Chapter VIII: A Harsh Reality

My drive is both long and excruciating. The “retreat” is far from my home in the city; far from anyone who does not belong there. But after the call I received from Grace, I knew that I would have to come as soon as possible. I never thought this day would come and I can scarcely believe it is here.

I veer off the highway onto a familiar road that is surrounded by birch trees. The road is long, winding, and unpopulated by vehicles. The further I move from the town the less people I see. As I pass a single gas station that looks practically abandoned, except for a truck and two older men smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk, I know that I am close. Turning off to a side road I pass by rows of trees and grass that has grown wild due to neglect. I see the familiar cedar wood gazebo and I know that I have found what I am looking for.

A nurse I recognize waves at me as I pass the gazebo to the small parking lot near the facility. There are patients outside wondering about. I’m sure this is their “free time” to explore. The doctors say that experiencing the outdoors can really help especially after being kept inside for the majority of the day. I look for her, but she is nowhere to be found. She used to love the outdoors; she would lie outside and tan for hours while I played in the yard.

Stepping out of my car, which thankfully managed to endure the trip, I smooth my dress and fix my hair. A nervous habit I picked up as a young girl. I wore my nicest dress today, because if all things go as the doctor had hoped, today would be a very good day. As I approach the facility I try to calm my nerves. It has been over two years since I was last here. I don’t even want to think about my last visit. It was so horrible and so very depressing. I had then thought that all hope was lost.

This place is nothing like a hospital. Instead of uncomfortable stark white walls, unsympathetic furnishes, and the smell of antiseptic; the hues of this facility are warm and the furnishings inviting. It smells like burning candles and baked goods from the kitchen. But when I look around and see the community she lives in, I can’t help but feel unsettled. It’s the people here that put me on edge. The staff is nice but at times their expressions are unnerving. Perhaps because they know so much that I do not.

I make my way to the second floor and walk towards the nurse’s station to be greeted by an attractive woman in her mid-forties dressed in blue scrubs.

 “I’m Isabella Swan here to see Renée Dwyer.”

The nurse smiles kindly at me and hands me a visitor form and quickly writes my name on a small name tag. She wishes me well before directing me to the correct room. There are a few patients sitting around a television watching soap operas in the living area, but Renée is not one of them. I find her alone in her small room. She is painting a small picture of flowers and facing the window. She doesn’t notice my entrance, but then again, she barely notices much of anything.

The doctor waltzes in before I can say anything to her. He is tall and clean cut, in an immaculate white coat and dark trousers. I am unfamiliar with him, I only remember the floor’s head doctor, Grace. He sees the confusion on my face and instantly introduces himself.

“I’m Dr. Black and you must be Isabella Swan,” he smiles at me and then looks to Renée, who is completely unresponsive and barely notices us in the room. She is focusing on her brush strokes and humming softly. 

“Renée, it looks like you have a visitor today.”

She ignores him and continues to dip her brush into the acrylic paint before applying it liberally to the canvas. I walk around her until I can see her face. It is familiar, but it is not the face I grew up seeing. She has smile lines but I know it has been quite a long time since her pretty face displayed any expression.

“Mom,” my voice is barely above a whisper.

Her eyes meet mine and I can barely breathe. The look she gives me shoots a dagger through my heart. It is as if she is seeing right through me, as if I am not in front of her, as if she does not recognize me. Her stare is crippling and tears immediately feel my eyes. I haven’t felt this weak in a long time.

“Mom it’s me, Isabella.” I try to smile, but I’m sure it looks like a watery grimace.

There is a fleeting look of recognition in her eyes before she looks away, her focus going back to her painting. Before a tear falls, I am out of the room. I can’t handle seeing her this way. I see Grace in the hallway; she smiles for a moment before she registers the look on my face.

“I thought you said she could talk,” I say before Grace can so much as greet me.

“She did Isabella, she spoke yesterday,” Grace assures me, her beautiful face troubled.

“She didn’t say anything to me,” I gasp, trying to keep my emotions at bay.

“I’m so sorry Isabella,” I hear Dr. Black solemnly say from behind me.

“What did she say,” I manage to ask.

Grace studies me for a moment, before she gives me a sad smile and says, “She said your name Isabella. She said your name quite a few times.”