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already.” Frances was in rare form. The pressure was really getting to her. “I’d lock my kids in a box before I let them face that media circus.”
    “They’re oddly unprotective,” I said.
    “She needs us to protect her,” Deena said.
    “Not our job,” Frances cut in. “My first responsibility is to this facility. If you ask me, they don’t want two kids in here at the same time. It looks bad. So that leads us to the second thing. The judge is irrelevant after thirty days. So as much as he wants her here in spite of everything—because he’s in the media circus too, and he wants her off his docket—he’s got less say once she can put sentences together and not choke random people. Like her therapist.”
    “Or her brother,” I said.
    The microwave beeped. Frances opened the door.
    “She has a problem with men,” Deena exclaimed as if she’d hit gold. “Having him here could unleash a torrent of old feelings.”
    “The only misandrist in the room is you, Deena,” I said.
    She stood like a shot, knocking over the chrome-and-plastic chair. “That is—”
    “True,” I said. “It’s—”
    Frances slammed the microwave door. “Enough. Just, enough. I have a budget to put together, and I have a major donor’s kid in solitary, and I just got attacked by a hundred-ten-pound heiress, and I’m hungry. Dr. Chapman, do you have room in your schedule to finish this? I know you left, but I’m on my knees.”
    “No, you’re not.”
    “Don’t split hairs.”
    “I want her off the Paxil.”
    “Frances,” Deena said, “please, I can do this.”
    “Deal,” she said to me before turning to Deena. “No, you can’t. I’m sorry, but I need this to run smoothly.”
    “I’ll do it,” I said without thinking. At the very least, Jana would be happy about my impulsive decision.
    “Thank you.”
    “Can I do the brother then?” Deena asked.
    Frances and I spoke together. “No!”

CHAPTER 12.
    FIONA
    J onathan was in the rec room playing ping pong with a wall. Between the reddish hair, his height, and his fluid motion, he was hard for me to miss. The ball hit his paddle with a thup , then the wall and the table with a crackcrack .
    He was a grown man. He’d been the baby, the little boy king for as long as I’d known him. But seeing him there, knocking that ball back and forth, with his arms and shoulders broad and built, I realized how much time had gone by. I felt old.
    “Hey,” I said, sitting on the windowsill next to the table.
    The table was bent in the middle like an L, and he was beating the ball against the other side. He moved fast and never even seemed close to missing.
    “Hi,” he said, eyes on the ball.
    “How are you feeling?”
    He didn’t answer. thup crackcrack
    “You look good,” I said.
    “You want something?”
    thup crackcrack
    “We’re imprisoned together. I thought I’d say hello.”
    “Hello.”
    He looked like a man, but he was a boy.
    thup crackcrack
    “Who’s your therapist?”
    thup crackcrack
    “Guy named Rogers.”
    thup crackcrack thup
    “Don’t tell him anything.”
    crackcrack He caught the ball midair. “What?”
    “They’re out to use us,” I said.
    “You’re nuts, Fee.” He knocked the ball against the table and started again. “Nuts, but I never had you for paranoid.”
    thup crackcrack
    “And what happened with you?” I asked. “I mean, Jesus, Jonathan. Were you really trying to end it?”
    thup crackcrack
    “You muscling in on my therapist’s territory?”
    “I just don’t understand.”
    thup crackcrack
    “You’re really bad at this,” he said.
    “I’m your sister. I want to know.”
    “It’s none of your business.”
    thup crackcrack
    “Was it Dad? Was it that he was with Rachel when she—”
    He smacked the ball onto the horizontal surface, sending it flying to the ceiling. “Shut up!”
    “Take it easy, Jon.”
    “Take it easy? Sure, I’ll take advice from you. You’re a fucking out-of-control druggie party