Page 46 of Good Half Gone

I spear a forkful of coleslaw into my mouth, chewing slowly. “It’s definitely been an experience,” I say. “I’m looking forward to it though…”

He nods. “A futurist.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

He takes a bite of his pulled pork sandwich and shrugs, one arm slung over the back of his chair. He’s one of those guys who looks at home doing…whatever. Like every situation fits him just right. I want that.

“You miss the present in a chase for tomorrow. Your brain says, ‘Soon, soon, soon.’ Soon becomes an obsession…” He looks up at me. “Am I wrong?”

He can see on my face that he’s not. We eat in silence for a few minutes. Every so often he nods at someone in greeting, but no one approaches him.

“Is this what it’s like to have a session with you?”

His answer is to look into my eyes. The attraction I’m feeling for him is diabolically dangerous, not to mention stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “We all have obsessions…” He gives me that sideswept grin again, and I feel winded by it…again.

“What’s yours?”

I don’t expect the answer he gives me, or the way he looks at me when he gives it.

“You’re going to have to tell me that…” He wipes his mouth and tosses the napkin onto his empty plate. He’s about to stand up, and I feel desperate to keep him. I don’t know what he means.

“That’s why you’re here—to learn and observe.”

Fine. Sure. But is he giving me permission to learn…him? I feel flirted with, but I’ve never seen him interact with any of the women here—except Bouncer, and she threw herself at him. Was Dr. Grayson the one she was warning me to stay away from? Like it’s any of her business who he flirts with.

“I—I thought I was here to observe the patients…” I’m flustered, and he can tell.

He picks up his tray, his eyes lingering on my face for a sweltering five seconds. “You are. See you…”

I watch him walk out, along with everyone else in the cafeteria.The boss has left the building. It’s only after he’s gone that everyone stops what they’re doing to stare at me. Which makes me wonder in horror—have they been staring at us since I’ve been at the drink station with him? I’d been so preoccupied with his attention that I hadn’t noticed. Before, I was the new kid; now I’m the new kid Leo Grayson ate dinner with. By the look on their faces, it isn’t something that goes down often.

I could use that to my advantage—if he is attracted to me, that is. Leo Grayson is exactly the right person to get me in the room with the man I’ve come looking for. I want to process everything he said in detail, get away from the curious eyes and get some fresh air. I’m in a hurry when I grab my tray, not bothering to look behind me as I push my chair back.

I feel the impact before I hear the voice. “Hey! Watch it!”

From behind me—the clatter of falling plates and silverware. Something splashes on my ankles. I’ve done it now. Goddamn my clumsiness.You were being moony, not clumsy, I remind myself. I want to crawl inside my own body and dry up from the embarrassment.Let me turn into a husk right now!

I set my wobbly tray back down to face her—damp, human, and contrite. She’s taller than me, but not much older, her dark hair braided in pigtails so tight her eyes stretch catlike toward her hairline. I’m so embarrassed. My rush into apologies doesn’t faze her.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have looked behind me! Oh man, look at your shoes, here—” I reach for the napkin holder—one of those stupid silver rectangles—and frantically begin pulling. It’s been overstuffed and I can’t get the paper to come out. I yank desperately until I’ve secured a triumphant handful, which I offer her like a bouquet of flowers.

She looks from my offering of napkins to my face and back again. Then she just turns around and walks away.

I eye the overturned tray, the plate, the fried chicken leg that skidded several feet away, and wonder—should I clean it? She’s had a bad day,and I probably pushed her over the edge—or at least that’s what I tell myself, bending down. By the time I have everything cleaned up, everyone has gone back to their dinner. I decide to take that walk.

Being on the island makes me feel close to Gran and my sister. We never visited it together, other than the ferry ride I took with Gran. It’s hard not to think of her out here though; the smell of the air triggers memories faster than any of Gran’s albums. I’ve always been a smell girl.

The San Juan Islands are an archipelago with three main islands and literally hundreds of smaller islands scattered through the Salish Sea. In summer, tourists drag their kids and coolers onto the ferry at Anacortes and rush the coveted cords of beach for the best spots. San Juan, Orcas, and Lopez Island are popular among outdoor enthusiasts like Gran.

Every summer after we went to live with her, we were either on a wildlife tour or a kayaking excursion. Once, in the early hours of the morning, we’d left our tent and biked to a remote part of San Juan Island to whale watch. We’d set up on an outcropping of rocks while Gran used her camping stove to make us oatmeal. For hours we sat huddled together under the chilly morning air, talking about nothing and everything. I preferred the times it was just us and Gran doing whatever zany thing she’d thought up, but Piper, being the more social one, had preferred the camping trips we took with Gran’s church friends.

Those are the memories I cling to—the few precious years Piper and I had together that were not filled with trauma.

On a clear day, I bet you could see Mt. Baker from the beach—snowcapped, if you’re lucky. I walk the trail to the ferry, visions of Piper blowing through my mind openly, softly, and popping like a bubble when the next one arrived.

Hours of therapy have taught me to celebrate the time I had with her—to focus on those memories rather than the last one.But there it is—the last one.

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