“Have you decided?” the driver asked.
“Decided what?” Our eyes met through the rearview.
“Whether or not you’re going to tell Dr. Maslow that you think you found your twin.”
There was no way to hide the shock on my face, no way to think fast and come up with an answer as to why I’d suddenly gone mute. Dr. Maslow was Stella’s therapist? If so, which one? Neil or Debbie? It didn’t matter. How was I supposed to lie to either one of them? They’d both been there for me from the beginning—when my temper tantrums went from impertinent toddler to “we may have a problem on our hands.” Dr. Debbie Maslow had come to the rescue, going as far as to send people to our house once a month to record my progress. Neil and Debbie became like family to us, and Karen, who rarely showed appreciation, used to cry at their feet sometimes when they arrived. So, presenting myself as Stella Thompson was definitely something I was not looking forward to. They both knew me and that meant they’d been hiding the fact that I had a sister all along. And secondly, Stella knew about me?
“You okay?” The driver frowned.
“Yeah, I just . . . ” My heart was beating too quickly. Stella knew about me.
“Last time we saw each other you were panicked and said you found a sister.” She looked between the street and the mirror as she spoke. Each time she looked in the mirror, she looked more concerned. “Your dad didn’t believe you, but I do.”
“I’m scared to tell Dr. Maslow,” I said finally.
It wasn’t a lie.
They were serial prescription givers and constantly looking for new forms of therapy to whip our brains into shape. If I told them this, I wouldn’t see the light of day. They’d lock me in the white room and start tweaking my brain until I surrendered and said I was fine.
“I’m sorry,” the driver said, and I could tell she meant it. “I didn’t tell anyone what you told me, but it’s weighed heavily on me. I can’t imagine what he would do to you if you said anything to him, especially after trying to cure your being gay.”
So Neil is her therapist.
I licked my lips, unable to speak. My heart hurt for Stella. I’d pictured her in this perfect life, with a doting father and deep pockets, but that didn’t mean she was exempt from worries. They’d tried a lot of different forms of therapy on me, but never anything extreme. I wondered how they tried to cure my poor sister of something she couldn’t help. I glanced outside the window and focused on the trees as we drove into the iron gates of The Institute. The Maslow Institute was what was written everywhere. It was the official name for the four-hundred-acre mental institution. Sometimes, when I was still in the stages of driving up and hadn’t been here in a while, I could trick myself into thinking I was pulling up to the Ritz. Everything from valet drivers to world-class pools made up The Institute. The chefs were James Beard contenders and the bedrooms rivaled a five-star hotel’s. Everything about The Institute was made for appearances. Everything except the white rooms. Those were their dirty little secret, and if they weren’t, they should be. Everyone who walked out of the white rooms walked out different. Sometimes, it was a good different. Jayson Melvin had been cured of his fear of flying. Once he left, he was able to travel.
Sometimes, the results were devastating. Katrina Skulski had been forced to remember the grueling rapes she suffered as a kid and left defeated. She hanged herself as soon as she went home. I knew them both from group therapy sessions I’d attended as a teenager. When the people from church suggested that maybe my anger issue was just a teenage thing, Karen began to question everything Debbie told her, and in turn, question my feelings. Despite that, Karen stuck to the sentiment that therapy sessions were the only things keeping her from kicking me out. I had a feeling it had more to do with the fact that therapy actually kept me out of the house four hours a week. Whatever the case was, I never resented therapy or Dr. Maslow. Debbie had been a saving grace for me. If not for her, I wouldn’t have survived life.
The driver stopped in front of the building and waved off the valet who was running toward the car.
“I’m going to the café.” She drove past the valet and parked the car on the right side of the circular driveway. Once she parked, she came around the car, but I was already halfway out the door. “I hate that you always do that.”
Stella did that? I smiled. “I’m perfectly capable of opening my own doors.”