Page 44 of Heal Me

“Ms. Stanton, can you help out Ms. Patel?”

Jen looks more than pleased to “help me out.” She spouts off the answer and gives a smug smile. I want to tell her to be careful, that her face will get stuck that way. Frozen-face syndrome strikes again. Clearly, I’ve been spending too much time around Aubry.

Lucky for me class ends. “Ms. Patel, a word,” Dr. Murray says. Not so lucky after all. I gather my books and slow walk my way to the front, hoping the audience disperses before I get a lecture on my subpar classroom performance. “What’s this I hear about you not going to Harvard?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Your friend Ms. Stanton is worried about you.”

Worried about me or worried about her own selfish behind? “You heard correctly. Harvard isn’t for me; instead, I’m going to train to become a midwife.”

“Charlotte, you are the best and brightest student in this class. You’re already accepted to medical school. Why not defer a year? Take some time off after your ordeal. Then reassess.”

Ordeal. Better than incident, I suppose. “Thank you for the advice, but I’ve made up my mind.”

“You’re throwing your life away,” he calls after me.

I walk down the hall and past the student lounge. Stephanie and Zoe wave me over. “Hey, don’t worry about Dr. Murray. You know what a hard-ass he can be,” Stephanie says.

“Thanks, but I’m not really worried about it.” I shrug, and they give each other a surprised look.

“You want to meet us in about five minutes for a quick study session?” Zoe asks.

“I’m actually going to take a break between classes.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Stephanie asks. “Jen said you’ve been hanging around witches,” she whispers the last part like it’s a four letter word.

“Jen has a big mouth.”

“Yes, she does. But is it true?” Zoe asks,

“Yes, I’ve been hanging around witches. I’ve actually joined a witch circle.”

“Really?” Stephanie asks, her eyes going wide.

“Charlotte, when did you become so interesting?” Zoe asks with a laugh.

“It’s a recent development. I’ll see y’all later,” I say with a wave.

The old Charlotte would never have turned down the opportunity to study. Gotta be perfect. Gotta get into medical school. Gotta make Dad love me. That last part I’m just now figuring out. Funny how my ordeal/incident has led to some major self-discoveries.

Walking to my car, I do a double take. My thoughts must have conjured him, because here is Sanjay Patel in the flesh, leaning against my car with his arms crossed. “Dad? What are you doing here?”

“Do I need a reason to see my daughter?” He pulls me in for a hug.

“You live across the country, so logistically speaking, yes.”

“Do you have a break between classes?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s go get coffee.”

“Sure.”

I drive us to the nearest coffee shop just a few streets over from campus, the silence uncomfortable. My dad has never made an impromptu visit to see me; something isn’t right.

Entering the small coffee shop, we order our drinks, and Dad chooses a table in the corner with the most privacy. “Has someone died?” I blurt out the question that’s been swirling in my mind since the moment I saw him in the parking lot. “If so, just tell me.”

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