Page 17 of Twisted Lies

I do as I’m told. The waiting room is lovely enough to be a rich person’s living room. Old-fashioned chairs line the walls with an upholstered couch in the middle of the room. I pick a magazine from an end table. The date is recent, and it’s actually interesting to read. I become absorbed in some movie star’s private life when Dr. Howland steps into the room.

Impassively, he looks at me as if I’ve ruined his day—in addition to his life. I stand up, heading for the open door he stands beside. The nurse watches us with interest before answering the phone. Maybe she thought I would be turned away by the man himself.

We enter an office that’s smaller than Dr. Rawlins’ office but with costly furniture. I stare at a roll-top desk with actual papers stuck in the cubby holes. It looks exactly like one I saw in an old museum in Vermont.

I glance around the room for an examination table and wonder how he checks anyone out.

“This is my office,” Howland replies as if I asked, “The examination room is down the hall. Sit down, Astrid.”

I keep my jacket on as I sit down in a leather chair. I wait for Howland to sit by his desk. Instead, he sits in the chair beside me. “How have you been doing, Astrid?”

For a moment, I stare, not expecting him to care. “I’m doing okay,” I say slowly, “And you?”

Howland starts as if he didn’t expect me to have any manners. Mister, I am trying. I move in my seat and immediately stop myself from fidgeting. I never fidgeted before coming to Stonehaven.

“I’m well,” he replies smoothly, “Thank you for asking. And this is an unexpected surprise.”

“Sorry, maybe I should have called,” I answer, “but my roommate gave me a ride, so I didn’t know until this morning, and I had to go to class.”

Howland frowns. “You don’t own a car?”

“No,” I shake my head, “I have a mountain bike.”

He frowns harder. “Did you not pass your driver’s test?”

“Yes, but I can’t afford a car,” I reply uneasily. I don’t want to sound pathetic. Or worse, like I’m asking for one. “Besides, I have enough friends I can bum rides off of.” It’s hard to miss his wince when I say the word bum.

“Did you talk to Marianne?” he asks, and I stare in response. “Dr. Rawlins?” he adds.

Looking away, I form my thoughts as best I can. “I’m surprised that you want people to know I’m your daughter. You didn’t always. I’m not sassing you. I just don’t get it.”

Howland pauses. “I’ve been negligent in my duties to you and your mother. At the time, I wanted to put a painful moment behind me.” He pauses. “To be clear, your mother was not the painful moment but having an affair was. I should’ve been up-front about my lapse at the time, but for reasons that only make sense to me, I wasn’t. I’ve had many years to reflect on my ways…and I regret not doing something sooner. A wrong will be corrected, and I hope it won’t be judged too harshly by you.”

None of that makes sense, but that’s how these people talk in wordy circles.

“What if I decide not to change my name to Howland?” I ask, eager to get to a point.

“That is your choice,” he replies, “but there are benefits to being a Howland.”

Pierce’s leer flashes in front of my eyes, reminding me of what he said. “Other than being at Stonehaven?” I ask.

“Yes, you will be able to claim your legacy as a Howland.”

I nod. I want to claim something, but my paternal name isn’t it.

“I need a favor,” I ask. “I need birth control, and I figure since you’re a doctor…I wasn’t sure if I could get it from the school nurse.” I’m not ashamed to ask. After all, he must understand very well the reason why I’m asking for it.

He nods, not looking surprised or disappointed by my request. “Is the pill a good choice for you?”

I nod. It works better than a brown bag filled with rubbers, Daddy.

Howland walks over to his desk and writes on his script pad. Man, I’d like to palm that, but that would be stupid. He’d suspect me first. “I don’t keep it in the office,” he says, “There’s a pharmacy in the building. I’ll call, and it will be ready when you pick it up.”

“How much will it cost?” I ask.

He frowns as he hands the script to me. “Nothing. It will be on my account.” He reaches out and touches my waterproof jacket. “Isn’t this thin? Don’t you have a heavier coat?”

Without emotion, I stare at him as a revelation dawns on me. Howland has never been around poor people. He has no idea that people have to go without. We have no bread, so Howland asks why we don’t buy cake. He just doesn’t get it.

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