I smiled. “Haylee could convince anyone of anything if she thought it would help her or make her feel better about something.”
“Dr. Alexander is an experienced psychiatrist, Kaylee. She’s been practicing for more than fifteen years.”
“Haylee’s been practicing for nearly seventeen,” I said.
“If you think she can successfully lie right to your face and anyone else’s, why do you want to see her?” he snapped back at me.
“It’ll be different now,” I told him confidently. “I have better lenses on my eyes. And I know her better than any doctor ever could.”
He thought a moment and then nodded. “I bet you do; lenses better than mine, for sure. Okay. Let’s go,” he said, and opened his door.
I followed him to the front entrance. He hesitated just a little before he opened it. I was sure he was still struggling with the fear that he was doing me more harm than good by permitting me to see Haylee. But it was foolish to think, even to hope, that she and I would never see each other again. Better that this happened sooner rather than later, I thought, and I believed he reluctantly thought so, too.
Inside, there was another uniformed guard waiting near a metal detector. It buzzed when my father passed through, and the guard moved a wand over him and inspected his keys and his money clip. Nothing buzzed on me. He nodded for us to continue entering.
My father was right. It was like a typical hospital lobby, with a shiny light brown tile floor, some rust-colored leather or imitation leather settees, and a few chairs and side tables with magazine racks on both sides. There was even a table with a coffee machine and cups. The one thing that struck me as different were the walls—bare, no paintings, nothing. Straight ahead of us was a glass enclosure with a window that was slid open. Another man in a blue uniform similar to those of the other guards was behind the desk. On his right was a woman in the same uniform working on a computer. They both looked at us curiously. I had the feeling they didn’t get many visitors who were otherwise not professionally involved with the patients.
“I’m Mason Fitzgerald,” my father said immediately. “And this is my daughter, Kaylee. Dr. Alexander is waiting to see us.”
The uniformed receptionist looked at some papers on his desk and then nodded at the clipboard on the counter in front of us. We had to sign in again, and again we were asked for our licenses. The guard copied down the numbers. I couldn’t miss seeing the video camera on us. If anything finally convinced me that I was in a secured institution, it was all this care and observation and double-checking of those who visited.
“I’ll let Dr. Alexander know you’re here,” he said, handing us visitor passes and nodding toward the settees.
My father indicated that I should stick on the pass just above my right breast. It was plain white, with the date and time and the prominent word VISITOR, with a tracking bar and some numbers.
We sat, neither of us saying anything. I was impressed with the stillness. I had all sorts of frightening images in mind, most from movies that took place in such places. I imagined mentally disturbed inmates screaming, guards yelling, and some elevator music playing. The quiet was more disturbing, however. I felt myself fidgeting, shifting in my seat, and twirling some strands of the wig I wore over my too-short hair. It was something Haylee often did as well when she was nervous, fingering her hair. It was practically the only way I could tell that she ever was nervous.
My eyes wandered toward the magazines. I was going to reach for one but stopped. I thought I’d feel like I was waiting to see the dentist, and I wouldn’t comprehend anything I read anyway. I forced myself to sit still and stare ahead. The guard at the metal detector watched us for a few moments and then walked over to the window and began talking to the seated guard. Haylee was behind those walls somewhere. I could feel my heartbeat quickening from the moment we had entered, and it had yet to settle down.
“Dr. Alexander will be out soon,” my father said, sensing my discomfort. “She strikes me as a very efficient person who hates to waste her time or anyone else’s.”
I nodded, but now that I was here and what I was about to do was imminent, a part of me wanted to get up and run out. How had we come to this, my mother’s precious, perfect twins? How do you know someone almost as well as you’ve known yourself all your life and suddenly realize she’s betrayed you so dramatically that any love or affection you cherished between you was popped and gone as quickly as a soap bubble?
Of course, there were many things Haylee had done to me in the past that were irritating, if not outright painful, such as trying to steal a boyfriend or driving away my friends because she was jealous of my friendship with them or knew they didn’t like her. Even though we were taught to share and be fair with each other all our lives, I would have to admit she forced me to do the things she wanted far more than she did anythi
ng I wanted. Maybe it was my fault for being so forgiving. Maybe I should have listened more closely to the adage “If you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile.”
Haylee would be the first to say that if someone was fooled by someone else, it was her own fault. She loved that “buyer beware” idea and often excused students who hurt other students. “It’s her fault for being too trusting,” she would tell me, speaking of the victim. “I don’t feel sorry for her.”
Why didn’t I listen to the subtle warnings she was giving me about herself and me?
Shouldn’t I have seen it coming? We breathed the same air, ate the same food, and heard the same things almost every day of our lives. People were amazed at how we moved together, pausing and turning simultaneously. Only conjoined twins were more simpatico. Yet I hadn’t detected the biggest deception of all. Despite the fact that I hated agreeing with her about anything, especially now, I had to admit that I was more angry at myself for being stupid than I was angry at her.
Dr. Alexander stepped into the lobby. I heard the clicking of her heels on the tile floors just before she appeared. She was wearing an ankle-length light green skirt and matching blouse. In her high heels, she looked more than six feet tall. I wasn’t surprised that my father hadn’t mentioned she was African American. Neither of my parents ever showed any prejudice. My father had some very clever and accomplished African American men in his company and one of them, Al Daniels, used to play tennis at our home.
Dr. Alexander’s striking ebony eyes immediately fixed on me as she approached. I felt like a target in someone’s gun sights. She walked with a runway model’s poise. My first thought now was how Mother would definitely compliment her on her posture and say, “There, that’s how I want you to walk.”
The doctor’s demeanor reflected the self-confidence and efficiency my father claimed she had. His reminder that Haylee, not I, was her patient resonated. I felt immediately that she wasn’t at all interested in making me feel comfortable or welcome. She didn’t exhibit any sensitivity to how this visit was difficult for me. Instead, her eyes were full of stern, suspicious questions. We stood, and she offered me her hand. She barely glanced at my father. Only now, when I was confronting her, did it strike me that of course she’d have to be on guard against me wanting to do Haylee harm. She was visually frisking me for signs of anger and vengeance.
“I’m Dr. Alexander,” she said. She looked at my father but held my hand. “I have seen other monozygotic twins, but I must say, these two girls are remarkable.” She let go of my hand. “Kaylee, I’m happy to meet you.”
There wasn’t much feeling behind that. It was more like scientific curiosity. Her voice was a little deeper than I’d expected and even, I thought, had a slightly foreign accent, perhaps Caribbean.
“Thank you,” I said, sounding just as mechanical.
“We’ll go to my office for a chat first. Mr. Fitzgerald,” she added, nodding and giving him permission to come along.
I hesitated. “My sister knows I’m coming?”