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And now her fear—and Adriana's—was coming true. Beth would parachute into her and her father's life, like an enemy soldier.

On their last visit to Toronto, Mr. Song had come away pale and shaky. He saw his wife's features in Beth's face and wanted nothing more than to embrace her and claim her as his daughter, but she would have none of it. She hid behind Aunt Penny, who did not push her forward, as Adriana would have done, but talked to her in whispers to convince her to greet her father. Beth became more and more hysterical the harder Aunt Penny tried, so in the end both she and Mr. Song gave up. Beth hid her face in Aunt Penny's shoulder and they left without saying goodbye.

On the plane ride home, Adriana put her hand on her father's hand, and sent him telepathic messages. Don't worry, she will come around. Don't worry, she's still young and there is plenty of time. Mr. Song kept his eyes closed, his forehead wrinkled with pain. Adriana wished she could smooth his brow, comfort him, but she knew she there was nothing she could do. Her father's pain made her feel like a new born baby, not yet oriented in time and space—helpless.

Adriana used to write Beth letters, in language an eleven-year-old could understand. “We were happy to see you in Toronto,” she scrawled. “I hope you can visit us sometime.” There were stickers, hearts and dogs and cats. Secretly, Adriana thought she might be terrifying her sister with these notes, and hoped that was the case. She didn't really want a spoiled pre-pubescent in her life. Beth never wrote back except at Christmas and on her birthday. Adriana could tell the dutiful notes that said “Thank you for the gift” and not much else must have been Aunt Penny's doing.

 

Mr. Song went to Toronto for a few days, during which time his sister Penny died and Beth had a kind of breakdown. At least that's how Adriana thought of it, when her father described what had happened over the phone. Adriana clutched the payphone receiver in the hallway on the day she was allowed to start wearing her street clothes again, while her father described how Beth sat next to Penny's bed, holding her hand, even after the machines stopped working and Penny's head fell sideways on her shoulder. Mr. Song had to pull Beth away when the gurney came to take Penny's body, and Beth walked all the way to the service elevator with her hand on Penny's arm, until one of the burly orderlies cleared his throat and told her kindly that she wouldn't be able to come with them. Beth fell into a clump on the floor and Mr. Song had to haul her up by the armpits, a dead weight.

Chapter 15

A few days later, Mr. Song arrived at the hospital with a bag full of White Rabbits and sesame candies from Toronto's Chinatown. He hugged Adriana and she could feel his relief, that he was home with both of his daughters nearby, as troubled as they were. “Beth is in a state of shock. I can't leave her alone or I'm afraid she'll do something drastic,” he admitted. She was actually in the car with Madeleine, the neighbour woman with red hair, manicured nails, and a smoker's rasp, who had shown an interest in Mr. Song after Adriana's mother died. Mr. Song was friendly but did not return her affections—still, she made herself available any time he needed a favour, and he needed one now.

“Can I ask Beth to come up?” Mr. Song put the question to Adriana, meekly, but with his eyes narrowed and mouth tight. He was expecting her to refuse, but Adriana nodded her head weakly and watched her father soften. “Okay, darling, I'll go get her,” he said with a relieved smile, brushing the hair from his face. He still had a full head of black hair, after all these years, Adriana noted dully.

Adriana was sitting up in bed, her eyelids squeezed shut as though she were in pain. When she heard the door open, she opened her eyes and saw Mr. Song standing behind Beth with his hands on her shoulders. Adriana raised one hand but did not smile.

“Adriana's ill, Beth,” Mr. Song murmured. “We won't stay long.” Adriana wanted to stretch one of Beth's curls and watch it sproing back to hit her in the head.

Beth's face was pale and fearful. Adriana put out her hand. “I'm sorry about Aunt Penny,” she croaked. Beth put her hands over her face and turned to Mr. Song, who hugged her awkwardly.

“Beth, Adriana is only here temporarily. She'll be better soon, and then she'll come home and you'll both be able to keep each other company.” Beth was sobbing into her hands, a sound that Adriana remembered well. Blubbering was what she'd call it, a graceless sound, heavy with grief. Adriana suddenly felt sorry for Beth, who thought she had no one and nothing, even though her family was right here around her. Beth looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes, and suddenly stopped, hiccupping loudly. She stared at Adriana, as though she were trying to place her.

Adriana put her hand out to Beth. “It's okay,” she said, “I'm not contagious.” Beth made no move to step toward her and Adriana let her hand fall on the bed.

 

Later that night, after her visitors had gone home, Adriana lay in her bed, wishing she could see the stars. There were a few visible through the wire mesh; their clean sparkle tantalizing and unreachable. Once when her parents had taken her on a road trip across the country to visit relatives, she had stood outside their motel in the dark, astounded by the spill of the Milky Way across the sky. She had never seen it before, and it made her feel small, but also like she belonged to creation, in a way she hadn't felt since.

Now she was part of a tiny constellation—herself and Beth and their father—pinned against the darkness. She
belonged
to something. Family was the gravitational bond that kept a person from being swept off, alone, in the ineluctable expansion of the universe.

There was a knock on the door. It was Jerry. “Adriana? You Adriana?” he said. Adriana squinted into the light of the hallway. It was the first time a patient had said her name. “Phone's for you,” he said leaving her door open. Weakly, Adriana made her way into the hallway to the pay phone, which dangled by its cord.

It was her father. “How are you, darling?” he asked.

Adriana hesitated. How could she tell him? That Beth being here had altered the map of things, of everything. “I'm okay,” she said, and it was a lie that was nevertheless tinged with truth. She felt somehow calmer, perhaps resigned, waiting for whatever came next. Her mother stood inside her, faintly mocking. What does come next? But somehow she looked paler, and her voice seemed to drift toward Adriana like a ghost.

“Guess what Beth said on the drive home from the hospital?” Mr. Song asked, happily. Adriana didn't really care that much. “What?” she asked listlessly. She could hear Mr. Song smiling on the other end. “She said you look like her mother.” He laughed.

Adriana was confused for a moment. She didn't look anything like their mother, who had died eight years ago. But then it struck her—Beth was referring to Aunt Penny, whom she had called Mum all her young life. Just as when Adriana looked at Beth and saw Viera, Beth saw Penny's features mirrored in Adriana's black hair and slanted eyes. And Adriana had the strange revelation that when she and her sister looked at one another, they were each seeing someone from beyond this world, someone who unexpectedly took leave of their lives to make the long journey beyond the star-filled universe.

 

Adriana woke up the next day and ate her way through her breakfast tray. The eggs, toast and cereal, all of them obstacles to her freedom. Fiona had told her yesterday that if she started eating, she could have passes to go outside on the hospital grounds. That, Adriana thought, was blackmail. As if sensing her hostility Fiona sat down on the edge of Adriana's bed. “We need to know you're not going to keel over from hunger,” she said, a little bit of Newfoundland slipping into her voice.

After breakfast, Adriana headed back to her room, because really, what else was there to do? She needed something to occupy her, so her mind didn't grind like rusty gears. Adriana made a couple origami cranes out of an old newspaper she'd found in the common room and left them on her window sill. Something stirred in her brain, like a sluggish goldfish in a bowl of water. Something in there was trying to connect. She felt miserable, the darkness in her a permanent, tumescent bloom. Every fold of the paper was painful, cutting into her consciousness like a sharp-edged thing.

Someone knocked and Fiona stuck her head around the door. “Can we talk a minute, love?” she asked. Adriana felt relief. Something to do, that would relieve the pressure in her brain. Fiona stepped inside and sat down in the chair. “How was your visit with your sister yesterday?” she asked. Adriana's eyes widened. Was it possible Fiona knew how she felt about her sister? “Your father told Joanne on his way out last night about your family situation. I am sorry to hear your aunt passed on,” Fiona said, eyes shiny with sympathy. Adriana felt guilty. She hadn't given Penny a second thought. It frightened her, that her telescope was so focussed on her tangled self that everything around her seemed peripheral. Her mother, arms folded, mocked her.
You are so self-centred, you can't see what is in front of you.

Adriana rubbed her forehead. Fiona leaned toward her. “What is it?” she asked, her voice gentle with concern Adriana felt her resistance dissolve. Everything was too much for her. She shut her eyes and wept.

Fiona sat beside her on the bed and put an arm around her shoulder. Everything spilled out of Adriana in a flood. Between sobs, she talked about how she resented her sister, how her mother wouldn't leave her in peace, how she feared the future and didn't see her way out of this mental hospital. Fiona, cooing reassuringly, stroked her hair in sympathy. Adriana wailed and whimpered, but at the end of it, she felt—instead of emptied, instead of humiliated and broken— like something had been filled in. Adriana wiped her dripping nose on her sleeve.

“There, my duck. That's a bit better isn't it?” Fiona asked softly. Adriana hung her head, and nodded, her hair hiding her face, which she imagined was blotchy and red. Fiona pushed the hair out of her eyes, and patted her hand. “It's not surprising you're worried about how it will be now your sister is home,” she said. “It sounds like your thoughts about your mother don't help matters.” Adriana felt partly relieved but couldn't give up her wariness entirely. Didn't Fiona judge her? And even if she didn't, did that make Adriana any less worthy of censure?

“It takes a lot of energy to talk about this life stuff,” said Fiona. “You just rest now. The doctor might want to see you later.” Adriana realized she
was
very tired. It was a real kind of tired, not the endless malaise she'd been feeling for months. She closed her eyes and imagined her mother, looking somehow smaller and less substantial, sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette.

Adriana was asleep when the doctor came to her room. She awoke to the sound of the door opening, “Sorry to disturb you,” said Dr. Chen. “Can we have a talk in the interview room?”

Adriana put on a pair of foam slippers and a sweater. She was beginning to look the part of a mental patient, she thought, and tried to pat her tousled hair into place. The doctor sat in the chair near the door, next to Fiona while Adriana sat in the farthest seat by the window. The distance between them was awkward and cool, but none of them remarked on it.

Dr. Chen cut to the chase. “We're noticing you sleep a lot in the daytime Adriana,” she said. Adriana looked down. “That's okay, but you're going to have to try to make an effort to spend more time awake. We'll get you to look at the schedule for Occupational Therapy with Fiona. There's also the gym and the pool. Do you swim?” Adriana looked up.

Adriana opened her mouth but no words came out. Fiona leaned toward her.

“Are you okay? Do you need some water?” she asked. Adriana nodded, and Fiona left the room, leaving the door ajar. “I'll be back in a jiffy,” she said.

Dr. Chen cleared her throat. “How have you been sleeping at night?” she asked.

“Fine,” she said.

“You've definitely been sleeping more than necessary for someone of your age. In fact no one but a newborn needs as much sleep as you've been getting.” Dr. Chen's nose crinkled when she smiled but her eyes remained distant and appraising.

“Fiona mentioned you talked to her about your mother, and how she criticizes you. Can you tell me more about that?” Adriana was stunned. Of course she should have known that what she said to Fiona would be shared with the doctor, but somehow she hadn't considered how she would feel about it.

Fiona was back with a small paper cup of water. Adriana took it and drank the water down. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was, and now that she did, her throat seemed to burn as though she'd emptied a shot glass.

Fiona reached out to Adriana's arm. “I was croaking for a drink too,” she said winking.

Dr. Chen shifted in her seat and neatly tucked a stray skirt edge under her. Fiona leaned back in her chair, looking back and forth between them. “I was just asking Adriana about how her mother appears to her, in the back of her mind.”

Fiona nodded slightly. “I mentioned to Dr. Chen about our talk the other day,” she explained. Adriana nodded back, but refused to smile.

“I'd like to start you on an anti-depressant,” Dr. Chen said. One that will hopefully give your energy levels a boost.” She said the name of the drug but Adriana had never heard it before and forgot it almost immediately

“Are you willing to give it a try?” Adriana looked down at her hands. She felt like she was on the edge of a cliff. “Adriana?” Dr. Chen asked.

Adriana looked up. “Will I have to be on it for the rest of my life?” she asked.

Dr. Chen tittered, putting a small ringed hand over her mouth. “The rest of your life is a long time,” she said, but didn't answer Adriana's question.