I Wish You All the Best(19)

“I can meet again,” I say. That’s probably what Hannah wants.

“We’ll try for next Thursday, okay? I’m free in the afternoons, and that way you don’t have to keep missing school.”

I stand up, folding the pamphlet to slip it into my back pocket, knowing I won’t be going to this support group thing. If I could hardly face coming out here, how am I supposed to come out to a room full of strangers?

“I’d also like to talk with Hannah briefly, if that’s okay.” Dr. Taylor eyes me.

“Why?”

“I’m not telling her anything we haven’t agreed to. I just want to make sure she understands everything, if she has any questions.”

“Oh, okay.”

“So you’re comfortable with that?”

Not really, but maybe it would be easier for Dr. Taylor to handle this instead of Hannah grilling me in the car ride back home. Dr. Taylor pokes her head out the door and says something, Hannah trailing in right behind her.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“Just fine,” Dr. Taylor says. “I just wanted to talk about a few things regarding Ben’s appointments.”

“Okay.”

“Ben and I will meet on Thursday; every other week should suffice unless Ben tells me they want to change the frequency of the appointments.” Dr. Taylor says this about as straightforward as I can imagine someone can. “I’ll be communicating with them directly and won’t be sharing any information unless Ben signs a release form.”

“Oh” is all Hannah says, and I can’t look at her right now. I wonder how it feels, having the woman you’re paying to treat the sibling you just took in tell you that you don’t have a right to know anything that goes on in here.

“I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be able to discuss any details about their appointments besides when they will occur.”

“No,” Hannah says. “I mean, yeah, of course. No, I totally understand.” She seems a little jumpy. Maybe from the knife I just stabbed her in the back with. “Was there anything else you needed to talk to me about?”

Dr. Taylor looks my way. “Ben?”

“I’m done.”

“All right, I’ll see you next Thursday.” The last thing Dr. Taylor does is grab a small card from her desk. “Here’s the contact information for the office, just call if you need to change the times.”

I tuck the card in alongside the brochure.

“Thank you, Dr. Taylor.” Hannah and Dr. Taylor shake hands. “You ready to go?”

I nod and eye the clock on the wall. It’s only one in the afternoon, but it feels later than that.

“Want to stop and get some lunch?”

My stomach lurches, totally empty, but I shake my head. I don’t think I have it in me to keep food down right now.





“Interesting.” Mrs. Liu eyes the painting, and I’m trying not to feel self-conscious. A task I’m failing at miserably. “I like the empty space here, and the choice of colors, especially the dark blues. What made you pick that?”

I just picked blue because I like blue. Isn’t sky supposed to be bluish anyway? “It felt right,” I say instead. I don’t think my other answer will win me many points. Mrs. Liu is an interesting teacher, to say the least. Over the last two weeks, she’s been circling over me like a hawk while I work, even if it was just a sketch. So far she’s had me at the wheel making this hideous clay pot. And before that, she gave me a bag full of wire clothes hangers and told me to make something out of them.

Yesterday, she gave me an easel and a canvas and told me to paint the first thing that came to mind. Mariam had been texting me about cardinals during lunch, and how they’re Mariam’s favorite bird. So that was the first thing I blurted out.

And I painted a cardinal, just like I’d been told to.

“It’s a nice contrast, especially with the red,” she tries to joke. At least I think it’s supposed to be a joke. “Do you like painting, Ben? You’re very good at it.”

“Yeah.” I actually enjoy it more than drawing. I guess maybe it feels fresher, since I can’t do it as much as I want to. I couldn’t exactly drag out paint sets at home, and at Wayne, art classes weren’t much to write home about.

Not that they were worse, and I learned a lot. Things were just definitely stricter there.

That’s when the bell decides to ring. I scramble to get my paint and brushes into the sink. “Oh, take your time, kid.” Mrs. Liu pats my shoulder.

“Sorry, wasn’t paying attention,” I say, my hands already stained with the watery orange.

“It’s okay. I wanted to ask you something anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“I noticed you’re going out to the courtyard during your lunch.”

Jesus, I’m ready for everyone to stop being obsessed with where I go for my lunch break. “Oh, yeah, not a cafeteria fan.”

“Well, if you ever want to come in here and work …” Mrs. Liu pulls a small key out of the pockets on her smock.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course. I’ve got a good feeling about you, Ben.” She slaps the key down on the counter. “But just a warning, I don’t give too many chances.”