"You stabbed your grandmother?" I shriek.
"With the kitchen scissors!"
Oh, dear Lord. Oh, dear Lord. Oh, dear Lord.
"Where did you stab her?"
"In the kitchen!"
That's not exactly what I meant. Did she stab her in the arm? In the chest? Oh, dear Lord, did Lindsey kill Dr. Dupree?
"She was sitting at the kitchen table!" Lindsey shouts and begins pacing the carpet, scratching at her arms. "She was paying bills and she just…she just kept talking. She wouldn't stop! She was talking about sending me away, locking me away where they'll strap me down and give me shock treatments! But now I think…you know….maybe she never said those things at all! Shannon…I think…I think maybe…she was talking about ordering Chinese food! But…that's not what I heard! So, I grabbed the kitchen scissors off the counter and stabbed her. She looked really surprised."
My head spins. I hold it, as if to physically still it. Dear Lord. What am I supposed to do?
"Did you leave her in the kitchen?"
"Yes."
"Where is your grandfather?"
"He was in his office."
I almost breathe a sigh of relief. Dr. Dupree isn't alone. Lindsey's grandfather has found her by now. I take a deep breath. And another. I need to figure out what to do. What do I do? Call Lindsey's house. That's the first logical step. I grab the cordless phone off the coffee table.
Lindsey goes berserk.
"Don't call the cops!" she screams, rushing at me. She knocks me down. "They'll take me away! They'll put me in an institution! They'll leave me there to die!" Lindsey begins to cry. "I'm not sick. I'm not sick. I take my medication. My grandparents and Dr. Petrinski never believe me. I take it. I don't want to be crazy. I thought I could solve it myself. It doesn't seem to be working. I think…I think it's made me crazier than before. My grandparents and Dr. Petrinski can't figure out what's wrong. I don't understand either. If I take more, shouldn't I get better faster?" Lindsey's sobs grow louder. She starts pulling at her hair.
I almost drop the phone. How did I not realize? The last time Lindsey was here, what was it she said? Too much is better than too little. Better safe than sorry. I should have listened. Lindsey was telling me. She's overmedicating herself!
"I'm just calling your house," I tell her in a calm, soothing voice. At least it sounds calm and soothing in my head. I wonder if out loud it shakes.
I dial Lindsey's number. The phone rings four times, then the machine answers. I knew they wouldn't be there. They've gone to the hospital. Oh, dear Lord, please don't let Dr. Dupree be dead.
"We have to go to the hospital," I say to Lindsey, firmly. "That's where your grandparents have gone. We'll find them and…straighten this whole thing out."
Lindsey nods, still sobbing, pulling at her hair.
"Why is Dr. Dupree's station wagon parked on your front lawn?" calls a voice from the front porch.
I whirl around and Kristy stands in the doorway, leaning into the house. Lindsey left the door open. This is all we need now! Kristy Thomas and her big mouth!
Kristy's eyes widen. "What's wrong with Lindsey?" she asks, hurrying into the house.
"Nothing! You need to leave!"
Kristy gives me a brief dirty look, then turns her focus on Lindsey, crossing the living room toward her. "Lindsey, what's happened? What's wrong?"
"I stabbed Sadie with the kitchen scissors!" Lindsey wails.
Kristy's eyes bug out. "Oh, my gosh! Is she dead?"
Lindsey wails louder. "Oh, no! Do you think she is?"
"Thanks a lot, Kristy!" I snap. "Can you please leave? I'm taking care of things."
Kristy's rubbing Lindsey's back. She glances at me a moment, then crosses toward me, swiftly. She snatches the phone off the couch, where I tossed it. "I'm calling Watson and Nannie," she announces and begins to dial.
I grab the phone from her. "No! The last thing we need is Elizabeth over here mucking things up!"
"Lindsey stabbed her grandmother, Shannon!" she yells at me. "And Mom isn't home. I'm calling Watson and Nannie. They'll know what to do." She attempts to take the phone back.
I hold it high over my head. "No!" I shout. "No adults! Your family ruins everything! I'm taking Lindsey to the hospital! We don't need you or your family butting in!"
Kristy's face turns bright red. "Can you stop thinking about yourself for one minute?" she demands. "Lindsey stabbed her grandmother. This isn't about you!"
I look over at Lindsey. She's now sitting on the fireplace, holding herself, rocking back and forth, sobbing. She doesn't look like my friend, my lifelong friend. She is someone else. A hollowed out shell of a girl I used to know.
I hand the phone to Kristy. "No adults," I repeat.
Kristy frowns and dials. She waits for someone to answer. "Hello? Watson?...Yeah, it's me…there's been an accident…Lindsey's grandmother. She's at the hospital. I'm going over there with Shannon…I don't know if it's serious…I probably won't be back in time…just go without me…I'll tell them. Bye." Kristy hangs up. "Let's go," she says.
Kristy ushers Lindsey out the front door while I lock up. Lindsey sags against her like she's broken. In the car, Kristy and Lindsey sit in the backseat together. Lindsey sobs on Kristy's shoulder. I back out of the garage past Dr. Dupree's station wagon, half-parked on the driveway, half-parked on the front lawn. I drive much too fast to downtown Stoneybrook. Now that we're on our way there's a sudden sense of urgency I did not feel before. Everything is sinking in. Lindsey stabbed her grandmother. She stabbed her with a pair of kitchen scissors. Lindsey is really and truly crazy.
Kristy and I walk into the Stoneybrook General emergency room with Lindsey between us, our arms linked through hers, holding her up. I glance around, quickly. I don't see Lindsey's grandfather. We head straight for a nurse seated behind the desk.
"We're looking for Sadie Dupree," I tell the nurse in the most adult voice I can muster. Inside, I feel sick. "This is her granddaughter."
"Oh, yes," the nurse replies, flipping open a chart in front of her. "She came in about half an hour ago. She's in surgery."
"Surgery!" Lindsey cries.
"Is she okay?" Kristy asks.
"I'm sorry, I can't tell you anything more."
"Where's my grandfather?" Lindsey asks through her tears.
"I'm sorry. I don't know. I just came off my lunch break," the nurse says.
"He's out looking for you," Kristy tells Lindsey. "Let's sit down." Kristy begins pulling Lindsey away from the desk and into the waiting room.
There are only three other people in the waiting room. We sit far away from them all. Lindsey hasn't stopped crying or pulling at her hair. Kristy tries to push her hands down and hold them, but Lindsey won't allow it. I watch them, forcing myself not to cry. What will happen to Lindsey? Will the police come and arrest her? Will she be sent to an institution? I bite my lip and rest my head against the wall.
Twenty minutes later, Mister Dr. Dupree rushes through the front doors. He isn't wearing a coat or sweater. There's dried blood on his collared shirt, standing out bright and vivid against the starched white. His expression immediately switches from panic to relief when he sees Lindsey huddled on a waiting room chair, face buried in her knees.
"I've been looking everywhere for you!" he exclaims, breathlessly, hurrying over. "I found Sadie's car. Are you okay?" He drops to his knees in front of Lindsey.
Lindsey raises her head and bursts into new tears. "I killed Sadie!" she sobs.
"No, you didn't," her grandfather replies, calmly. "She's going to be fine." He stands and sets a hand on her head. "Wait here," he instructs, then turns and strides over to the nurse at the desk. They speak briefly, then the nurse picks up the phone. A few minutes later, a man in green scrubs comes through a set of swinging doors and begins speaking to Mister Dr. Dupree.
"Everything's going to be fine," Kristy tells Lindsey, stroking her hair.
How can anything be fine ever again?
Mister Dr. Dupree strides back to us. He lays his hand on Lindsey's head again. "Your grandmother's all right," he tells her, softly. "You missed puncturing a lung. The doctors are repairing the damage. She'll be out of surgery soon."
Kristy and I breathe sighs of relief. Lindsey cries again.
"Where…where did…she get stabbed?" I ask, hesitantly.
"Above her right breast near her shoulder."
"She'll really be okay?" I ask.
"Yes," he replies. He looks down at Lindsey again. "Dr. Petrinski is on her way," he says.
Dr. Petrinski! Is he nuts? "The woman who told you to cut off Lindsey's hair?" I exclaim. Maybe I blew it off before, but suddenly, the woman sounds like a quack just like Lindsey always claimed.
Mister Dr. Dupree appears taken aback. "I didn't cut Lindsey's hair," he protests.
Lindsey's head snaps up. She points a finger at him, accusingly. "Yes, you did," she growls. "You and Sadie cut it off with the kitchen scissors."
Her grandfather grabs her hand and pushes it back down. "You cut your own hair and you know it," he says.
Confusion washes over Lindsey's face. "But…I remember…Sadie said if I didn't quit messing with my hair, she'd cut it off."
"She didn't mean it and she shouldn't have said it," he replies.
Kristy and I look at each other. Kristy's eyes are wide and worried and I know mine are too. Lindsey cut her own hair? And she really believes her grandparents did it to her? What's wrong with her?
The doors behind the nurses station swing open again and Dr. Johanssen, whose daughter Kristy and I used to baby-sit, walks out in green scrubs. She crosses the room toward us.
"Hello, Dr. Johanssen," Kristy and I greet her.
Dr. Johanssen smiles slightly and murmurs, "Hello," then turns to Lindsey's grandfather. "I'm Dr. Johanssen," she says to him. "Your wife is out of surgery and I don't anticipate any complications. I am a bit confused, however, as to how this happened. She says she fell on a pair of scissors."
Mister Dr. Dupree nods. "Yes," he affirms, simply. "She was standing on the counter and I was talking to her, holding the scissors. She slipped and fell. She fell on the scissors."
"She fell on the scissors?" Dr. Johanssen repeats.
"Yes."
"Yes. She fell," Kristy pipes up. "I was there."
Dr. Johanssen and Mister Dr. Dupree look surprised.
I stare at Kristy, incredulously. Kristy is lying to Dr. Johanssen? Right to her face? Helping to cover up what Lindsey has done?
Dr. Johanssen eyes Kristy a bit suspiciously. I don't blame her. It's the most ridiculous story I've ever heard. Did the Duprees think it up during the car ride here? It's awfully dumb. Dr. Johanssen and Mister Dr. Dupree walk away, talking softly. She still looks suspicious. She probably thinks Mister Dr. Dupree stabbed his wife. I wonder if she'll call the police.
"Why did you lie?" I ask Kristy.
"Because Lindsey's my friend," she answers.
"I was supposed to be your friend," I tell her, accusation creeping into my voice.
"Lindsey's sick."
I rise from my chair and cross the waiting room, getting away from Kristy. She's so two-faced. I know that Lindsey's sick. I want to protect her too. But Kristy never protected me. I meet Mister Dr. Dupree near the nurses station. He's walking with his glasses off, rubbing at his eyes. He looks very tired. He looks older than usual.
"I need to tell you something," I inform him.
He stops and slides his glasses back onto his face. "Yes, Shannon?" he replies.
"At my house, Lindsey told me, she's been overmedicating herself. She thought it would make her better faster."
Mister Dr. Dupree closes his eyes and places a hand to his forehead. "We've been wondering why the new medications haven't been working," he says, quietly. "We never thought of that. I can't believe she would…"
"What's wrong with Lindsey?" I ask. It's a question I've always been too polite to ask. It's been easier to pretend it doesn't even exist. But now I need to know.
"Please don't tell anyone," he says. "Lindsey has bipolar disorder. You probably know it as manic depression. It's a mood disorder and causes episodes of depression and mania." He sighs. "Lately, she's seemed to be in an almost constant state of mania. Paranoid and delusional. Overmedication explains that."
"Is she going to get better?"
"No. There's no cure. It can be controlled with the proper medication and there are other factors," he says and hesitates. "Lindsey's mother…my daughter…suffered from the same disorder. It's been very difficult going through this again."
"I'm sorry," I say because what else can I say? I'm not certain I understand completely. Will Lindsey spend her entire life half-crazy, slipping in and out of manic episodes?
A brunette woman breezes in through the front doors. She's early-thirties, dressed in tan slacks and a floral-print blouse, her hair twisted on top of her head. Somehow I know this is the infamous Dr. Petrinski, who may not be a quack after all.
"George!" she cries, striding swiftly over to us.
Mister Dr. Dupree steps away from me, heading toward her. "Thank you for coming, Kasey," he says and together they begin toward Lindsey, heads tilted toward each other.
All I hear is Dr. Petrinski say, "George, I think it's time to seriously consider Oak Hills. Facilities are much better these days. I could get her a room tonight," and then they move too far away for me to hear anything at all.
I hang back. Dr. Petrinski takes Lindsey into a secluded corner. She holds both of Lindsey's hands in hers and speaks very softly, much too softly for anyone to overhear. Lindsey's head hangs forward, limply. She's crying again. She cries like I cry lately. Never ceasing.
We continue sitting in the waiting room. Outside, the day darkens. Finally, a nurse comes out and informs Mister Dr. Dupree that Dr. Dupree is awake and asking for him and Lindsey. She's been taken to a room on the second floor.
"I don't want to see her," Lindsey says. "She's mad at me."
"She isn't mad at you," her grandfather insists.
"She understands, Lindsey," Dr. Petrinski assures her.
"I'm not going."
"Are you ready to go home and pack then?" Dr. Petrinski asks. "We'll go get your things, then we can come back here before leaving for New Britain."
Lindsey nods.
"I'll go with you, Lindsey," Kristy volunteers and slips her hand in Lindsey's.
It's decided then. Mister Dr. Dupree leaves for the second floor to visit Dr. Dupree and Lindsey, Kristy, and Dr. Petrinski leave for Lindsey's house. Kristy and I promise not to tell anyone. We promise to keep what Lindsey's done and where she's gone a secret. I know I'll keep the secret. I bet Kristy won't.
No one is home when I walk into the house. I thought maybe Maria would come back. Or Tiffany. Her shift must have ended by now. Why must they both stay so angry with me for so long? I'm having a bad time. They should be a little more sympathetic. The only person having a worse time than me right now is Lindsey. And Dr. Dupree. I wonder if I stabbed my mother if I would feel sorry about it later. Maybe not and that scares me.
There's a message from Maria on the answering machine. She speaks very curtly, informing me that she's gone to the theater in Stamford with the Thomas-Brewers. They gave her Kristy's ticket. I scowl as I erase the message. Maria knows she isn't allowed around those people anymore. Why must she irk me so? She does it on purpose.
I eat dinner alone. I make rice-a-roni and eat it straight out of the pot on the stove. I wonder if I should tell my parents that Mrs. Bryar quit. No. That's not necessary. She didn't really quit. She'll be back. She's been our housekeeper for eight years. She can't simply walk away.
I call Lindsey's house to see if they're still there. No one answers. I wonder when I'll see her again. I wonder who she'll be when she returns.
It's almost ten o' clock when someone begins pounding on the front door. I'm stretched out on the couch, not reading my microbiology textbook, waiting for someone to come home. The pounding startles me and I leap off the couch and dash into the foyer. Maybe it's Maria. Maybe it's Tiffany. Maybe it's…no it's not him.
I check through the peephole.
It's Abby.
I yank the door open. "What?" I demand, testily.
"I'm so glad you're home!" Abby shouts. She looks panicked. Her sweatshirt's on backwards. "Mom's not home yet. You need to drive me to Mary Anne's house. She just called. She said it's an emergency!"
"What?" I ask. "Mary Anne?" What could Kristy's little errand girl possibly need from us?
"She's hysterical! She already tried calling the Brewers and the McGills and the Sheas and the Blumes! Nobody's home! She said she needs someone right away! Come on!" Abby tugs on my arm.
I grab my purse and we're out the door.