Page 92 of Snowballed

“I’m sorry to say that our time here is up. I would like you to come back and I have a bit of reading I’d like to offer you in the meantime.” She pulls a couple of brochures out of her file cabinet.

I look down at the brochures which are about grieving and meditation. We set up an appointment for next week.

I thank her and leave, but the whole time I’m thinking,is that it? I thought she’d end the session with some great insights about what’s wrong with me, or more importantly how to fix me. But I did most of the talking.

Still, as I make my way across campus, I realize that I do feel better. In the same way that talking to Noah used to make me feel happier, talking to Lorraine was a relief. I got to tell her some bad things about myself and not feel any judgement. In fact, she didn’t even seem shocked.

In our second session, I describe the arguments with my mother. And this time, Lorraine asks a few questions.

“Can you describe what a normal day is like for you?”

I sketch out my day in the briefest terms.

“That’s a lot of work,” she observes. “Did you read the information I gave you last week?”

I nod. I read it but I didn’t start meditating or anything.

She gives me a kind smile. “Zoe, I really urge you to be gentle with yourself. Sometimes we keep busy when we don’t want to be alone with our thoughts—especially the unhappy ones. But having time for contemplation is important. You need to remember your father in spiritual ways too.”

Again I leave with that feeling that we’re not really getting anywhere. It feels good to tell Lorraine about the things that bother me, but I certainly don’t feel cured in any way. It’s not like physio at all.

“You don’t get better after one or two sessions,” Rocky tells me as we head to the arena for gym time. “Keep going. Eventually you’ll have a breakthrough.”

“How can you promise that? Even my counselor says that the process is different for everyone.”

Then we look up and notice Noah and Paul Wagner walking towards us. We can’t detour off the shoveled pathway without sinking into a foot and a half of snow, so I’m fated to meet up with the one person I’ve avoided like crazy since we broke up.

Of course, I’ve wanted to see him, and although my brain is screaming “no eye contact,” I look at him. Because I’m worried. Has he been getting enough sleep in the hockey house? And how well is he eating, because he can’t cook?

He’s as handsome as ever. He’s wearing his warm jacket and a Bulls beanie instead of the crappy one I knitted. But he looks tired; there are shadows under his eyes. His expression is stern.

Our eyes meet, and this jolt goes through me. I have so much regret for the way I acted when he came back from the holidays. It’s like I did everything I knew he would hate, but that makes no sense at all. We were so happy before Christmas, and he was so happy when he got back—so all the misery was on me.

I’m positive I see Noah wince. Does the very sight of me bother him now?

“Hi there,” Rocky says in her cheerful way.

“Hey, guys,” I manage to squeak out.

“Hi, Marie Josée. Zoe,” Paul says as they step aside to let us pass. Noah says nothing but nods his head.

We proceed on. I allow myself to turn around and look at him once more. I take in his broad back, his athletic stride, and even his familiar boots. It hurts so much to see him and have him be so distant. But what else can I expect?

Rocky stops suddenly, and I crash into her.

“Sorry,” I say.

She shrugs. “If you weren’t so busy gawking at Noah, you would have seen me. You’re still crazy about him, so why don’t you ask him to get back together?”

“I can’t.” Nothing has changed about my insecurities and issues. I’m sure he appreciates life away from the farm. And we have no future together. He’s going off into the world, and I’m staying right here.

But for once, the idea of the farm isn’t so comforting anymore.

32

Zoe

It’s late and dark when I drive home after my make-up exam. Who am I kidding? It’s always dark now that Noah’s gone. I sent my mother a text about making sure that the chickens and goats are in the barn, but who knows if she’s done it. Farm work remains a battle between us.

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