Page 32 of One Last Smile

I stammer a bit before saying, “Just a few days ago.” I don’t want to tell him that I’ve had them for months and when I was younger, years.

“Are they similar to the dreams you complained of when you were committed?”

Fear rushes through me like a blast of icy wind. I stiffen, and he quickly says, “It’s nothing to worry about. You are very clearly far from insanity. There are a thousand steps between this episode and anything I could call a crisis. However, if this is a recurrence of your old nightmare, it will affect my prescription. Certain medicines affect one’s mood differently, and I need to ensure that what I prescribe you is appropriate for your particular situation.”

I am about to insist again that this is nothing related to my past, but then I remember my purpose for being here. If I expect him to be honest about Minnie, I must risk a little honesty myself.

“Yes. It is an old nightmare. As far as my commitment, I have no recollection of that, so I can’t tell you if that has anything to do with it.”

He nods. “A great many patients block their memories of hospitalization. I can’t blame them. Sanitariums are horrible places. It’s an inhumane method of treatment, and I’ll be grateful when it’s done away with entirely. Now, do you have any other gaps in your memory?”

I fight to keep my face steady when I reply, “No.”

“That’s excellent,” he says. “No dissociation. Any history of sleepwalking?”

My left eye twitches slightly, and I can only pray he doesn’t take that as a sign of deception. “No, none.”

“What about in your family? A parent or sibling?”

Annie walks down the hallway, her slippers sliding softly on the hardwood floor. I look at her curiously. “What are you doing?”

She turns to me, and for a moment, I think her eyes are replaced by black holes. I gasp and prepare to scream for Mother and Father, but when I look again, I see it’s only a trick of the light. Her eyes are merely closed.

“No,” I reply. “Not that I’m aware of.”

He nods. Then he leans back in his chair and looks at me pensively with the expression that all doctors seem to wear when they want to talk about something uncomfortable but aren’t sure how to approach it.

“Eliza tells me you were screaming for help during the night. She says you were shouting, ‘Let me go!’ and weeping. Do you recall any of that?”

I tilt my head. “When did she tell you that?”

“Over the phone on your way over here.”

My brow furrows. I recall her speaking on the phone, but I don’t remember the conversation.

“Do you feel you’re in danger, Mary?”

I take a breath and say, “Really, Dr. Chalmers, I’m fine. I only need something for insomnia. I am dreadfully sorry to have alarmed everyone, but it was only a nightmare. No, I don’t feel I’m in danger.”

He nods and folds his hands in front of him. He seems once more to debate what he wants to say, but after a moment, he only says, “I’ll prescribe you a low dose of melatonin. We’ll see if that doesn’t do the trick. But Mary, if you have other symptoms—memory gaps, sleepwalking, bedwetting—”

“This is getting a bit ridiculous, Doctor,” I say curtly. “I’ll take the melatonin, and if I have any other worries, I’ll be happy to notify you. At the moment, none of those extreme symptoms are occurring, so there’s no need for undue concern.”

“Of course,” he says. “I didn’t mean to offend.” He stands. “I’ll be back with your prescription in a moment.”

He leaves the room, and I breathe an exasperated sigh. Bedwetting? Honestly.

But you do have memory gaps, Annie’s voice taunts in my mind. And you did bite yourself hard enough to draw blood.

“I bit my lip, Annie,” I mutter. “That’s hardly a cause for alarm.”

I realize I’ve said this aloud and look around to make sure no one heard. The office door is closed, and of course no one is in here but me, so how could they?

I take a deep breath and let it out. Just a few more minutes. Then I can be on my—

Minnie! I’ve completely forgotten about Minnie!

I purse my lips. I don’t want to ask Dr. Chalmers about Minnie. He’s on the cusp of deciding I’m having a mental break. If I indicate to him that I’m obsessed over a missing girl, he might change his mind about the benefits of commitment. Or worse, he might suggest the Carltons terminate my employment so I can take a long, restorative holiday.

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