By reason of insanity

57

Quinn headed straight for the hospital the next morning, calling Melanie along the way so he could tell her to reschedule the day's appointments. He had called Carla Duncan the night before, and she had agreed to reschedule the plea hearing. "I'll give the judge some vague reason," she assured Quinn. "I'll do my best to keep this out of the press."

When Quinn told her that Annie might change her mind about the deal, Carla was not happy. "If you reject it now, you can't come back on the eve of trial," she warned. "I worked hard to get this deal approved. Don't leave me flailing in the wind."

Quinn thanked her for her efforts but explained that Sierra's suicide attempt had changed things. "We'll let you know one way or the other next week," he said.

Because he had already put the prosecutor in a sour mood, Quinn decided this wasn't the best time to talk about a possible change in Sierra's custody. Given the circumstances, he decided he would employ a vintage Quinn Newberg strategy-act first and seek forgiveness later.

At the hospital, Quinn felt a queasiness develop in his gut. What could he say to a thirteen-year-old girl who'd just attempted suicide?

He rode the elevator to the third floor and shuffled slowly toward Sierra's room. Last night, fueled by adrenaline and remorse, he had practically run into the room. Now, knowing that Sierra would be awake, he took his time, procrastinating the awkward moment as long as possible.

"Hey," Sierra said when she saw Quinn step inside the door. The tubes and IV had been removed, and Sierra had brushed her hair. She looked tired but peaceful.

"Hey," Quinn said. He walked to her bedside. Annie was fast asleep in a reclining chair in the corner, her mouth open. A TV hanging from the wall at the foot of Sierra's bed featured an MTV reality show.

"Mom fell asleep about an hour ago," Sierra said. "I tried to get her to go home."

"She's stubborn," Quinn whispered. He wondered if he should bring up last night. What was the protocol? So, Sierra, you had any death wishes this morning?

"You feeling okay?" Quinn asked.

She nodded and looked away. "My stomach hurts. Plus, my throat's raw where they jammed that tube down."

"You scared us," Quinn said.

"I know, Uncle Quinn. I'm sorry."

Her voice was so frail that Quinn decided not to push it. "You hungry?"

"They already made me eat."

This was so awkward. What do I talk about? Where are the points of connection?

A long minute passed. "What are you watching?" Quinn asked.