"This is all getting so tiresome, Brit," she said. "I'm bored with it. Can we stop now?" No apology. No "I missed you." No "darling."

"You're the one who's p.i.s.sed at me, Bebe," I said.

"Look, I just said this whole thing was tiresome. Can we not talk about it? Besides, I have something far more amusing to tell you."

"What?"

"Come with me." I followed her over to where Ca.s.sie was piling bricks with her new roommate. "Brit, this is Laurel. Laurel, this is Brit." We checked each other out. Laurel was tiny, a speck of a thing, even smaller than Bebe, with black hair cut into a bob and gorgeous hazel eyes. Lucky girl to have Ca.s.sie as her brick buddy.

"Laurel is Ca.s.sie's new roommate."

"I know. Hi."

"Hey."

"It appears our Ca.s.sie and her Laurel are special roommates."

"Huh?" I asked. Laurel was standing right there, so I wasn't sure what Bebe was doing. Ca.s.sie, for her part, was pawing at the ground with her foot and blushing crimson.

"You know how being a.s.signed new roommates was a punishment? Well they really found a way to nail Ca.s.s."

I looked at Laurel, but her face was impa.s.sive. I didn't know why Bebe was dissing her like this.

"They roomed Ca.s.sie with a lesbian!" Bebe said, cracking up now.

"I prefer the term queer," Laurel said.

Bebe laughed so loudly that Ca.s.sie had to cover her mouth with her hand.

"But the idiots that run this place obviously don't know I'm queer," Laurel said.

"Ain't that rich?" Ca.s.sie said. "Her mom put her here because she ran away to San Francisco when she was fifteen. But the reason she ran away is because she was afraid to come out in a small town with less than two hundred kids at her high school. Just like me."

"I ran away because I was advised to," Laurel said. "You see, when I started to feel too trapped to breathe, I called the national gay-lesbian youth hotline to ask about coming out. My parents are very religious, very conservative, and the sweet gay boy from the hotline told me to keep quiet until I could move somewhere, shall we say, more sophisticated. Then I should come out."

"She ran away to Frisco the next day," Ca.s.sie said, positively schoolgirlish in her admiration.

"Well, the hotline boy didn't say how long I should wait to move, did he?"

"And your mom had no idea why?" I asked.

"Not a st.i.tch," Ca.s.sie answered. "Her mom found her and brought her home, but she'd had such a good time in Frisco that she took off again. Next time her mom found her, she'd brought one of the escorts from Red Rock."

"And none of them have any clue why you ran?"

"Clearly not, based upon my roommate situation," Laurel said. "Their ignorance is our bliss." She grinned at Ca.s.sie.

"So are you two dears a couple?" the ever-tactful Bebe asked.

"We don't feel the need to define it," Laurel said.

"We ain't a couple," Ca.s.sie replied. "But aside from that girl at the beach, Laurel's the first gay person I've ever met."

"Honey, one in ten people are gay," Laurel replied. "I'm just the first queer you know you've met."

"Wow, Ca.s.s," I said. "They should put you in the brochure. 'I was miserable when I got here, confused about my s.e.xuality. But at Red Rock, I got a lesbian roommate and all my troubles vanished.'"

"It's all too perfect. I must tell Martha. It'll cheer her up. Has anyone seen her?" Bebe asked.

Ca.s.sie had seen Martha heading out on one of Sheriff's character-building treks earlier that morning.

"Poor darling," Bebe said. "In this heat."

"I know," Ca.s.sie said. "It's hotter than a two-dollar pistol."

"I love it when you talk Texas," Laurel said with an affectionate giggle.

"I guess Brit's not the only one who owes our dear V a nod of thanks," Bebe said, throwing another pointed glance my way.

"Drop it, Bebe," I warned.

"Fine, it's dropped," Bebe said, back to her b.i.t.c.hy voice.

"We'd best split up now," Ca.s.sie said. "Don't want to separate the counselors from their National Enquirers."

"Ciao, girlies," Bebe said, flittering off.

Ca.s.sie and Laurel moved away too. And just like that, I was alone again.

Chapter 20.

"Are you ready to talk about your grandmother's letter?" Clayton asked.

"What's to talk about?"

"I really am so tired of your obfuscation, Brit. There's much to discuss in that letter."

"My mom's okay. She's in Spokane. It's all good news."

"Is it really?"

"She's not dead, so relatively speaking, yes it is."

Clayton waved her pen and chuckled softly. This was my cue to ask her what she thought was so funny. "What?" I asked.

Now she was shaking her head. "It's just too obvious."

"If you're going somewhere with this, maybe you should share, because you've lost me."

"I'm not the one who's lost you, Brit," she said. "Let me put it another way. In your grandmother's letter, she said that your mother refused the doctor's help, because she feared they were all, wait, let me get this exactly." She stopped and shuffled through my file, then pulled out a photocopy of Grandma's letter. "She 'thinks the doctors are all out to get her.' Isn't that how you feel?"

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you," I muttered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing, a song lyric. I don't think you're trying to poison me or kidnap me so you can plant probes in my brain, which is the kind of stuff my mother believes, if that's what you're getting at."

"You've missed my point. You're being too literal. I'm just suggesting the ways in which your nature mirrors your mother's."

"You keep saying that. Why don't you just ask the question you're hinting at: Am I worried that I'll go crazy too?"

"To put it bluntly, yes."

"Are your parents still alive, Dr. Clayton?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Humor me. Is your mom alive?" Clayton was at least fifty so I figured there was a good chance she wasn't.

"My mother is still with us. My father pa.s.sed on."

"Of what?"

"Where are you taking this, Brit?"

"Just tell me."

"He died of heart disease."

"Are you worried you'll have a heart attack?"

"No more than the next person."

"Well, my mom has a disease, too. That's what all the doctors told Dad and me. It can be hereditary, but my mom's mom is fine and so is her sister, so there's no reason to think I won't be, too." It all sounded so logical. I almost believed it myself.

"That's a very mature way to look at, Brit," Clayton said. "But I suppose that if I had high cholesterol or chest pains and other signs of heart disease, I might change my tune a bit, show a bit more concern, perhaps even try to take some preventive measures."

"Preventive measures, like what? Shock therapy?" I was being sarcastic, but judging by the creepy smile on Clayton's face, I was a little scared that I'd given her an idea.

As it turned out, Clayton did have shock treatment in mind for me, but not the kind with electrodes. A couple days later, she called me in for a special session. When I saw who was sitting with her in her office I almost pa.s.sed out.

Dad.

I was speechless. What was he doing here? Was this the rescue every girl at Red Rock secretly hoped for? Or had something happened to Mom? Clayton took in my confusion, eating it up like candy. Then, after my discomfort had settled over the room, she deigned to explain.

"As you know, Mr. Hemphill, we don't usually condone individual visits, but in Brit's case, I thought we'd make an exception." She turned to me, wearing her phoniest smile. "Your father has generously agreed to give up a day of his family trip to the Grand Canyon to come see if he can't galvanize your therapy."

"You went to the Grand Canyon without me?" Somehow, I felt as betrayed by this as everything else that had happened.

"Yes, honey. It's beautiful there. I wish you could've joined us," Dad replied. I stared at him. Was he for real? I mean, did he think this was a nice social call?

"As I was saying," Clayton interrupted. "Your father agreed to come down for the day to help us work on a few issues." She turned to Dad. "Mr. Hemphill, I think it would help Brit to know exactly how she came to arrive at Red Rock."

Dad nodded and looked at Clayton, who fixed him in a steady gaze. Then he looked at me. It was almost like he was asking for my help to get Clayton out of the room. And because even when I'm furious with Dad I will do anything for him, I cleared my throat. Then Dad cleared his throat. Clayton got the hint.

"Well then, let me give you two some time alone," she said.

Dad stepped forward to hug me. His embrace felt hollow. I extricated myself from it as quickly as I could.

"You were going to tell me why I got sent here," I said, looking squarely at him.

"Your therapists believe you're under the impression that it was your mother's idea."

"My stepmother's idea," I corrected.

"Right, yes, well. I should clarify now that while she thought you could use some, well, guidance, the decision to send you to Red Rock was mine."

"Your idea?" I spat.

Dad blushed. He actually looked embarra.s.sed. "Yes, your mother-I mean your stepmother-she thought you needed some help dealing with your-your anger, but she was actually against you going so far away," he stammered. "I chose Red Rock. I felt it was the best place for you."

Maybe I'd suspected this all along, but hearing it from Dad's mouth was like a knife in the back. I looked at him, a person I had once loved without limit in this world, and I felt a flash of hatred. It was just for a second, but it cooled my temperature to ice.

"So what sold you on Red Rock?" I asked. "The fact that it's a thousand miles from home? Or was it their warm-and-fuzzy therapeutic approach that appealed to you?"

Not even Dad could miss my sarcasm. He ran his hands through his hair. "Please, sweetheart. We just have a short visit. Let's try to be civil."

"Civil? Do you think that's why Clayton asked you here? For a tea party? She wants you to bring me down a few pegs. Which is how this place operates."

"Now, honey. I'm sure that's not true. I know that Dr. Clayton is stern, but she has your best interests at heart."

It was at that moment that I finally got it: Dad didn't have a clue. He didn't have any idea what Red Rock was all about, even though he was standing right in the middle of it and could have seen it for what it was if he'd really wanted to. And maybe more importantly, he didn't have the slightest notion why he'd sent me here. There were so many things I understood that Dad was working diligently to ignore.

"How long are you going to keep doing that?" I asked quietly. "How long are you going to bury your head in the sand?"

Dad looked up at me, as surprised as I was, I guess, by the venom in my voice. "What are you talking about now?" he asked wearily.

I wanted to grab him, to shake him, to wake him up, but I held myself still. "Do you even know why you sent me here? Can you tell me that?" I demanded. Dad stared at me now with the same lost look I recognized from girls in CT.

"Let me enlighten you. You sent me away because you were too powerless to do anything about Mom. So you're trying to compensate with me. You sent me away because you're scared I'm going to..."