Unlocked by Margo Kelly Read Free Book Online

bed. “For now, a long shower and some fresh clothes will—”
    “Seriously?” I asked. “A shower and change of clothes will fix the fact that my mother has lied to me about my father’s death for years?”
    “No, Hannah,” Dr. James said, “but it’s a place for you to start. Counseling sessions will help you process all that’s happened, and I will guide you through this.”
    The nurse came into the room, and Dr. James asked her to remove my IV. She worked on it, and Dr. James motioned for my mom to step away from my bedside. Once they were on the other side of the room, he lowered his voice. But I still heard nearly every word.
    “Mrs. O’Leary, can you tell me more? When was your husband diagnosed?”
    “Shortly before he died.”
    “Did he claim to see things or hear things that were unusual?” Dr. James asked.
    “Do we really need to discuss this right now? Right here?” Mom asked
    “This information changes everything,” he said.
    Mom wiped away a tear.
    “For now, just one more question,” Dr. James said. “Were any other relatives diagnosed with mental illness?”
    “No,” Mom said. “No one on either side of our families had issues. Just him.”
    “All right,” Dr. James said. “This gives us a starting point.”
    “Do I have schizophrenia?” I asked.
    Dr. James and my mom returned to my bedside.
    “Not necessarily,” he said. “Let’s do some tests and evaluate everything. Okay?”
    I nodded.
    “Another physician will be in later this afternoon to sign your final release from the hospital, and I’ll see you both on Friday.” Dr. James squeezed my shoulder. “We will work through this, Hannah.”
    The nurse finished removing the IV and then followed Dr. James out of the room. The door closed behind them, and the click echoed through the silence of the sterile room.
    “I’m sorry, Hannah.”
    “Right.” I struggled to unlock and release the bedrail. Mom lowered it for me. I scooted to the edge of the bed and swung my legs over, but before my feet hit the floor, Mom grabbed my arms.
    “I never meant to tell you like this,” she said.
    “You never meant to tell me at all.”
    “Your father was a good man. I wanted you to remember that—”
    “I remember how he backhanded me.” I wiped my nose with the worn-out tissue and swallowed my anguish.
    “That happened once,” she said.
    “Mom, I always thought we moved to Idaho because you hated the memory of Dad,” I said. “You even changed our last name. Why would you do that unless you detested everything about him?”
    “Hannah, I didn’t hate—”
    “I don’t believe you,” I said. “I can’t handle more—”
    “Hannah—”
    “Mom, I was just in a car accident. Jordan died because of me. The last thing I need right now is you confusing me with more lies.” I grabbed the tote bag and headed for the adjoining bathroom. I tried to slam the bathroom door behind me, but the stupid hydraulic closure thwarted my intentions.
    I set the bag on the toilet lid and sank to the floor on my knees. Silent tears ran down my face, and I let them fall. I tried to picture Dad in my mind, but I couldn’t form the details. Was his nose crooked like Dr. James’s? Was his hair neatly trimmed around the ears like Officer Stephens’s? If I could recall his exact features from when he laughed and chased me on the beach, then maybe he wouldn’t seem so lost to me.
    Instead, images of Jordan’s contorted expression came to mind: his gaping mouth, his empty, glaring eyes, and his blood-spattered blond spikes.
    Jordan had been a jerk about the seat belt. I hated him for it, and now his life was over, and I still hated him for it. If only he’d strapped in. If only I’d let Manny drive. If only we’d not gone to the fair at all. Then Jordan would still be alive. My body shivered against the cold tiles. I rubbed my arms, but the motion barely warmed me.
    I stood, and my head spun. I steadied myself at the sink and stared at