Page 68 of Losing the Rhythm

Me:Heh, that’s what I’m afraid of. Don’t do that. I need to go. About to drive.

All while I was texting him, my phone was blowing up with texts from the others. Without reading them, I turned my phone off.

Signing in was quick when I got to the hospital, and then I was led to her room.

Lindie was sitting by the window, staring outside at the gloomy skies. She was paler than usual, her dark brown hair a little frizzier. She usually kept it bobbed, but signs of it growing out were already noticeable. If she was of right mind, she’d be demanding a haircut at this point. She loved her bobbed hair. Always said it made her look sharper, tougher.

“Lindie,” I said softly, not wanting to startle her.

She didn’t look back at me. I hadn’t gotten an update yet from Dr. Livingston, so worry settled in my stomach. Was her medication not working? Was this a side-effect? I heard so often about medication that made people drowsy or hazy. That they’d practically turn into a zombie. Was that happening to her?

Frankly, that scared me a little too much.

“Lindie, I need to talk to you,” I said a little louder, hoping to get her attention. I sat in the chair next to her, barely in reach of her. I’d be more comfortable if it were across the room instead. Being so close to her made breathing harder, my skin feeling like a million prickles covering me.

“You finally realize I exist only because you need something from me. Typical.” Her husky voice made me feel like I was choking as she talked. “What do you want now? I have nothing more to offer you. You ungrateful bitch. Already took everything I had.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Then get me out of here.”

“Lindie, you know I don’t have the power to do that. It’s either here or jail.”

“Home. I want to go home.” She turned to me with a harsh glare that always felt like it was cutting at me. “To wear my clothes. To use my things. To be outside.”

I curled my hands in my lap, trying to hide my anxiety from her. If she knew she was getting to me, she’d push harder. And once she realized I genuinely couldn’t do anything, she’d turn to anger instead.

“Dad is in town,” I blurted out, needing disruption.

Lindie stared at me for a long time, her expression giving nothing away. No doubt, she was trying to process what I just said. And it didn’t work.

“I want to eat good food. And date. Drive around. Go shopping.”

“Lindie,” I said harder this time, needing her to pay attention. “I said Dad is—”

“I heard you!” she yelled.

I flinched, leaning away from her.

“I heard you, Cadence. That man is around.” She snorted. “What is he doing here?”

“I got one of his letters forwarded to me. So I replied.”

Her gaze narrowed on my face. “And he came running to meet the daughter he forgot all about.”

“Did he forget about me? Or did you keep me from him?”

Her eyebrow twitched.

“Leave,” she said.

“I want to—”

“Leave!” Her breathing became heavy. “Get out of here!”

I jumped to my feet and practically sprinted to the door, not caring that I smashed my knee against the table. The pain from that was nothing compared to the fear that practically consumed me.

When I made it to the door, I realized she had fallen quiet. I turned to see her still in her seat, back to staring out the window again, not moving, not saying anything.

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