Counting by 7s(20)

The driver watched the traffic light turn to yellow and then he stepped on the accelerator believing he could just glide right through the red signal.

Instead, he sailed straight into a pickup truck.

Jimmy died on the scene but was still put into an ambulance and taken to the hospital with his wife.

Roberta stopped breathing three hours later during emergency surgery.

The driver was left in a coma.

The only piece of metal not mangled or burned by the collision was a yellow triangle with black lettering on the back bumper, which read: SAFETY FIRST! Tell Me How I’m Doing:

Call 800 Med-Supp. I’m truck #807.





Chapter 16





Mai and I sat outside today on the steps of the trailer office.

When the door swung open, and Dell and Quang-ha emerged, I got to my feet and followed Mai down the stairs.

Dell’s forehead crunched up.

“What are you doing?”

Mai gave Dell a sly smile.

“Willow doesn’t want to have a session today. But we were thinking maybe we would all go for ice cream. Chocolate-dipped cones would be nice.”

Dell looked like he had just lost bowel control. He stammered: “Willow h-has an appointment. That’s not something th-that’s optional.”

I glanced off into the distance. Quang-ha couldn’t hold back a snicker.

Dell turned from Mai to me.

“Willow, you’ve been ordered to come here for behavioral reasons. It’s not optional.”

I looked right at him.

“I was sent here under false pretense.”

For the first time Quang-ha actually seemed interested in what was going on. He said: “Why does she have to be counseled? She hangs out with my kid sister, so she can’t be any kind of troublemaker.”

Dell appeared panicked. He started to babble: “You—I . . . We must . . . this to-day—”

Mai came to the rescue. She stared at the counselor (whose arms were now giving a strange flap as if he were trying to fly) and said: “We wanna go to Fosters Freeze. You could drive us. You and Willow can talk about her counseling in the car.”

I could see on Dell’s face that he was shocked at how cheeky the teenager was.

Then Mai spoke to me in Vietnamese and I answered her. She said that she thought our plan was working. I told her that I agreed.

Dell and Quang-ha both looked surprised. I guess they were unprepared for us to share the language.

The next thing we knew, we were all in Dell Duke’s dusty car, heading out of the parking lot to Fosters Freeze.

And that’s where it all began, really.

Because as I watched the school district offices recede into the distance, I was certain that the old dynamic between Dell and Mai and me was over.

And endings are always the beginnings of something else.





Chapter 17


back in the now




Next of kin.

That’s what they want to know. Kinfolk. Who talks like that?

But that’s what they are asking me.

One of the kinfolk is in the Valiant Village, which is a care facility for patients suffering from dementia.

This “kin” is my father’s mom.

My grandma Grace sits in a chair in the lobby in front of a non-working fireplace. She even takes her meals on a tray there.

An aid feeds her.

G.G.’s husband died of a heart attack on his sixty-sixth birthday and she started to lose track of things after that.

Should I tell them?

My dad had one brother, but he was older and drifted away from the family when he found work overseas doing private contracting for the military.

No one had heard from him in years; my dad didn’t even know if his own brother was still alive.

I tried to find him when I was ten years old, and from what I pieced together, I’m pretty certain that he died in some kind of accident involving a cargo plane.

But I didn’t tell my parents.

And my mom was an only child. Both of her parents passed away when she was in her late twenties. I never even got to meet them.

I don’t have aunts and uncles and cousins. We aren’t that kind of family. We’ve had misfortune and a lot of bad health. And now this.

Thinking about the kinfolk health histories was the only time I found comfort in being adopted.

Now I cannot think.

I cannot concentrate.

I cannot breathe.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

After a lot of questions, all that I say to the officers is: “I have one grandma who thinks every day is Tuesday.”



The shadows get longer.

I sit on the front steps.

The tears will not stop.

And I almost never cry.

But I’m not myself.

I will forever be someone else now.

The two people I need to get in touch with, the two people who most need to hear this most horrible news, are not here.

My teeth start to chatter.

I want to shut my eyes and make everything stop.

I no longer care if my heart pounds in my chest or if my lungs move.

Who are they even moving for?

Mai sits next to me, and her hand grips my shoulder.

She makes a low cooing noise. It is a drawn-out call like a dove makes. And it comes from somewhere deep inside.