Page 17 of When I'm Gone
“We went to a group for families when Natalie was first diagnosed,” he said, staring at one spot on her desk where some kind of graffiti had been buffed out and repainted. “But no, not since.”
Ms. Mason selected a single sheet of paper off the top of the pile she’d been fiddling with and held it out to Luke. “Here you go. This is a list of therapists I compiled, ones who specialize in grief counseling. Of course, it’s up to you whether you decide to send Will, but I don’t have to tell you how worrying this change in Will’s behavior is to us.”
“No. Of course not.” Luke shook his head, wondering who “us” was exactly. His kid was making up stories about being adopted. Even half-blind with grief, he couldn’t miss the gravity of the situation. He took the sheet of paper, folded it in half twice, and slid it in his shirt pocket.
After a few more minutes of small talk, Ms. Mason walked him to the door, and they shook hands. To meet his eyes, she had to tilt her head so far back it looked uncomfortable.
“Thank you for your concern for Will. He needs every bit of encouragement he can get,” he said.
“Please”—she squeezed his hand for a moment before letting go—“keep me in the loop. I really want to be there for Will. He’s a good kid.” She sounded like she sincerely cared for Will’s well-being.
As soon as Ms. Mason turned her attentions to the teenage girl who was silently pecking at a smartphone, Luke hurried out of the school and into the safety of his car. Flipping out the paper filled with names of therapists, he looked through them, closed his eyes, and pointed.
Perfect—the therapist was five minutes from home. Luke didn’t have much confidence in therapy; he’d gone to court-ordered therapy for the year after he was put in foster care. The man’s name was Mr. Tragenall, and he didnotlove his job or working with foster kids, and especially foster kids with attitude.
At that point in Luke’s life, Mr. Tragenall and all the rest of the adults who cared about him within the confines of their profession only served to highlight that he’d lost the only people in the world who actually cared for him. That’s why he hadn’t made the kids see someone sooner. Now that the school was involved, maybe he didn’t have a choice. Being stubborn and not sending him could lead to far more trouble than just employing some well-placed bribery to get Will into the therapist’s office.
Navigating his way home by mere muscle memory, Luke’s thoughts turned from therapy to the box. What could Will have found that would make him tell such a ridiculous story? This is one time he wasn’t going to look the other way. He had to admit he’d been doing that about Will’s sudden outbursts or the hours of time spent alone in his room.
Reaching home in record time, Luke sped past Jessie’s burgundy Kia parked in the driveway. When he rushed through the entry, Luke could hear Jessie’s voice echoing out to welcome him, and he noticed the air smelled of vanilla and cinnamon again. It was nice coming home to activity. The house felt warm and alive. But today he couldn’t enjoy that feeling. He needed to talk to Will.
“Is Will in there with you?” he shouted into the kitchen.
Jessie walked out as Luke was slipping his shoes off.
“Hey, Mr. Richardson, Welcome home.” She was wearing one of Natalie’s old aprons, the one with the teal and black paisleys and ruffles. A trail of flour streaked through her bangs. “Will finished his homework already, so he’s in his room doing ... who knows what.”
“I need to talk to him. I know it’s almost five.” Luke checked his watch. Okay, it was after five. “Do you mind staying a bit late?” He hung up his wool winter coat in the front closet and turned around.
Jessie had her hands on her hips, biting her lip like she was worried.
“Everything okay?” she asked, and he was sure she really wanted to know.
There was something about this girl that made Luke sad. She had an eagerness to please that reminded him of May when she wanted a new app on her tablet. No doubt she was one of those students who sat in the front row in every class and cried over a B. How could he tell someone so weighted down with her own insecurities about his very real concerns that Will was failing to thrive after Natalie’s death, like an infant refusing to nurse? How he worried her death might be the pivotal moment in Will’s childhood that would permanently change the course of his life? Or how Luke was sure he was a complete failure as a parent and the only reason the kids were decent human beings was because Natalie had always been there to pick up his slack?
“Yeah.” He hung his keys on the small white hook drilled into the wall. They bounced against Natalie’s keys with their big jangly key chain. “Just some school stuff. His counselor called me today. Will hasn’t been turning in his assignments. She found them all stuffed in his locker. I need to find out what’s going on.”
“You’re kidding me!” Jessie almost squealed, crossing her arms. “He’s been working so hard on his homework every day. I don’t understand why he wouldn’t turn them in. He’s such a smart kid. I’m sorry. I should’ve double-checked. I should’ve ...”
“No,” Luke cut in, trying to calm her before a full-on panic attack, “this isn’t your fault.” He placed his shoes on the drying mat next to the shoe baskets. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to find out.”
“Jessie, I think it’s done!” May called from the kitchen, interrupting Jessie before she could speak. “Should I take it out of the oven?”
Her eyes went wide. “No! I’m coming!” She gave a little smile to Luke. “I’d better go check on her. Take as long as you need.” She jogged toward the kitchen and shouted, “Good luck!” over her shoulder.
“Thanks,” he muttered under his breath before heading for the stairs.
Outside Will’s room Luke considered knocking, but that might give him time to hide something. He tested the doorknob. It was unlocked. He pushed the door open wide with one big shove, which was made extra difficult by the large clump of clothes piled behind it.
The room was a disaster. Clothes everywhere. Dirty plates and forks and bowls and spoons sat in piles on various surfaces. So this was why they were always searching for utensils. Luke had bought a bulk box of plastic ones the week before, giving up on the idea of ever finding the whole set again. Apparently the right place to look was Will’s room.
Will lay on his bed with his headphones on, phone in hand texting. Luke was a little disappointed his son didn’t even notice the dramatic entrance, but he wasn’t about to be ignored. With a quick tug he pulled out Will’s earbuds, letting a deep bass pump out.
“What the ...?” Will sat up on his twin bed, folding his legs into a pretzel.When did he get so big?He had his mom’s dark hair and Luke’s crystal-blue eyes, blotchy brown freckles on the top of his cheeks, but he had Luke’s body type. A cross-country runner, his body was lean and muscled, and all his clothes hung off him like hand-me-downs. “Dad, what are you doing?”
No small talk, he had to dive right in.
“I had a nice chat with Ms. Mason today.” Luke sat down on the edge of the bed next to Will and started to put an arm around his shoulders. At his father’s touch, Will pulled away, leaning back against the wall, with his knees drawn up to his chest. When Will didn’t speak, Luke continued.
