some horrible place and shove her full of meds?”
So now he was throwing that back at me?
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“Well, somewhere she can get help,” I said. “Of course. And
yes, meds can help.”
“God! You’re not a doctor yet, Leena. Even if you treat
yourself. How many psychotics have you even met? My father
was probably the first, right? And he wasn’t even having an
episode.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But what? I know psychosis. I’ve lived with it. Celeste is not
acting at all like my father ever acted. I’d be able to tell.”
This conversation had strayed so far from what I had
anticipated. I had no idea what to say anymore. “But, David. If
you listen to what Celeste is saying—”
“Celeste is rational. She doesn’t have any other symptoms.”
He held out his hand and counted off on his fingers. “She’s doing
her schoolwork. She’s already got all of her college apps in—did
you know that? She has good personal hygiene. She hasn’t
withdrawn—”
“Of course she has,” I said. “We barely ever see her
anymore.”
David shook his head. “That’s because of us, because she
doesn’t know how to deal with our relationship. And I see her on
my own, when you’re not around.”
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“I can’t believe we’re arguing over this,” I said. “If she’s not
sick, then it won’t hurt to tell someone, right?”
“Leena. I’m going to talk to Celeste. Until then, don’t do
anything. Anyway, waiting won’t make a difference. If you are
right, if she’s sick, what’ll it matter? A few days won’t change
anything. Right?”
“It’s just, if she’s sick—”
“If you are right,” he interrupted, “if she’s sick, then I
promise, a day or two won’t make any difference. Nothing will
change the fact that Celeste, the Celeste I know, is gone.”
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Chapter 37
GOING TO MY CLASSES WAS NOT AN OPTION. David’s
completely irrational view of the facts had thrown me for almost
as big a loop as Celeste’s revelation. There was only one place I
could safely process the information.
I fumbled a round yellow pill into my mouth. I needed clarity.
Too much emotion and confusion battled in my brain. I breathed
in the closet’s comforting smell, traced my finger over Cubby’s
feathers, and tried to think.
Was the power of denial so strong that it could completely
prevent David from seeing the truth? Maybe the drive for self-
protection trumped logic, rationality. When David talked to
Celeste, though, when he heard the paranoia in her voice, he’d
have to come to terms with what was really happening. He just
needed some time to let it sink in.
And where would that leave us? The loneliness that lay
ahead of him made my chest ache. It made me want to tell him
that I’d be there, in whatever way he needed. Did he know that? I
couldn’t believe how strongly attached I’d grown to him in such a
short time.
You know that can only hurt you. Once he doesn’t want you.
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“No,” I said. “He’s going to need me. He’s not going to have
Celeste anymore. He’ll need me.” I rubbed my temples. More and
more I’d been getting these deep, throbbing headaches.
Don’t you see? He’s sick, too. He’ll never want you the way he
wants her.
“Why do you say that? That’s awful.”
In here is the only place you get the truth.
I’d had enough of the truth these past couple of days. I was
exhausted from it all—the revelations, confrontations. And
though usually I loved the way I felt in here, right now, I couldn’t
handle any more insights into my sometimes ugly subconscious.
It took an enormous amount of energy to push myself up
and out into the blinding light of my room. And the minute I was
out there, I almost went back in. Somehow the open space of the
room was overwhelming. Not contained enough. I needed an
activity. Something to occupy me until David got in touch.
Something physical—there was no way I could concentrate on
homework. The furniture was happy in its arrangement. No space
on the walls to hang more pictures. Maybe the garden needed
something.
I crossed the room to look outside. The angle of the light
coming through the window brought out the layers of dirt that
had built up on the pane. Ugh. How had I not noticed this before?
I ran a finger down the cold glass. Dirt stuck to the tip.
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I got a pile of newspapers from the common room and the
Windex from under the bathroom sink. I started at the far right
window—just as dirty as the other. I sprayed the cleaner and
began wiping with a wadded-up clump of newspaper.
I breathed in and out with the strokes of my arm. Okay. I
didn’t need to think about David’s part in this. About his strange
reaction. Or what was going to happen to us. No good could come
from dwelling on the possibility of losing him, the way I always
seemed to do in the closet.
I rubbed circles of streaky liquid round and round the next
pane. My wad of newspaper bumped up against the wood frame
that had splintered when I’d been hanging the blinds with David.
It had been ready to fall apart, that piece of rotten wood. But it
took me drilling into it for the large chunk to splinter off. What
had happened to Celeste, to make her mind splinter like it had?
I thought back to the beginning of the semester, to the bad
things that happened to her right off the bat—the ripped skirt,
the broken vase. One possibility, of course, was that she had
unknowingly caused these things to happen herself. But maybe
she hadn’t. Maybe someone else had done these things, and that
had been part of what had instigated Celeste’s paranoia. She
thought someone was out to get her because, in a way, someone
was out to get her. Was it possible that a mental disorder could
be set off by something like that? Or had the mental disorder
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itself caused the things to happen? Which came first, the chicken
or the egg?
I didn’t hear from David until late that afternoon. I was about
to lose it, wondering whether he had talked to Celeste yet, when
my phone finally flashed his name.
“Can you have dinner at Tonio’s?” he said.
“Tonio’s? Sure, why?”
“I’m hungry.” I thought I heard laughter in the background.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”
I was surprised that David was hungry at all, let alone in the
mood to go to a romantic, off-campus restaurant. I was even
more surprised when I picked him up at his dorm and found
Celeste there with him. He slid in the front, Celeste and her
crutches in the back.
“Where should I drop you off?” I asked her.
“I’m coming to dinner,” she said. Even in the small reflection
in the rearview mirror, I could see that despite the dark bags, her
eyes sparkled like they hadn’t before. Her whole expression was
entirely different from yesterday’s.
David’s face was more serious than hers, but not nearly as
morose as when I’d left him. A disturbing new idea wiggled its
way into my brain. Was it possible—at all possible—that this
whole thing had been a joke? Or some kind of sick Lazar family
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test? Well, if it was, there was no question—I was done with both
of them.
I got no clues from their conversation on the drive to Tonio’s.
Celeste spent the whole time talking about the upcoming student
exhibition her photos were going to be in, and soliciting our
opinions about what she should wear to the opening. If this
wasn’t a joke, had David even talked to her?
At Tonio’s, the maître d’ gave us the polite but tired smile
Barcroft students always get and led us to a small, velvet-
upholstered booth at the back of the dark restaurant.
Celeste immediately grabbed a breadstick from a ceramic jar.
David opened the stiff, gold-embossed cover of his menu.
I opened mine, but the words didn’t coalesce into
meaningful phrases. I shut it. “So, why are we here?” I said. “It’s
not your birthday, is it? That’s in a couple weeks.” A ludicrous
guess; of course this wasn’t a birthday party.
“We wanted somewhere private,” David said.
“Aren’t these booths great?” Celeste ran a hand over the
tufted, burgundy velvet. “Old-school glamour. I’d like to have one
in my house.”
A waiter in black pants and a white button-down appeared at
our table. “My name is Cliff and I’ll be your server this evening.
May I take your drink order?”
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“Diet Coke, please,” I said, then added, “Actually, just
water.” I didn’t need any caffeine.
“Club soda,” Celeste said. “With one maraschino cherry, and
a slice of lime.”
“Sam Adams,” David said.
“May I see some ID, sir?” Cliff said.
David looked surprised, then embarrassed. He began patting
his pockets. “Oh, sorry, I don’t think I brought . . . That’s okay. I’ll
just have a Coke.”
“Why somewhere private?” I said, once we were alone again.
“We have a plan,” David said. “Well, the start of one.”
“Okay . . .”
David placed both palms on the table and leaned forward.
“Here’s what we do. We convince the school that Frost House
isn’t safe to live in. That way, you all get to move out, no one
knowing the real reason you need to.”
“What do you mean, ‘isn’t safe’?” I said. “You’re going to tell
them there’s something evil in the house?”
“Of course not,” David said. “We prove that it’s physically
unstable. I don’t know, like the roof might collapse or whatever.
Maybe we could start a fire or something, just a small one.”
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I sat there, looking back and forth between the two of them.
Their expressions were anxious, but in an excited, not-nervous
way. Kids listening for Santa’s sleigh on the roof.
The waiter placed our drinks on the table. “Would you like to
hear this evening’s specials?” he said.
Specials? Who could think about food? I couldn’t even
conceive of reading through the menu with David’s words
hanging in the air. A fire? Was he kidding?
“I don’t need to hear specials,” I said, just to say something.
“I’ll have the fettuccini Alfredo, please.”
“Steak for me,” David said. “Rare.”
“Ooh, me too.” Celeste was almost giddy. “Listen,” she said
to the waiter, “do you think the restaurant is going to get new
seating anytime soon? Because if they do, I’d be interested in
buying one of these booths.”
Cliff stifled a smile. “I don’t think so. I’ll check, though.” He
chuckled as he walked away.
“You’re joking, right?” I said to David.
“I know it sounds extreme,” he said. “But think about it.”
“Burning down the haunted house,” I said. “Like in a cheesy
horror movie? Are you crazy?” Right away I knew it was a bad
choice of words.
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“David and I are both crazy,” Celeste said in a woo-woo,
exaggeratedly eerie voice. She wiggled her fingers in the air. “And
we’re going to make you crazy, too.”
“No, we’re not,” David said. “I don’t necessarily mean a fire.
Just something to make the house unlivable. You know all about
house construction. What could we do to make it unlivable? Like,
a major plumbing leak or something that ruins some stuff.”
“I don’t want it to be unlivable,” I said. “In case you’ve
forgotten, I live there!”
“So you’ll move into an empty room somewhere else.” David
pulled out a breadstick and snapped it in half.
“No. This is a ridiculous idea.”
“Leena,” David said. “Celeste can’t keep living there. And any
other solution involves making her look sick. Unless you want us
to make up some story about how you guys are mean to her.
We’ll tell the dean she’s too miserable to stay there.”
“No way,” I said. “Absolutely not.” Aside from the fact I’d be
mortified for them to do that, this whole plan was predicated on
the fact that Celeste would be okay if she moved out. Could David
honestly believe that?
“Come on,” David said, cajoling, as if he was trying to
convince me to take a breadstick or something equally trivial.
“Next year we’ll have a nice place in the city. You can handle
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living in some other dorm until then. What’s the big deal about
you staying there?”
The big deal? He knew how I felt about my room. How could
he even ask? And how could they be so casual, so . . . so . . . so
goddamn cheery? I stared at my fork. “I don’t want to move out.”
My voice was tight.
“It’s a good plan,” Celeste said to me. “We know it’s kind of
weird, but not so much if you think about it.”
“It’s kind of impractical, to put it mildly,” I said. “And what
about Viv and Abby and Ms. Martin? You’re going to make all of
them move out, too? And Kate is supposed to move in next
semester. What about her? We’re all supposed to live there.”
“Do you have a better idea?” David said.
I couldn’t believe he was putting me in this position in front
of Celeste. He knew what I thought.
“A problem with the wiring,” he said. “Don’t old houses have
dangerous electrical problems sometimes?”
“The dangerous wiring isn’t in the house,” I muttered.
“What?” David leaned toward me.
“Nothing. I mean, yes, of course there could be dangerous
wiring. But we wouldn’t know.”
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“What if we just scorched the wall?” he said. “Not a full-
fledged fire. Just enough to make them nervous. You know, a big,
scorched area around an outlet. Would that be enough for them
to move you?”
With no warning, Celeste stood up, jiggling the table and
