In Sight of Stars(70)

“Yeah, she is,” I say. “I might have misjudged her. I mean, I did. I misjudged her.”

“Well, it happens,” Sister Agnes Teresa says, after I tell her the rest of the story. “We sometimes judge. And when we do, we often judge incorrectly. On the other hand, you don’t seem like a truly judgmental person. So if you did, maybe there was a pretty good reason why.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “My mother, she tried … she was only trying to protect me … And, I was hard on her. I blamed her.” I stop there, wondering how I’m ever going to do this: go home and just go about business as usual.

Maybe I need more time.

Maybe I’m not ready.

“Sometimes,” Sister Agnes Teresa says, “we get angry at those who are the safest to be angry with.”

“I guess,” I say. “But that doesn’t make it fair.”

“Who says life is fair, Mr. Alden? Life is rarely fair.”

“That’s it?” I say. “Life isn’t fair? I was hoping for something more profound. Something I might hang on to, that might let me know I’m ready to go home.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then looks at me thoughtfully. “I’m a nun, Mr. Alden, not a magician.”

“I know,” I say. “But still. I was counting on you. How am I supposed to just pick up my life and go on? Especially here, in Northhollow? I mean, how do I do that? How do I go back and face everyone?”

Sister Agnes Teresa walks over and holds out her hand to me. I take it, and she squeezes, then she pulls me in for a seriously awkward hug. When she loosens her embrace, she holds fast to my hand and gives it a firm shake.

“With wisdom and bravery, Mr. Alden. The same way the rest of us do.”

*

“Your mother’s not back yet. Let me get a sweater and we’ll take a quick walk.”

Dr. Alvarez leaves me at the nurses’ station with my pile of bags. On top of the bags is the small white box from Sister Agnes Teresa. I’ve left the easel in the game room next to the art supplies. They’ll find use for it there.

While I wait for her, I lift the lid off the box and pull the note from it again. A yellow Post-it, and under that a key chain with a small metal ladder, maybe two inches tall. Probably for a dollhouse or something.

For when you hit those chutes.

With bravery and love,

Sister Agnes Teresa

I slip the keychain and note in my pocket and wait for Dr. Alvarez by the main door.

*

The air is chilly, still raw from the recent rain. I pull my sweatshirt tightly around me.

We walk silently until we reach the white stone benches in the clearing, the Buddhas with their bowls of water overflowing. Dr. Alvarez sits and pats the bench for me to sit, too.

“The mural is beautiful,” she says. “What a gift. I’m sure we’ll all cherish it, but me, most of all.”

“I’m glad it was okay.” I toe at some sort of seedpod that has half buried itself under the mud.

“You know, Klee, people have been grappling with the same basic problems for thousands and thousands of years. Whether they’ve turned to God or spiritual leaders or psychologists or mentors, you’re not alone in finding it overwhelming to make peace with it all.”

“I see that now. I thought I was okay. I didn’t realize how badly I needed someone to help. I didn’t realize how much of the burden I put on Sarah.” My throat catches when I say her name. I need to get over it, cope with whatever happens when I see her at school. I don’t know if she’ll even talk to me. “I don’t know what I’m going to say, how I’m going to go back and face her now, after what I did.” I raise my hand to my ear, and run my finger along the small notched scab. “I’m embarrassed,” I say. “I humiliated myself.”

Dr. Alvarez’s eyes follow my finger, and she says, “You got lucky it wasn’t worse. The thought was more destructive than the damage you did. In a few weeks, it will barely be noticeable.”

“In a few weeks…”

“To be clear,” Dr. Alvarez says, “I’m not making light of your actions in any regard, and for the time being, you should remain on antidepressants and continue therapy, so we can make sure you never feel that desperate again. But I guess what I want you to know is that you’ll get through it. This is the stamp on the envelope, remember? You won’t be defined forever by these actions. And, honestly, Klee, people, kids your age, do all sorts of stupid and impulsive things. Sane people. Normal people. If only that weren’t the norm. So, I’m guessing they’ll be hard-pressed to judge you.”

“But they will.”

“Maybe,” she says. “I guess you’ll have to breathe through it. I’m confident you will.” She nods up at something, and I peer up through the trees. A hint of sunlight seems to be breaking through again. “Remember, Klee, any of us, under enough pressure, without enough support, are in danger that the next bad thing can send us spiraling. It’s why we must pay attention, and be mindful. Act from what we know and not from what we fear. And seek out help when we need it. From family. From friends. But also learn to trust yourself.”

I shrug and glance past her. I know there are some things I’m going to have to solve on my own.