The Night Strangers - Chris Bohjalian [92]
In the morning, John Hardin came to the house. The sun was up, and it was apparent that the last of the snow in the yard would be gone by lunchtime. There would still be snow in the woods, and a small, crunchy, knee-high ridge along the north wall of the carriage barn was likely to remain for at least a couple more days. And certainly more snow would fall at the end of March and into April. But the morning felt like spring when Emily opened the front door around seven-thirty. Holly and the twins were still asleep, but Reseda was upstairs showering. Emily had been so exhausted when she returned from the hospital that she hadn’t bothered to climb into her nightgown and had instead simply collapsed on her bed in her clothes and pulled the quilt over her. She had somehow staggered to her feet when the alarm went off, and she had only set the alarm because she was a mother of ten-year-old girls who were going to need her rather badly when they awoke.
“Good morning,” John said, his voice as cheerful as ever. She noticed that he was dressed more formally than usual. He was wearing a necktie with his tweed coat, and penny loafers instead of his usual L.L.Bean duck boots. She was impressed by how well rested he seemed; she hadn’t glanced at herself in the mirror when she made her way from the bedroom to the kitchen, and so she presumed that she looked terrible—tired and messy and not even clean. But simply having made it awake and vertical seemed a monumental accomplishment at the moment—or, perhaps, a testimony to whatever antidepressant Michael Richmond had given her.
“Hi, John,” she whispered, ushering him into the hallway and then into the kitchen. “The girls and Holly are still sound asleep in the living room.”
He hunched his shoulders and nodded, as if making his body a little smaller would make him a little quieter. He sat down at the kitchen table in the seat nearest the counter with the coffeemaker as she started to brew a pot. “Giving the girls a day off from school?” he asked very quietly, enunciating each word with care. “I think that is an excellent plan.”
“I wouldn’t say it was a plan. It’s just what’s happening.”
“Well, I hope you weren’t intending on coming into the office today.”
“No, I wasn’t. I presume you don’t mind.”
“I would have sent you home the moment I heard you coming up the stairs. Your girls need you today. Chip needs you. What time are you getting him?”
“I thought I would call the hospital in a few minutes and see what’s going on. But I guess I was hoping he would be back here by lunchtime or so.”
“I want him to have the best care available,” John said. “It’s why I’ve come by. We both know in our hearts he didn’t fall on that knife.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed at her temples. She wanted this—whatever this was—to be a one-time aberration. She wanted Chip to come home and be fine and this latest phase in their nightmare to be behind them. “What do you have in mind?” she asked finally. “Is there a particular doctor or psychiatrist you would recommend?”
“I know Dr. Richmond spoke to him for a couple minutes last night—”
“Michael is his psychiatrist here in New Hampshire,” she told him. “They have a relationship. It wasn’t like he just dropped by the hospital.”
“I understand. Not a problem at all. But there’s another doctor I would love him to see, too. Her name is Valerian Wainscott, and you can have absolute faith in her. She’s very, very good—an excellent therapist.” He chuckled and shook his head slightly. “I remember watching her grow up.”
“Any special reason you want Chip to see her?”
“Well, Valerian has a lot of experience with post-traumatic stress disorder. She works at the state psychiatric hospital two days a week,” he explained. “Tell me: Has Chip been acting particularly odd lately—you know, before last night?”
“You mean more than the flashbacks?”
“And, I suppose, a measure of guilt and depression.”
She watched the coffee drip into the glass pot and breathed in the aroma. “Yes. He has been a different person since the crash—which is to be expected.”
“Anything