anywhere she liked less than here.

  Adriana and her father retreated to her room. Mr. Song stroked his invisible goatee. She looked up at the ceiling. Was the camera on? There was no glimmer of metal above her, so she decided it wasn’t. Adriana leaned toward her father and whispered, “Dad.” He looked up. “They’re killing me in here.” Mr. Song’s eyes widened. “I want to go home,” she whimpered, rocking back and forth.

  Mr. Song’s face was a blur. Adriana didn’t even realize she was crying, until her father came to stand beside her and offer her a tissue. Mr. Song rubbed her back. “They’re trying to help you Adriana,” he said. “They wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I wouldn’t let them,” he said. Adriana thought of Beth sitting at home in front of the television, eyes glazed. That was a hurt.

  At this moment, Mr. Song thought of Beth too. The cartoon would be over and Beth would be watching whatever was on next, barely conscious of the room around her. He stood up straight as though he were a soldier at attention. “I have to go, sweetie,” he said, his voice full of regret. “Beth’s home alone.”

  Adriana put her head down and let her hair fall around her face. She thought about her sister’s terrified eyes, staring at nothing, Adriana shut her own eyes and saw her mother’s face, staring back at her. She looked, Adriana thought, worried.

  Adriana slept for a long time and only woke up when there was a knock at the door. Fiona and Joanne entered the room, and Fiona smiled. Adriana wasn’t about to trust her this time. Fiona had given away her secrets and was clearly in cahoots with Dr. Chen. Adriana looked away.

  “Rise and shine, hon. You’re moving up to Mayflower,” Fiona said, her voice slightly troubled. Adriana looked at her sharply, her eyes narrowed.

  Fiona looked startled, and then hurt. Adriana turned her face to the wall. Joanne, her blonde perm hair-sprayed stiffly into place, said briskly, “You’re going to have to get up, dear.”

  Adriana stood, with a blanket around her shoulders. She watched as Fiona and Joanne piled her things into plastic bags and set them on the bed. Her own hands stung as though she’d dipped them in salt water and she realized why Fiona hadn’t asked her to get her things ready herself.

  Adriana felt helpless, watching her worldly belongings accumulate in a pile. They were the things her father had brought her—practical things—clothing, a hairbrush. She was conscious of the fact that things that were important to her were missing from the pile. They were at home. The family photos and the old school projects, the ribbons her mother had given her for her hair when she was younger than Beth was. Things she didn’t often look at but kept squirreled away in a box under her bed. Sometimes as she lay there, she would feel the heat of the box beneath her, glowing in the night.

  Fiona and Joanne were finished. “We’ll help you take these things upstairs,” said Fiona, her face turned away from Adriana. Joanne went to find a trolley, and Fiona stood in the doorway. “Adriana,” she said. “I’m sorry you’re upset with me. I did what I thought was best for you. What I had to do, as your nurse.” Adriana remained silent. “Anyway,” Fiona hurried along, sounding as though she might cry, “Mayflower is where you’ll get the treatment you need.”

  Adriana looked at Fiona as though a harsh new light shone on her, Fiona wasn’t so impervious to pain, then. Her golden life was maybe not so golden after all.

  All Adriana’s things were loaded on a trolley, and squished into the elevator with Adriana and Fiona. They didn’t speak on the way up to the fourth floor, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Adriana was anxious about what she’d find on Mayflower, and Fiona was lost in her own thoughts.

  When they reached the fourth floor, Fiona backed out of the elevator into a noisy hallway, pulling the trolley with her while Adriana rested her hands on it, afraid to let go. Fiona looked at her with warmth and pity. “It’s going to be alright,” she said, and Adriana nodded, trying to convince herself, ignoring the pity. Fiona smiled, knowing she was forgiven, or at least, that the question in Adriana’s mind about Fiona’s trustworthiness had taken a back seat to what was happening in her life right now.

  In the common room, the TV blared, just as it had on Short Stay. This was a larger unit though, taking up the whole south side of the floor. Adriana could see from where she stood that it was as big as Short Stay and the assessment unit combined. Adriana knew from hearing Marlene and Redgie talk that Laurel Unit— where people who were getting ready to be released back into the community were transferred after Mayflower—was across the hall. She dreaded the idea.

  In the past she knew the hospital housed maybe four times as many units plus the forensic unit on the fifth floor. Nowadays though, people were treated in the community as much as possible, and the hospital had shrunk in on itself. It made Adriana’s spirit dwindle to think she was one of those who still needed care in this relic of another age. She felt her mother’s grey eyes on her, as though to say, you are one of the weak ones.

  In the common room, Adriana noticed Jeff sitting in a rocker, unmoving, his hands pressed together as if in prayer. Adriana was glad to see a familiar face, but Jeff looked pale and less well than when he was downstairs. Adriana waved in his direction but he didn’t seem to see her.

  Fiona had stopped at the nursing station and had put on her best Newfoundland accent. “Good to see you, my duck. I brought you another.” She winked at Adriana, as the serious young woman consulted her papers. “She’s with Elspeth,” the orderly said, without cracking a smile. Adriana thought of her face exercises from Jazz—she hadn’t done them since she came to hospital and she felt her face sagging. But Fiona was bright and cheerful, and told Adriana, “Elspeth! My girl, you’ve won the lotto. She’s a handful of cherries.” A nurse stuck her head out from the office where Adriana could see the nurses working on computers. She was a big square-jawed woman with wavy greying hair pushed back with a plastic hair band with teeth. She smiled at Fiona. “Who have you brought me today, Fifi?” she asked, consulting her clipboard. Her voice was calm and intelligent. Elspeth looked up at her. “Adriana Song? Why, that’s a beautiful name. Can you sing?” Adriana shook her head no. “Because there’s chapel service on Sunday and they could probably use a soprano.” She set her clip board down carefully. Adriana was anxious about this woman, who seemed slow moving and strange—but if Fiona liked her, maybe she was okay.

  Fiona chatted away to Elspeth while they walked Adriana to her room at the southern end of the unit. She was on the side of the hall away from the harbour this time, and felt as though she’d moved to the wrong side of the tracks, away from the ocean view.

  There were four beds in the room, three beds made up neatly and one a mess of blankets and clothes. For privacy, it was possible to draw a curtain around each bed but it was clear whoever was in the other bed didn’t care much about that.

  Fiona and Elspeth unloaded the bags of Adriana’s stuff from the trolley. Adriana sat down on the bed, exhausted. She would deal with her things later. The nurses looked at her with understanding eyes. “You rest,” said Elspeth kindly, “We’ll talk later.”

  Fiona gave Adriana a hug, Adriana was tempted to hold on, to beg Fiona not to leave her. But she didn’t. “You’ll be just fine, my lovely,” she told Adriana. “Elspeth will take care of you.” She patted Adriana’s arm. “Now I’m going to leave you be,” she said.

  Adriana watched Fiona close the door behind her. She lay on the bed, and felt her brain sloshing slowly around, as though caught in a whirlpool. She stared upward. The ceiling was the same as downstairs in Short Stay, white tiles with holes in them. She didn’t see anything like the glimmer of a camera. Maybe there weren’t any.

&nbs
p; Chapter 21

  Adriana slept and dreamed that a woodpecker was knocking on her skull. When she awoke, she realized the woodpecker was actually an enormous woman counting change from a small change purse onto the table beside the messy bed. She must be over 6 feet tall, Adriana thought. The woman turned to her and smiled, and Adriana realized her roommate was practically a senior citizen, though she had the build of a hockey player. “Did you sleep well?” the woman asked, with a throaty trill that reminded Adriana of Julia Child.

  Still befuddled with sleep, Adriana nodded. The woman went back to counting change. Eventually she sighed and scooped the coins into her hand, with a flourish “Just enough for a Coke!” she thrilled. “Do you want something? If you have the money I’ll get it for you. I’m Samantha, by the way.” In two strides she reached Adriana’s bed, hand extended. Adriana shrank back involuntarily. “Pleased to meet you,” Samantha said, obviously hurt, and yet apologetic. She smiled briefly and said, “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Adriana felt ashamed of herself, but Samantha frightened her. She looked like something from another planet.

  Adriana took stock of her neighbour’s possessions. There were clothes strewn on the bed and a faded poster of Barbara Streisand above it. On the bedside table sat an accordion, a makeup bag and a package of rice cakes. Adriana smiled drearily in spite of herself and shook her head. What kind of creature was this Samantha?

  Five minutes later, a can of diet cola almost hidden in her massive hand, Samantha reappeared and smiled shyly at Adriana. She sat on the edge of her own bed while Adriana sat up, wakeful and alert. Samantha took a swig of Coke, staring out the window at a couple of crows. They looked cocky and gleamed as though they’d been polished.

  Samantha smiled and pointed her pop can at them. “Two crows: joy,” she said happily. Adriana took a breath and asked, in a voice croaky from disuse, “How did you learn to play the accordion?”

  Samantha turned toward her. Her nose was long with a Roman bump, and her eyes looked sad. “I was part of the Salvation Army band,” she said in a slightly pained voice, “in England. But here in the Americas it’s all brass.” She did have a slightly English accent, Adriana thought.

  “I came to Canada in the 1970s. Following my love,” Samantha said. She took a framed photo from the drawer of her side table and held it up in front her chest, so Adriana could see it. It was a photo of Samantha bending down over the shoulder of a short bespectacled man in a white button down shirt and expensive looking trousers and shoes. He was grinning proudly for the camera as a younger, more slender Samantha, in a minidress that just covered her massive thighs and a pill box hat, smiled as though she would never stop.

  Adriana doubted it was Samantha’s boyfriend. But she nodded her head and tried to smile, her eyes wary. Samantha sighed. “He was the love of my life.” Wiping a tear from the corner of her eyes, she asked, “Are you too young or have you ever had a special someone?”

  Adriana was taken aback. Was this giant of a woman really asking her about her love life? She shook her head and mumbled something non-committal, then rolled onto her side, as if to go back to sleep. Samantha hummed a tune in a wavery contralto, and Adriana drifted off despite herself.

  The next morning Adriana stood in the hallway a moment to get her bearings. There was a south facing window to her left, from which she could see the oil refinery in the distance. Its convoluted structure reminded her of a musical instrument crossed with a blow torch, with a flame rising from a thin chimney. It was a depressing sight . She turned away from it and walked toward the nursing station. No one was in the hall, and the TV was blaring as usual in the empty common room. Outside it was a beautiful day—maybe everyone had gone for a smoke.

  Adriana turned off the TV and sat down in the rocker. The nurses were tucked away in their office, where she could hear them laughing every so often, playing their video games. She felt at peace for the first time in weeks. A silent square of sunlight crept across the common room floor toward her feet. Adriana imagined that when it reached her she would—as though touched by King Midas—turn to gold, starting with her feet and slowly spreading upward. That would be a desirable way to die.

  Elspeth was standing beside her before Adriana noticed her. The nurse sat down in a chair facing Adriana, her heavy body causing the chair’s vinyl cover to exude a gust of air. Elspeth sighed, and brushed hair off her temple, smiling at Adriana but saying nothing at first. Adriana looked down at her hands and kept rocking. For some reason, at this moment, she thought of her mother, whose grey eyes were looking not at her daughter, but dreamily out at the sea. Adriana was surprised, even slightly anxious, that her mother wasn’t paying her more attention.

  “You know, I had a half-Chinese friend when I was young,” Elspeth said. “Her father owned a restaurant and he married one of the waitresses. Kids used to throw rocks at the windows until he chased them away.” Adriana nodded, still looking down. “My friend—her name was Stacey—always fed me chicken balls. She told me they weren’t real Chinese food, but she liked them anyway. She said they were like her brother, yellow on the outside, chicken on the inside. ”

  Adriana smiled drearily. Her father would like that, she thought. He always enjoyed good-natured Chinese jokes, the cornier the better.

  Elspeth looked up at the ceiling. “I always thought Stacey should be a stand-up comedian, but she became a lawyer.” She shook her head and smiled. “Such a waste.”

  Adriana looked at Elspeth—greying, middle-aged, otherwise non-discript. She didn’t wear a wedding ring, but looked like a grandmother. Adriana’s bare feet felt warm. The sun had reached and covered them, like a pair of socks. She surprised herself by wanting to stop at this moment, let time go on ahead and remain here in the common room with Elspeth, her feet bathed in gold.

  Elspeth breathed and got up from the vinyl covered couch with difficulty. Adriana twinged with disappointment, but Elspeth walked stiffly over to her chair and touched her lightly on the shoulder. “You’ll see the doc tomorrow,” she said, patting her shoulder kindly, “but if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.”

  Adriana felt an edge of desperation. “Could we talk now?” she asked.

  Elspeth looked mildly surprised and smiled. “Let’s find an interview room,” she said.

  All the rooms were empty. Adriana entered the first one, and sat on a chair close to the window, while Elspeth plumped herself down near the door. Adriana knew that was the policy, that the medical staff should be closest to the door in case the patient became threatening. She had heard it from someone on Short Stay. She couldn’t remember who. It sounded like the kind of thing Jazz would know. Adriana missed her, with a gnawing ache. She’d been too numb and too wrapped in illness until now to really care. But the move to Mayflower had stirred something up in her. She felt a kind of melting and a movement, as though she’d been encased in ice that was beginning to thaw. It wasn’t exactly hope, but it was something.

  Elspeth took off her hair band, and her greying hair fell wavy beside her face. She looked simultaneously younger and older—less severe and yet plainer, if that were possible. She looked like a person Adriana would pass on the street without a second thought.

  Elspeth leaned back in her chair. ‘So…” she said. Adriana looked down. “Would you like to start?” Elspeth asked. Adriana shook her head, furious with herself for the tears dripping off the ends of her nose and her hair.

  Elspeth sat back, considering, then leaned forward. “I know someone with a daughter,” she said, “about your age. The daughter had a baby last year.” Adriana looked up bleary-eyed. “She thought having a baby would complete her. Now she’s a stay-at-home mom and depressed to boot. Actually, she’s a stay-in-bed mom. My friend takes care of her grandson.”

  Adriana tried to imagine why Elspeth was telling her this. Was it to make her realize how lucky she was? That she should pull herself up by her bootstraps? Elspet
h’s face looked slightly pained, but she was smiling.

  “I want you to know that I think you did the right thing, coming here,” Elspeth said. I wish my friend’s daughter had done the same. Sometimes I ask myself, what if my friend hadn’t been working as a psych nurse—would her daughter have felt differently about coming here for help? Could my friend have done anything else to get her daughter to see someone? But in the end, she’s a bright girl, like you are, and she wanted to do things her own way. She just made a bad choice. I think you made the right one.” Adriana couldn’t imagine that she’d made the right choice. How many wrong turns do you have to make to end up in the mental hospital? But she admitted to herself that having a baby to cure depression was like swallowing a bottle of insect repellent to keep mosquitoes away. How did she know that? Perhaps it was from her mother, who never hid from Adriana that having children had turned her life upside down.

  Adriana gazed at Elspeth. Was this friend of hers, the psych nurse, actually Elspeth herself? Adriana couldn’t imagine her, carrying a baby on her hip as she poured tea to bring to her depressed teenage daughter.

  Elspeth leaned forward. “So Adriana, I’m listening. What did you want to talk about?” Adriana looked at Elspeth’s hands. They sat in her lap, free of any ornament. They looked like they belonged to a baker or someone who worked at manual labour, strong square hands with nails cut short.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Adriana said. That was all she could think of. She shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Elspeth leaned in. “It sounds like maybe you’re having the same kind of problem that a lot of people your age have,” she said. “Just because you have a mental health difficulty doesn’t mean you’re not facing the same problems your peers are.” Adriana wasn’t sure what to think— it hadn’t occurred to her that what she was feeling was typical in any way.