“Yeah.”
“You have anyone picking you up?”
“No, I figured I’d just call for another taxi when I was done.”
She nodded. “Well, I’m technically off now. My shift ended at five. We could sit here and sift through this or we could go through it at my place. My boyfriend, Wayne, is making dinner. If you don’t mind his being there, it would be more comfortable and he’s a great cook.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. Thanks, but …”
“You couldn’t what? Come to my house? Have dinner?”
“Well, I don’t want to put you out.”
She shrugged. “How am I put out? If you don’t come, I’m stuck in this basement well after I should be out of here.” She stood, her knees cracking. “C’mon, let’s go.”
“I thought you said we couldn’t take anything out of here, though.”
“No,” she said, grinning. “I said you couldn’t.”
Petra spent most of the ride talking about Wayne, her boyfriend. Also known as Wayne the Pain or Whiner Wayne.
“I mean, he has some wonderful qualities,” Petra said, one hand twisting her dark hair while the other held the wheel. “That’s why I was attracted to him in the first place. He’s sweet and caring. The day after I went out with him for the first time, he hand-delivered a dozen roses to the hospital for me. Who does that?
“Of course,” she continued, “he has lots of free time since he can’t hold a job. It’s always something—the hours, the environment, the boss—doesn’t suit his ‘artistic temperament.’ He’s moody too. I tried to avoid analyzing him when we first started dating, but I can’t help it. I think he’s manic-depressive. Maybe that’s why I’m still with him. I keep thinking I can help, though I should know better …”
Her monologue was both entertaining and distracting, purposely so, I thought. I let her talk but found myself thinking of her black bag tossed in the backseat.
Finally we pulled into a dusty driveway beside a cute white clapboard house. A faded Toyota was already there.
“Home sweet home,” Petra announced.
The porch sagged and the paint was rough, but Petra’s house was completely charming. “What a great place. It’s yours?”
“Nah, just renting. Not sure I’m ready to buy into Ridgevale just yet, but I do love the house.”
Inside, it smelled wonderful—garlic and fresh herbs and onion. I hadn’t eaten all day and, back at the hospital, would have thought it impossible, I was so keyed up, but I knew I’d be wolfing down whatever Wayne put in front of us. In fact, I hoped he was almost done.
“I brought a guest, Wayne,” Petra called, hanging her keys on a Peg-Board beside the door.
A shaggy head poked around the corner.
“Hi.” I waved. “I’m Cassie.”
He wore a splattered apron and big smile as he came toward me. He was tall, lanky, very cute in a puppy-dog sort of way. I could see exactly what Petra meant about wanting to help him. His whole demeanor begged for a hug.
We shook hands and Petra gave him a peck on the cheek. “Smells great, babe,” she said.
“It’ll be done in about fifteen, twenty minutes.”
Petra nodded. “Cassie and I are doing a little research. You mind if we get started, or do you need help?”
Wayne shook his head. “Nope, I’ve got it all under control.”
He disappeared back into the kitchen and Petra dragged her bag into the living room, swinging it up onto a beat-up wooden chest in front of the sofa.
“We won’t get through much,” she said, pulling out the file, “but we can at least get our bearings before dinner.”
I sat quietly, rethinking my desire to eat, anxiety churning in my stomach as Petra read. The living room was just big enough for a small slip-covered sofa, chair, and the coffee table chest. Everything was white or off-white: the walls, the furniture, the filmy curtains. Even the floors were a pale, weathered wood. It kind of surprised me. Being around institutional neutrals all day, I’d have thought Petra would opt for something more colorful. Or, given what I remembered from the plane, something a little more goth. This looked more country church than dank cathedral.
Through the archway, I saw Wayne adding a plate to the table before returning to the kitchen.
“Well …,” she said slowly. I sat forward, my hands gripping the cushion.
“Yeah? What do you see?”
She shook her head. “Not that much yet. She was admitted on recommendation from Bering General Psych Ward. Brought in by her mother.”
“Nan,” I whispered.
Petra nodded, still reading. “Right. Nanette Dinakis.” She looked up. “Your grandmother.”
“Yes.”
She looked back at the file. “Looks like she was having episodes of depression that started about a month before.” Petra paused, making eye contact again. “Right after the car accident that killed your father.”
I nodded for her to continue.
“That’s not unusual, you know. The admitting even noted it here. Losing a spouse, especially unexpectedly like that, is one of the toughest things a person can go through. The only thing worse is losing a child.” Petra looked back at the pages. “Her depression must have been severe, though, for Bering General to have recommended her admittance to Barrow. The shortest stay for our patients is usually a month. They wouldn’t have advised separating her from you, as young as you were and as much of a grounding influence as a child can be, unless they felt she was a danger to herself or maybe to you.”
Wayne poked his head in then. “This is ready. You want me to hold off for a little?”
Petra looked at me and I said, “No, of course not. Let’s go ahead and eat.” I mustered a smile, adding, “It smells delicious.”
I tried to relax as we sat at the table, a steaming plate of pasta in the middle. The dining room chandelier cast a warm glow throughout the room. Wayne and Petra exchanged stories about their day. He was sweet and I thought maybe Petra was a little hard on him, until he started talking about his last job. And the one before. I tried to join in the conversation, but I was eager to get back to the files. Petra must have sensed it, because as soon as we were finished, she stood.
“Fantastic meal, honey.” She kissed the top of his head. “Let’s clean up and then Cass and I need to get back to work.”