Page 34 of The Last to Let Go
“Oh. Sure.” But then he still doesn’t respond.
“I mean, I guess I wanted to see how she’s doing.”
“Well, how doyouthink she’s doing?” he asks me.
“I don’t know. Seems like school is maybe going okay. At least, we haven’t heard any differently. But at home, I don’t know, she just seems so... angry.”
“Hmm.” He nods again. “And what about you, are you angry?”
“Me?No.I’m sayingCallieseems angry.”
“Okay. Well... what makes you think that?” he asks.
“Well,” I say pointedly, “it’s pretty clear. I mean, every time I try to talk to her, she shuts it down. Like, with me in particular. But she’s obviously talking, right? I mean, she talks toyou. She must be talking enough at school to be getting by. I’ve seen her mumble stuff to our brother. But she won’t talk to me. It’s like she’s mad at me for something, and all I’m trying to do—all anyone is trying to do—is help.”
He reaches for the notepad and pen that have been sitting next to him. He scribbles something, then looks back up at me. “Go ahead.” He gives me another encouraging, bobbleheaded nod.
“That’s it.” I can feel my pulse speeding up, feel that vein near my temple beginning to throb. “I’m—I’m askingyoua question.”
“About Callie?”
“Yes, about Callie.” I can feel my tone sharpening, my patience dwindling. “Is she doing any better? Because it doesn’t seem like it.”
“I really can’t talk too much about it, but I think she’s making progress, yes,” he finally answers.
“Okay, great. Then, what can I be doing differently?” I ask him, hearing the edge in my voice making me enunciate each syllable. “I’m constantly walking on eggshells around her and still nothing I do is right. Everything I say is wrong.”
Nods. Again. “You know, why don’t you come back next week? Just you. And we can talk more about all of this.”
“Next week? But what am I supposed to do in the meantime? I mean, I don’t need a whole appointment, just—do you have any tips?”
He stands and removes his glasses, then wipes them on his shirt. I stand as well, since it appears I’m being kicked out. He looks me in the eye. Without his glasses as a barrier, this silent exchange feels too intimate somehow. “Sometimes if people seem like they need some space, that might be exactly what they need.”
“So you’re telling me to give her space?”
“Not necessarily. Maybe it’s you who needs space.” He frowns, turns his head slightly, then shrugs once, as if to say,Hmm, beats me.
I take a deep breath and hold the air in my lungs until my chest aches, trying to think of any response that won’t come out sounding mean and snarky. I exhale, unable to think of a single one. I’m seriously beginning to wonder about the psychiatric profession as a whole.
“We’ll talk more next week,” he assures me, placing his glasses back on his face as he ushers me out into the waiting room, where Callie sits in her spot next to the aquarium, jiggling her foot back and forth like she wants to jiggle right out of her body. The fish swim frantically behind the glass, flapping around, seeming to mirror her movements.
Dr. Greenberg whispers something to Ingrid. I keep one eye on the agitated fish while Ingrid and I toss days and times at each other. Finally she hands me a card to remind me of my appointment next week: Wednesday at 3:00. On the ride home I don’t even try to talk to Callie.
But I do decide right then and there that I’m going to let Jackie bring Callie to her appointments from now on. I will call the office on Tuesday afternoon and tell Ingrid something’s come up. School, work, transportation, et cetera. Dr. Greenberg is going to be useless anyway. He doesn’t get me, I can tell already, doesn’t get our family, but then again, no one does.
CONSTELLATIONS
THE SHOP WAS SLAMMEDonly an hour ago, the Sunday after-church rush. But as the crowd begins to thin, all that’s left is Callie, Aaron, and Ray. They seem to be here all the time recently, which, I suppose, is okay. I suspect, like me, Callie and Aaron sometimes feel weird about being at home, like when they remember about grape juice stains on the carpet or a particular crack in the wall... things we’d rather forget.
I had to work, but Callie and Aaron wanted food, so we walked here together—the first time we’d been out walking like that since we were little. We cut through the park, but there wasn’t much to say to one another.
She called this morning. Aaron talked to her first. Then he put Callie on the phone. I don’t know what Mom said to her, but I heard Callie say “Yeah,” “Fine,” and “Okay.” That’s it. Then she passed the phone to me.
Mom sounded distracted. Exhausted. Defeated. I tried to cheer her up. I told her that things were going great and tried to be upbeat. “Callie’s doing great—she’s back at school. And I love my new school too. I’m making friends. Things will be great once you’re back home, Mom,” I told her. Great. Great. Great.
“Brooke?” she said weakly. “I just want this to be over.”
“We do too.”
