“Delia,” Thea called, taking the earbuds from her ears. No sooner were they free when she froze, an absence seizure shook her. Her first in days. I glared at Delia’s back as she joined her sister.
The only thing that sends Thea into a seizure is you.
“You didn’t have to cover for me,” I said to Rita.
“I think I did,” Rita said. “Delia doesn’t want male attention on her sister. And anyway, I support this.” She motioned at Thea, who was now animatedly discussing her painting. “I wasn’t kidding. In all the years I’ve worked with Thea, I’ve never seen her so happy.”
I took that victory—and my broom—and got back to work. I swept the hallways and the foyer, happy that Jules was off on another smoke break. I made my way to the dining room, where I found Delia Hughes sitting alone at a table near the window, a cup of coffee in front of her. Her gaze on the surrounding forest outside the sanitarium.
She heard my footsteps and turned. “I know you’re behind getting my sister the paints,” she said. “I see how you look at her.”
There was no sense in backing away or running like a coward. I crossed the room and sat at a nearby table, setting the broom over my knees.
“It was my idea,” I said. “Rita covered for me because I know what it looks like.”
“Do you?”
“I just want Thea to be happy. That’s it. Nothing else.”
“I told you, she can’t remember happy.”
“Maybe she can.”
Delia whipped her head to me. “You are not a doctor.”
“No,” I said, my jaw stiffening. “But I’ve seen her word chains.”
“Dr. Stevens says they’re nothing to be concerned about.”
“But—”
“Let me be more clear,” Delia said. “He says there’s nothing they can do about them. Do you understand the distinction?”
She glared, challenging. The orderly’s guess against the neurosurgeon’s professional diagnosis. I tried something else.
“Why do you come here twice a week? An hour and a half from Richmond, each direction. Why?”
Delia scoffed. “Because she’s my sister.”
“You could live on the moon for all she’d remember, right?”
“She needs me. When I visit, she gets…”
“Happy?”
“Upset, Mr. Whelan.” Her
voice was bitter. “She has a seizure every time. She’s so happy to see me, her brain short circuits.”
The grief of losing her entire family was written in every hard line of Delia’s face.
“I know everyone thinks I’m too harsh with her care,” she said into my silence, almost to herself. “Too disciplined. Thea was always the fun one. Constantly making dumb jokes, even at the most serious times. She could make everyone smile just by walking into a room. I walked into a room and nobody noticed. She laughed too loudly and cried easily. When our cat was run over by a car, Thea cried enough for the both of us, so I didn’t.”
She straightened and smoothed her skirt. “But that’s okay. Someone had to take care of things. Someone had to be responsible. Someone had to make funeral arrangements for our parents. Someone had to find a place that would take care of Thea. One that wasn’t an ocean away or wouldn’t drain the money within a year. Someone had to do those things, right?”
I nodded.
“And so I’m the bad guy because I don’t want Thea to paint. Because I’m afraid it will bring on seizures. Because I bring on seizures. I hurt her…” She swallowed. “I hurt her with my mere presence.”