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"Hey there, how are you doing, Annie?"
My lips felt so dry I thought I would scratch the tip of my tongue over them. I swallowed.
"What happened?"
I blinked again and turned to see Mrs. Broadfield over by the sink talking with Dr. Malisoff's assistant, Dr. Carson. She was shaking her head, too, and gesturing excitedly with her hands as she spoke, apparently describing what had happened to me. I'd never seen her so animated.
"Well, Annie, part of this is my fault. I should have explained to you how emotionally weak you are. We seem to be concentrating only on your physical problems, when indeed there are emotional and mental ones, too. Your injuries go a great deal deeper than might first appear."
He took the cold cloth from my forehead and handed it to Mrs. Broadfield. Dr. Malisoff didn't move from my bedside. He sat down and took my left hand into his hands.
"Remember when you asked if that was all that was wrong with you and I laughed?" I nodded. "Well, I shouldn't have laughed. I should have told you there were emotional and psychological injuries as well. Maybe then more would have been done to prevent something like this from happening."
"But what happened? All I remember was feeling this weight on my chest and . . ."
"You passed out. Emotional strain. The thing is, Annie, you didn't realize how weak you were because we have you relatively comfortable and well taken care of here. But the truth is you've been crippled in a number of different ways, one of which is emotionally. Just as the skin on your body has been torn and bruised, so has the skin over your feelings and thoughts. I'm sure you've heard it said, 'He's thickskinned.' Right?" I nodded. "Well, that's not as silly as it sounds. We protect our emotions, protect our minds in many ways, and your protecton has been badly damaged. So, you're easily upset, vulnerable, exposed. Understand?"
"I think so."
"Good."
"Now our major concern here is that your physical recuperation will be hampered, maybe even totally prevented, if you continue to suffer
emotionally. One part of you is tied to the other part. A person can't be physically healthy if he or she is psychologically and emotionally sick. That's where I was a little careless. I should have kept you more protected, at least until you are stronger, until that emotional skin gets thick again. That's what we have to do now."
"What does that mean?" I couldn't help being afraid. I had thought that I was doing well emotionally. Who could have stood up under such tragedy? Who could have gone on not only losing both her parents, but finding herself paralyzed, her life turned upside down and inside out? I felt like spending my entire day crying and mourning, but I kept my tears locked in my heart so others wouldn't be continually uncomfortable in my presence. And yet here was the doctor telling me I was an emotional mess. It was as if I had only to look into a mirror to see a crushed and broken me. I shivered at the thought.
"Well, Mrs. Broadfield has told me about your visitors and your phone calls." He squinted so that wrinkles and folds broke out over the bridge of his nose. Then he shook his head. "We've got to slow that sort of stuff down for a while so we can protect you. I know you won't be happy about that in the beginning, but for a while, at least, will you trust us and let us do what is best for you so you can make a full recuperation and return to a normal life that much faster?"
"I didn't have that many visitors . . . just Tony and Drake and my aunt and Luke. He's the only one who's called me," I protested.
He turned to Mrs. Broadfield, who shook her head as if I were babbling like a madwoman.
"Well, it's not how many people come to see you or call you; it's what those visits and calls can do to you," Dr. Malisoff explained with painstaking concern. "You're very lucky, though. You've got a place to go for your recuperation that will be as good as any therapeutic hospital. You'll be in a beautiful, quiet setting, insulated and protected. Your body and your mind will have a chance to mend much faster than they would if you were exposed to everyone else's problems and feelings."
He patted my hand and stood up.
"Do I have your trust and cooperation, Annie?"
"Yes," I said, in a voice so small it reminded me of a little girl's voice. Maybe he was right; maybe I had become a little girl again. I had returned to a time when the smallest things could make me cry and fill my heart with sorrow, only I didn't have my mother or my father to turn to for sympathy and solace.
"Good."
"Does this mean I have to stay in the hospital longer now?"
"We'll see."
"How is she?" I heard Tony demand. He was suddenly in my doorway. I lifted my head to see him. His face was flushed, his silky gray hair mussed, and his double-breasted dark blue suit creased and out of shape. He looked like he had run all the way.
"She's fine now," Dr. Malisoff reassured him. "There was no need for you to come rushing over, Mr. Tatterton." He shifted his eyes quickly to Mrs. Broadfield, who busied herself with washcloths and towels.
"Thank God," Tony said, rushing to my bedside and looking down at me. "I thought . . . well, what happened?"
"Oh, a case of emotional exhaustion. Annie and I have just had a good discussion about it, and she understands now what has to be done, right, Annie?" I nodded. He patted me on the hand again and started out of the room.
"Just a minute," Tony called after him. He and the doctor walked out together. I could just hear them mumbling in the hallway. Mrs. Broadfield came to my bed and straightened my blanket and fluffed my pillow. She looked stern, cold, her eyes fixed and beady.
"No one's going to blame you, are they?" I asked her, thinking she was worried about that.
