I glanced uneasily at the nurse, not feeling as if I could speak freely in front of her. So I just said to Ami, “Uh, I had to check on a few things before coming out here.”
Ami nodded, seemingly knowing that those few things were a reference to the articles she’d sent.
“Fifteen minutes, no longer,” the nurse said to me as she turned to leave. I nodded obediently, but she hesitated, pinning me down with a no-nonsense look. “Mrs. Hensley is on limited visitation at this time.”
She shot Ami a pointed look and said, “Isn’t that right?” My former best friend shrugged her shoulders and looked away.
I wondered what Ami could have done to limit her privileges so early in her stay, but I didn’t dare ask. Nurse Allen stopped at the doorway on her way out and said something indecipherable to the tall, wide-shouldered guard stationed at the door. He nodded, the harsh, artificial light gleaming off his shaved head as he did so. His eyes, too small for his wide face, were unreadable when he glanced our way.
I averted my gaze and took in the room instead. The walls were a faded teal color and the linoleum floor was covered in cracks. A hodgepodge of tattered furnishings were scattered about the area. Besides Ami, there was only one other patient—a middle-aged woman in a pink chenille robe. She sat on a sagging sofa and appeared to be deeply engrossed in meticulously tracing the pattern of the checkered covering. And though a TV sat directly in front of the woman, airing some daytime soap opera, she was far more interested in mumbling to the cushions as she traced lazy squares.
“Maddy…” Ami startled me when she said my name. “What kinds of things did you have to check on before coming to see me? Did you doubt the validity of what I’d told you in my letter?”
Ami’s voice was soft, but I glanced at the guard to see if he might be listening. Thankfully, he was watching the soap opera, his eyes riveted. Turning my attention back to Ami, I admitted in a soft voice, “Yes, in fact, I did.”
She rolled her eyes. “Adam, always taking his side—”
“Well…yeah,” I scoffed.
She ignored my interruption. “You believe everything he tells you. That man can do no wrong in your eyes, can he?”
“Look, Ami, I’m not here to talk about Adam—”
She laughed, interrupting me. “Oh, Maddy.” She shook her head, eyeing me with pity. “Still in denial, even when you now know he lied.”
I was losing my patience. “Okay, okay,” I said a little louder than needed. The guard glanced our way but quickly resumed watching television.
In a lowered voice, I hissed, “Of course I didn’t want to believe Adam had lied to me. But then I went to Boston and saw the original paper. You were telling the truth, okay? So now I’m here to play your game. Are you happy now?”
“Marginally,” she replied. “But you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. You can still walk away, right now.” Ami nodded to the door.
“You know I can’t do that,” I snapped.
Ami knew I cared for Adam; she knew I’d do anything to protect him, to save him. She shifted in her chair and pulled at a loose string on the hospital-issued attire she was wearing, a drab-colored shift with two side pockets at the waist. The garment hung loosely on Ami, ill-fitted to her thinner-than-before frame. “No, I guess you can’t. Not if you ever want to learn the truth.”
“Ami,” I implored, “just tell me what’s going on. Let’s not play this game, whatever it is. Haven’t we all been through enough?”
Ami laughed and crossed her legs. I noticed she was wearing a pair of dark sneakers, though they had no laces. A precaution, apparently Ami was a suicide risk. It reminded me of just how sick my former friend really was. So I wasn’t particularly surprised when she answered my plea with, “Whatever fun would that be, Maddy, my dear?”
Game on, I thought, rather dejectedly. I didn’t care to waste valuable time playing a guessing game, solving a puzzle—whatever, especially if Adam was in jeopardy. But what choice did I have? Even locked up, Ami held all the cards. And she knew it.
Fifteen minutes wasn’t very long, and we’d already wasted more than half of them going back and forth. “Okay, fine,” I said, sighing. “You said you have some kind of a puzzle piece for me? What is it?”
“Shhh, not so loud.” Ami motioned to the guard, who’d switched from watching the soap opera to watching the lady tracing the patterns on the sofa. “If they suspect your visits are more than social calls, they will end them.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, while Ami jammed one of her hands down one of the pockets on her shift.
“Here,” she said, passing me a small, wooden object she had fished out.
The guard, noticing the exchange, was by my side in a flash. “Sorry, Miss, but you’re going to have to turn that over to me. You aren’t allowed to accept anything from a patient.”
“I have permission. She’s allowed to have that,” Ami protested, her voice shrill. “I made it in arts and crafts class. You’re allowed to make gifts for your friends. Ask the nurse.”
Ami seemed on the verge of tears, but I couldn’t discern if they were genuine. She was a consummate actress; I’d learned that the hard way. The guard looked conflicted, and I held tight to the wooden “craft” Ami had apparently made for me. I was afraid to open my fingers. What if the guard took it away? Whatever it was felt light. I suspected it had been fashioned from a soft wood such as pine. From what I could feel, it was shaped like a key of some
