Page 47 of Meet Me in the Garden

“I’m not married. I don’t meet the criteria for adopting. And Claire’s life is all set up.”

She scrunches her forehead, effortful for her, to follow what I’m saying. “What about… Hattie’s brother… I thought you married…”

A jolt of anger, even now in this place, at having to repeat what I say to strangers: “He died in the war.”

She’s still for a moment, and then claps her hands over her ears, rocksforward. My anger vanishes. I want her to rest her head on my knees, want to pet her and tell her it will be all right. Instead, I sit with my hands folded in my lap. I say, “Claire really loves her. She’s going to be so good to her. I’m certain of that.”

“Not Claire. Not Claire. Ithasto be you.”

“Delphine,” I say, “I wish I could. I’m not able to. I’m not married. It isn’t my choice.”

I’m telling the truth, but still, my whole body is wrong with it. She takes my hands, the first time she’s touched me in years. “Please,” she says. “Find a way.”

“You’ll come live with me when you’re out,” I say. “We’ll go over to Claire’s all the time. We’ll make a new way to be a family—”

“I have to be dead.”

“No.” My heart pounds, thoughts coming scattershot.

“Has Dr. Jamison told you what they do to me?” Her voice has gone cold. “How they put me to sleep?”

I nod, dig my nails into my palm. They pump her full of insulin until she falls into a coma, shocking the brain. Afterward, they revive her. They do this for stretches of five days at a time, with one day off for observation, and another one to rest.

“And has he told you about the electric shock therapy, too?”

“Yes. It feels impossible now. I know that. But we’ll figure it out together.”

“Tell her I’m dead,” Delphine says. “If you don’t, I’ll tell everyone about you.”

I stop hearing. The room blurs. When my words come, they’re very faint. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“I would.” She looks at me. I’m having trouble breathing but she’s alert, sharp, as if she’s been in a trance and now she’s woken from it, a stranger.

“We aren’t that different,” the stranger says. “They don’t let girls like you keep their babies either. There was one girl, before I was moved to the insulin unit. She was here because she fell in love with her friend. Cried over her every night. She got shock therapy, just like me. Thenurses strap us down. Fix clamps around our heads. Force our mouths open to get the gags in. Did you know the convulsions can be so violent they break bones? It happened to someone here recently. Her clavicle.”

“Okay,” I say, “stop.”

“You’ll tell everyone I’m dead. You’ll find a way to adopt Nathalie. And if you don’t, I’ll get Claire on the phone, and I’ll tell her all about you.”

I dig my nails in deeper. “I’m not doing that anymore,” I say.

Banish the fantasy of the surfer in my bed. Banish the memory of Ginny, kissing me against the wall. Of Hattie, and all our Thursday afternoons. Push it all out of my body, push it all away.

“You know that Claire wouldn’t hesitate. She’s like our mothers.” Tears trail down Delphine’s neck, wetting her collar, a spot of darker blue at her throat. Suddenly not a stranger anymore. Devastation in her face—like looking into a mirror. So many times we relied on each other and now this.

“It’s over, okay?” she says. “For you and me. It’s the only way I can do it.”

Back in Los Angeles, Adele meets me in the driveway, takes me by the hand and leads me to Claire’s house. Five in the evening and already dark, sitting on the floral sofa.

“Has she changed her mind?” Claire asks.

“No,” I say. On the drive home, my vision had blurred and darkened, I’d had to pull onto the shoulder to steady myself.

“It’s horrible,” Claire says. “But if we put Nathalie first—if we’retrulymaking a decision based on Nathalie’s well-being—wouldn’t it be easier for her to not have to wonder? Less confusing, and more peaceful in the end? I know it’s a lot. Look: My hand is shaking.”

“Better get a drink,” Adele says. “You aren’t supposed to let yourself get worked up.”

“I’ll get drinks for all of us.” Claire crosses the room to the wet bar. She’s wearing the suede slippers I bought her from Bullock’s. Delphine’svoice is in my head, saying,Not Claire. But it’s Adele and Claire and me now, and they’ll never know that she said it. Claire hands Adele her drink, hands me mine. A lowball for each of the Honoré sisters. I’m searching Claire’s face. I need to believe that she wouldn’t really put me away. Her brows furrow as she looks at me. “Poor thing,” she says. “It’s all so hard, I know.”