Page 88 of Mirror Image

“Uh—a year . . . ?” Dad was asking Mom. She nodded. “Right. A year,” he repeated, more firmly.

I considered this for a few moments before nodding. “Fine. One year. But I come and go as I please. I’ll decide if I want to take classes or work—and where. You’ll release enough of my money for me to buy a car, along with a stipend. At the end of the year, you sign off without any stipulations.”

“We’ll sign off if you haven’t taken any actions that we deem destructive,” Mom countered, finally getting them in the game with demands of their own.

“Too vague,” I replied, rejecting her choice of words. “I don’t like the idea of you deciding what is and what is not destructive.”

“Okay, fair enough,” she agreed, surprisingly. “We can work out those details here with Ken before we leave if you like.”

I didn’t like that I didn’t really have a choice.

Then again, I didn’t really have a plan either.

Not yet, anyway.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jenn

Sunday afternoon

When I return downstairs, I find David sitting at his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose as Julian stands, looking out the window, jiggling his leg nervously.

“Ah, Dr. Flores, come join the shit show!” Kellogg says brightly, motioning me to one of the chairs in front of him. “Julian, stop pouting over there and have a seat.”

Julian spins around, red faced. “I’m hardly pouting, David,” he huffs, stomping over to drop into the other chair. “I just can’t believe this! The manipulation, the deception! Imagine if she’d actually gotten away with it!”

I feel a little stir of defensiveness on Sam’s behalf. “Well, you’re the one who has such a long history with the family,” I remind him. “If anyone should have spotted the difference, it’s you.”

“She’s right.”

My glance cuts to Kellogg for a second. Those are two words I never thought I’d hear coming out of his mouth. Not about me, anyway. Meanwhile, to my right, Julian is having a full-on meltdown.

“I-I hardly think that’s fair!” he splutters. “I haven’t seen Mary for about five years now, since the last time I had Thanksgiving with the family. And that was also the one and only time I ever met Samantha, who apparently did an excellent job at imitating Mary. You know, I think we should be discussing invoking the Baker Act.”

I sit up straight in my chair and gape at him. “The Baker Act? Are you kidding me?”

Also known as the Florida Mental Health Act, the Baker Act is a Florida law that provides emergency mental health services—by way of temporary detention—for people with mental illness. He wants to have Sam committed involuntarily.

“No, Jennifer, I assure you I’m perfectly serious. There’s no telling what that young woman might do next if left to her own devices.”

“Julian, that does sound a bit extreme,” Kellogg says. When he turns his attention to me, I brace myself for the worst. None of this was my fault, but there’s an excellent chance I’m about to become the scapegoat. Again.

“And you?” he asks.

I wait for the rest.

“And me . . . what?”

“What do you propose we do?”

“Do? I don’t think we can do anything. I don’t believe she’s a threat to herself or to anyone else—”

“I think Doug and Terry Langston would beg to differ,” Braithwaite cuts in.

I shoot him a glare. “Well, I think if anyone is hurt here, it’s that girl upstairs.” Julian scoffs, but I continue. “She’s been through a horrible ordeal . . .”

“Not as horrible as Mary,” he grumbles.