Louder Than Words (24 page)

I was beginning to regret that I’d instigated this little voyage into his sexual history. Ignorance was definitely more blissful than a head filled with images of Ben losing his virginity to some French Mrs. Robinson in a grotto behind an eighteenth-century Italian villa.

“Don’t be ridiculous. For one thing, except for your build, you don’t look anything like her. She was blonde, tan, and ten years older than you. Your hair is nearly black, your skin is milky white, and you’re still a sweet, innocent baby.” He pinched my cheeks, puckering his lips like a grandmother and cooing nonsense.

“Ouch. So what you’re saying is that I’m just a pale, unseasoned imitation of the real thing.”

Rubbing my cheeks, I closed my eyes and saw Ben strolling arm in arm along the banks of the Arno with a dazzling girl who was a much better version of me.

“That’s not at all what I mean. You’re not going to let me off the hook, are you?”

“Nope. You dug yourself in deep when you started comparing me to your sex goddess.” I was just teasing, but now that I knew a little bit, I had to know everything.

“Doesn’t everybody have a type—freckles, curly hair, broad shoulders—some little thing that just hits us a certain way? Don’t you prefer some physical traits over others?”

He had skillfully directed the conversation away from his delectable, sophisticated French pastry, but I wasn’t finished.

“Whatever. So you’re
my
type. But were you in love with her?”

He had told me more than once that he loved me. Was I the first recipient of those three precious words, or had my older, semi-doppelgänger, poacher of his innocence, gotten there first?

“Like I said before, it was pretty much all physical. We liked each other, had fun together, but it wasn’t love. You’re my first in that department. And that’s what matters.” Exactly what I wanted—needed—to hear.

“Good answer.” We held hands and watched the shadows grow longer as the late afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky.

Truthfully, I was relieved that Ben had some experience. Otherwise it would be the blind leading the blind, and that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun as what we had.

“But the most important thing Solange taught me was that if a man makes a woman happy—not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually—then he’ll be happy. Stop making that face. You should be grateful to her. You’re the beneficiary of her life lessons.” He cleared his throat meaningfully.

“I’m not making a face. Do you have her address? I’d like to send her a fruit basket. You’ve been well schooled, and I’m very grateful. Her name was really Solange? Are you sure she wasn’t a professional?” I asked, only half-joking.

“Catty much? A professional student, maybe, but nothing else. No money exchanged hands, although I spent a fortune on espresso. That woman never slept. It was exhausting.”

Was he blushing at the memory, or was it just the sun that made his cheeks look pink?

“You win. I’ve had enough. What was it you were going to tell me? What sage advice were you about to offer before we got distracted by Solange?”

Ben tilted his head and thought for a second. “I have no idea what I was going to say. It couldn’t have been that wise if I can’t remember.”

“I didn’t want to know anyway. You were probably just going to tell me to let sleeping dogs lie or stop jumping to conclusions or think of this as the first day of the rest of my life. Some fortune cookie crap.”

“That sounds about right. I just don’t want you to be disappointed. Even if Dr. O. turns out to be the person you’re looking for, unless she admits it, there’s really no way for you to prove it. Your memory of some perfume isn’t exactly hard evidence—definitely not enough to get a conviction. And then what? After reliving your nightmare in front of all kinds of strangers, you’re still you. All your problems will still be there.”

“Stop being so fucking rational. It’s not helpful.” I knew he was right, but I hated hearing it.

“Fine, if you don’t want to listen to the voice of reason, you’re going to have to find a way to shut me up,” Ben murmured in my ear.

“Duct tape?” I offered.

“Not what I had in mind.” He pulled me down into his lap and bent over me, his long eyelashes tickling my cheeks before he kissed me.

“I guess this is a little better than duct tape,” I whispered back. But I wasn’t quite ready to let go and move on.

“Sasha, what are you doing here? I thought we agreed to meet next month. Did something happen since yesterday? Have you recovered a memory?” Dr. O. looked and sounded flustered to see me standing outside the door to her office.

I had already typed my question into my talk box, so I just pressed the play button. “I REMEMBERED A SMELL FROM THE ACCIDENT. PERFUME.”

Now I had crossed the Rubicon—there was no going back. Beads of sweat ran down the back of my neck, but I felt a chill.

“Why don’t you come in and sit down?” said the spider to the fly. I shivered. “My next appointment is not for another half hour. You’re clearly upset. Let’s talk.” She took my arm and led me into her office.

Perching on the edge of the sofa, I jabbed at the keys.

“ON THE NIGHT OF THE ACCIDENT I SMELLED THE SAME PERFUME YOU WERE WEARING IN THE RESTAURANT. WERE YOU AT THE CRASH SITE? DID YOU LOOK INTO THE CAR WITH A FLASHLIGHT? DID YOU WRITE ALL THOSE POEMS? DID YOU KILL MY FAMILY?”

The last five words hung in the air like dense, black smoke. I was either bat-ass crazy, and Dr. O. would talk me down in her clear, rational shrink voice … or my family’s killer was sitting three feet away from me, and now she knew that I knew. Uh-oh. It hadn’t occurred to me until that moment that I could be in some kind of danger. Ben had almost but not quite convinced me that my nose was confused, and therefore I hadn’t thought to tell anyone where I was going. If Dr. O. turned out to be a madwoman, I could be in big trouble.

She took a deep breath and squinted at me over her glasses. “That’s quite an indictment, young lady. Are you intimating that I was in some way responsible for the accident that killed your family?”

I had expected her to launch into a lengthy tirade about sense memories and smells, and how the passage of time inevitably led to internal chaos and jumbled memories, but she didn’t. We stared at each other without speaking for what felt like an hour, but according to the clock behind her head, was only a minute.

The initial shock at my own boldness began to wear off, and my curiosity overwhelmed me. “WELL?”

“Have you shared your outlandish allegations with anyone else?” she asked.

Taking out what looked like a metronome from the bookshelf behind her, she flipped a switch underneath and it began to tick. Shaped like a pyramid with a pointy top, it could have made a nasty weapon, and I gripped my talkie box tighter, wondering if I had the balls to defend myself. Now I knew I was crazy, thinking this world-renowned psychiatrist might hit me over the head with a metronome.

What did she ask me again? Oh, did anyone else know?

“NO. WHO WOULD BELIEVE ME?”

I didn’t mention Ben or Jules. Why drag them into it if Dr. O. did turn out to be Jack the Ripper in a pleated skirt and pearls?
Tick, tick, tick
. The urgent need to know the truth was receding with every tick, like a tide going out. My eyelids felt unbearably heavy. Maybe we could continue this conversation after I took a little nap. Dr. O. said she didn’t have another patient for half an hour. I only needed to close my eyes for a few minutes.

“Well, Sasha, that’s a fascinating story. What a vivid imagination you have. I so enjoyed this unexpected visit, but my next patient is due any minute, so I’m afraid we’ll have to continue our chat next time.”

My eyelids flew open, and Dr. O. glanced pointedly at her watch. What story had I told her that was so fascinating? I barely remembered how I got there. Wasn’t my appointment yesterday? My brain felt like a lava lamp, my thoughts moving sluggishly through the oil. Before I could begin to figure out what had just happened, Dr. O. was on her feet, opening the back door, ushering me out. Obediently I rose, a wave of dizziness almost forcing me back onto the couch, but I closed my eyes for a few seconds and when I opened them, the room had thankfully stopped spinning.

“Don’t forget your talkie box,” she said as she handed it to me and patted my back, almost pushing me out the door. “See you next month. And don’t forget to take your medicine.”

Before I could type in another word, she slammed the door and I was standing alone next to my car, feeling as if I’d just missed something, but I had no idea what it could be. In my car I rested my head against the steering wheel, listening to my own breathing, content not to move. What a peculiar sensation—it was almost as if I’d just had one too many wine coolers, or like I had drunk ten cups of Annie’s dirt tea. Lethargy enveloped me, and all I wanted to do was go to bed, even though it was only four o’clock in the afternoon. Slapping my cheeks to keep myself awake, I opened all the car windows and started the engine. The wind in my face as I drove helped a little, although it was a struggle to keep my eyelids from falling down like a pair of Roman shades. Fortunately it was a short trip back home.

No one was there—Charlotte and Stuart wouldn’t be home from work for hours—but Ben was supposed to come over, although I couldn’t remember why or when. The way I was feeling it didn’t matter. Dropping my backpack by the front door, I kicked off my shoes and staggered to my bedroom. When I fell onto my bed, I felt a lump. Inside my jacket pocket was a small brown plastic bottle filled with tiny white pills. There was no label, but this must have been the medicine Dr. O. was talking about. I pried off the lid and took all of them. Now I could go to sleep.

My head throbbed, and when I opened my eyes I had gone back four years in time. Charlotte’s sleeping head rested on the hospital blanket, her breathing slow and deep, and the smell of bleach and rubbing alcohol burned my nose.

Mom, Dad, and Liz were dead. Any second now that young doctor was going to walk through the door and start explaining my psychiatric condition, trying to paint a bright picture with his description of the flexible adolescent brain. But when the door opened, it was not a white-coated physician who came in: it was Ben. He hadn’t been a dream.

“Are you okay? How do you feel?” He came around the side of the bed and kissed my forehead. “You had us really scared for a while.”

I shook my head, trying to shake out the cobwebs.
What happened? How did I get here?

“You took an overdose of sleeping pills. You don’t remember?” he asked.

What are you talking about?
But wait, there had been a tiny brown bottle, little white pills. I rubbed my temples, trying to recall.
I went to Dr. O.’s office. I asked her straight out if she killed them. She said something about taking my medicine and sent me home
.

“You went to see her, and you didn’t tell me?” Ben sounded hurt.

What was it with guys? Somehow, no matter what happened, it was still all about them.

Sorry, I thought you’d laugh at me, or try to talk me out of it
.

Ben swore under his breath. “I was the one who suggested it in the first place. What a terrible idea that turned out to be.”

But nothing happened. She just said I had an active imagination and that she’d see me next month
.

“You took an entire bottle of sleeping pills, Sasha. That’s not nothing. Why would you do such a crazy thing?”

I don’t know
. I struggled to remember exactly what had happened.
Wait a second. Dr. O. had a metronome, and it was ticking, and I got so sleepy. I just wanted to go to bed, and I couldn’t go to sleep until I took the pills
.

Ben said, “It’s obvious, Sasha. She must have hypnotized you so you would take them.”

All my thoughts were jumbled. My brain was a deck of cards, and someone had scattered them all over the floor. I could hardly follow Ben’s words.
Hypnotized me?

“Yes, Sasha. That’s what the metronome was for. Sometimes my mother uses one to put people under. It’s not uncommon.”

But why would Dr. O…
.

“Because it turns out you were right about everything.” Ben took both my hands in his and squeezed hard. He looked like he was about to cry. “You’ve been right all this time. I didn’t want to believe it, but it
was
Dr. O’Rourke who caused the crash.” It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

What?
I tried to sit up, but the room began to go dark, as if something were moving across the sky, blocking out the sun. Standing inches away from me, Ben was lost in the shadows. I fell back against the pillows.
How do you know that?

Putting his hands firmly on my shoulders, Ben said, “Sasha, you have to stay in bed. Don’t you understand? You almost died.”

My mental eclipse passed, and the room slowly brightened.
I need to talk to her. I need to know what happened
.

“The thing is, Sasha, you can’t talk to her.”

Why not? Did they arrest her? Why can’t I go see her in jail?

Ben paused. “You can’t talk to her because she’s dead.”

I had just seen her, just spoken to her. She couldn’t be gone. The blackness threatened, but I gripped the bed rails, fighting to stay conscious.
How did she die?

Ben hesitated again, as if he didn’t know whether or not he should tell me the truth. “She shot herself when she found out that you were still alive.”

She what?
Like a crime scene photo, a picture of Dr. O. with blood spattered all over her pale blue cashmere sweater flashed through my mind. It didn’t look real. It didn’t feel real.

“You didn’t answer the door when I came over Wednesday afternoon, and I couldn’t feel you, so I let myself in with the key hidden under the rock in the flower bed. You were unconscious, and there was an empty bottle next to you. I called 911. The police took it from there.” Ben was whispering, but Charlotte was sleeping so soundly, I doubt he could have woken her if he’d been shouting.

Thank you. You saved my life … again
. I felt like a cat. How many lives did I have left?

“The doctors did all the heavy lifting. I just dialed the phone.” Ben closed his eyes and said, “I thought I was going to lose you.”

But how did you know where I got the pills?

“It didn’t take ESP to figure that out. Where else would you get heavy-duty sedatives?” Ben paced back and forth next to my bed. “I told the police about your detective work, showed them the poems, and yesterday they went to talk to her.”

Yesterday? What day is it? How long have I been here?
I felt like Rip Van Winkle.

“Two days. It’s Friday.”

In one sense, it seemed like only a few hours had passed, but with all that had happened, months could have gone by since I stumbled out of Dr. O.’s office.

What did she say to the police?

“Not much,” Ben said. “They told her you were in the hospital and they were investigating your overdose as well as the crash. She said something like, ‘I can’t do this anymore. Tell Sasha she was right,’ and then she pulled a gun out of her desk drawer and shot herself in the head.”

She said I was right? About which part? What does that even mean?
I had been so close to finding out everything, and now I would never know.

“That’s all she said. The police searched her office, but there was no evidence to explain how the crash happened.”

Did you try to read their minds? Maybe the police weren’t telling you everything
.

Ben grinned. “They told me everything they knew. Besides Dr. O.’s crazy confession, the only strange thing was your chart. It was full of lies. She described you as seriously unstable, with suicidal tendencies, that she had caught you stealing meds from her office several times over the last few months. If you had died, it probably would have been ruled a suicide. No questions asked. She almost got away with it.”

I don’t know what to think
.

“It’s simple. Once she knew you knew the truth, she had to get rid of you.”

But what is the truth?

“I don’t know what happened four years ago, Sasha, but two days ago your psychiatrist tried to kill you. She was a very bad person. But she made one huge mistake. It didn’t occur to her that you had already told me everything.”

I told her that I hadn’t told anyone. I didn’t want to get you and Jules involved in my mess
. At least I had done one thing right.

“She actually believed you wouldn’t tell your boyfriend what was going on?”

My boyfriend. I like the way that sounds
.

Even in the midst of all these shocking revelations, I was still easily distracted by the extraordinary fact that Ben loved me.

“That’s all you have to say? I just told you that your psychiatrist tried to kill you, faked your medical records, and committed suicide in front of three policemen. What’s wrong with you? You must still be kind of out of it,” Ben said as he pressed his hand against my cheek.

Did you tell Jules what happened?

Ben nodded. “She was here this morning. I’ve never seen her so upset. She feels guilty, and she’s kind of mad at me for being so skeptical before. You’re lucky to have a friend like that. She’s a pit bull.”

She’ll get over it. And it’s not your fault. You were just being rational
.

“I should have believed you. I’m so sorry.”

Stop being sorry. Everything’s okay. But there is one thing
.

“Anything,” Ben said.

I need you and Jules to figure out how to be friends. You’re both so important to me
.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it work. I know you two come as a set. But forget about that. What about your voice? Try to talk. Now that it’s over …”

It wasn’t really over. Some of my questions had been answered, but the biggest one still remained, and the only person who could answer it for me was in the morgue. If my voice didn’t work now, there was no place to go. I looked down at Charlotte, who was beginning to stir. One eye opened, then the other. She sat up and gently stroked my arm.

“Oh, Sasha, you’re awake, thank goodness. It was almost like before, and we were so afraid you might not make it this time.”

My heart banged against my rib cage as I opened my mouth. Maybe Ben was right. It was my time, my turn. Did I really need to have all the answers as long as my Prince Charming was standing next to me? But of course that would have been too simple. Nothing but air emerged from my parted lips.
Shit
. Tears pooled at the corners of my eyes, but I swallowed hard and they began to recede. It was far from perfect, but at least I was alive, and I wasn’t alone, and no one in my family had died this time. On the table next to my bed was my talking box—I guess we were stuck with each other for a while longer.

“I’M FINE. DON’T WORRY. NOT LIKE BEFORE.”

“You’re right. It’s not like before, but I can’t believe what happened. Ben told me how you figured everything out. Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing? I could have helped you … protected you.” Charlotte plucked a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.

So this was where my procrastination had gotten me. I had quite a bit of explaining to do.

“YOU’RE RIGHT. I SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU, BUT I FELT STUPID, AND I WAS GOING TO TELL YOU WHEN I WAS SURE ABOUT DR. O.”

“Sasha, promise me you won’t keep any more secrets from me. I promise not to judge or preach, but I need to know what’s going on in your life.”

Twisting the tissue around her fingers, Charlotte looked as if she were working hard at not being judgmental—either that, or she was already planning the lawsuit she was going to file against Dr. O’Rourke’s estate. Ben had taken a seat in a chair in the corner, quietly observing the scene, pretending to be preoccupied with setting his watch.

I know, I need to come clean about your mother and the tea and spending time at your house
.

Ben nodded.

But I’m not telling her about my selective mutism. She doesn’t need to know about my talking until I can talk directly to her
.

Ben nodded and shrugged. This was a very efficient means of communication. Now he was looking down, pretending to read a magazine as I was thinking at him. Then he lifted his head and our eyes locked.

I love you … so much
.

He nodded, and nodded, and nodded. This was
way
different from last time.

“THERE’S SOMETHING ELSE I DIDN’T TELL YOU. I’VE BEEN SPENDING A LITTLE TIME AT SEASHELL LANE, AND BEN’S MOM HAS BEEN HYPNOTIZING ME, TRYING TO HELP ME FIND MY VOICE.”

There. That wasn’t so hard. I hoped that Charlotte would focus on my willingness to share my life with her now, instead of harping on how I had left her out of the loop for so long.

I don’t think she needs to know about the tea
.

Ben tipped his head dubiously, but he didn’t have to live with Charlotte.

“Sasha, you’ve been living a secret life.” Her voice was getting shrill, and I wished Stuart were there to throw a blanket over her indignation at being excluded from my inner circle.

“I JUST DIDN’T WANT YOU TO WORRY ABOUT ME ANY MORE THAN YOU ALREADY DO. I LOVE YOU AND STUART SO MUCH.”

That did it. Her shoulders relaxed, and the creases in her forehead disappeared. All she needed was a little reaffirmation, a reminder that she meant the world to me. Something I needed to do more often.

“Oh darling, our job is to worry. Now tell me about Ben’s mother,” she said, smoothing the blankets. “I met Dr. and Mrs. Fisher the weekend they moved into the house—I had no idea she was a hypnotist.”

“IT HASN’T WORKED, BUT I’M REMEMBERING MORE—STUFF FROM WHEN I WAS A KID, AND THE NIGHT OF THE ACCIDENT.”

“How awful for you. You shouldn’t have been going through that alone.”

“NO, IT’S GOOD. I NEED TO DO IT. IT MAKES ME STRONGER. ASK BEN.”

“It’s been all good, Mrs. Thompson. I think whatever happens with Sasha’s voice, she’s going to be fine,” Ben said. “And I’m sorry you were in the dark about everything. But Sasha really wanted to surprise you with her recovery. She meant well.”

Charlotte went over to Ben and hugged him. This was a weird day. “You’re such a sweet boy. Thank you for being so good to Sasha.”

Quite the lovefest. Should I give you two some privacy?

Ben glared at me over Charlotte’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t thank me. I only wish I could do more.”