just admitted, she had a lot going for her. She was intelligent, talented. Certainly she was one of the prettiest young women he’d ever seen, even in her weakened state, despite the bruises.
“Will you leave her here?” James asked.
“Dr. Bowman seems to feel she may need some time to recover and he thinks this might be the safest place for her.” Judge Franklin looked into his eyes as if asking for confirmation.
James wasn’t her doctor. He wasn’t a doctor at all, yet the man sitting next to him seemed to expect an answer. Whether he liked it or not, James was involved. He had involved himself by filing a formal complaint against Dr. Kent.
“I agree with Dr. Bowman. She’s probably still in shock. Who knows how she’ll feel or what she’ll do over the next few weeks? She’ll be safer here.”
The judge turned towards him and James could see that his eyes were filled with remorse. “Have I destroyed my daughter?”
James wanted to yell at the man, most likely, you fucking jackass , but he knew how much the judge was hurting.
“Give her some time,” James said. “She’s young. Maybe she’s stronger than you think. Just give her some time.”
T hree long days passed before Cara left her room. Just dragging herself out of bed to take a shower or use the bathroom was exhausting. It seemed like Miss Mandy had to help her with everything and not just because of the cast. Cara had a tough time finding the energy to do much more than turn over in bed. Debbie finally pulled some clothes out of the closet, ordering her to get dressed and meet her for lunch in the dining room.
“I don’t remember where the dining room is,” said Cara.
“You’re a smart girl. You’re perfectly capable of finding it,” Debbie replied.
Movements slow, Cara pulled on a pair of baggy jeans and a loose tee shirt. She wandered down the corridor, searching for the dining room. She joined Debbie at a table, the other residents shooting her curious looks. This was Cara’s introduction to the world of psychiatric medicine.
The life Cara led in the inpatient ward was very circumscribed. She met with Dr. Bowman every day of the week except Sunday. She spoke with the nurses. Debbie was her favorite and she looked forward to the days she worked. Miss Mandy was usually available if she needed help, although Cara became quite adept at using her left hand to hold utensils, dress herself and even paint. Writing gave her problems but she rarely had to write.
During one group therapy session, Dr. Bowman encouraged Cara to write a letter to her parents. She refused.
She said, “I can’t write with my left hand.” She continued to decline visits, despite the fact that her father dropped by or called at least once a day.
Two months passed and Cara barely noticed. It didn’t even register with her that school had ended for the summer. She passed through every day in a semi-stupor, as if she only marginally inhabited her own body. The medical student, James Mackie, came by one day to remove her cast. In silence, Cara watched him pry the plaster away from her pale, wasted arm.
“I’m ordering a little physical therapy for you, so you can regain the strength and mobility in this arm.”
Cara nodded, but she didn’t really care what he ordered.
She appeared for meals, sitting at the table with the younger patients, but she ate very little. She attended group therapy three times a week and kept all her appointments with Dr. Bowman. She responded politely when she was spoken to. She learned to play poker and a mean game of billiards. In the arts and crafts room, she used the potter’s wheel to create beautiful pots, plates and vases, which were very popular with the other patients and the staff. Cara gave them away without a second thought.
A week before school was scheduled to begin Dr. Bowman called Cara into his office. Her father stood there. Cara took one look at him and turned away without a word.
“Cara,” her