saw the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. I definitely frightened him.
“I asked you a question.” I walked towards him and towered over his round body as he sat in his favorite wooden chair. He jolted out of his seat and made his way to his desk as he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
After he had the security of the desk between us he said, “What I discuss with Eden is protected by doctor patient privilege. I think you should just calm down and have a seat before I have to call your social worker. This behavior you’re exhibiting is disturbing and…and I feel you may be a danger to your family. You don’t want to go to another foster home, do you?”
Did he really think I was a danger? How could he possibly believe that after all I’ve done all my life to protect them? No, there was definitely another reason why he felt so threatened by me all of the sudden.
I stared at the large wet circles forming under his armpits. So much heat radiated from his face his glasses had started to fog.
When I didn’t move, he placed his hand over his phone. He was really going to make a phone call that would separate me from Eden. I couldn’t let that happen. I took a deep breath and sat down determined to study this man as closely as he had studied me for the past decade. Something wasn’t right with him. And if it had anything to do with my sister, he would regret the day he ever met me.
Chapter 13: Brewing Storm
The appointment with Richard proved worthless as I spent the entire time studying his actions and facial expressions while providing sarcastic, succinct, or shrouded answers to his probing questions.
He wanted to know whether my disregard for my mother’s rules last night was a sign of things to come. Would I turn into the typical withdrawn and unruly teenager?
“Is that what you would prefer, Richard?” I asked, answering his question with one of my own. “Would that make you more comfortable to know exactly where I fit? To label me with some sort of textbook diagnosis?”
“Why are you always so…,” Richard paused as he searched for the right word. I decided to help him out.
“Caustic, argumentative, obstinate, recalcitrant?”
“I was going to say difficult or defensive, but yes, all those adjectives fit as well.”
I stared into his eyes with a cold glare. I thought about the way he’d acted toward me just minutes ago and said, “I could ask the same question of you.”
He ended the session.
***
As I walked home from Richard’s office I noticed the dull gray sky. It was mid November and we were due for a snowstorm anytime. If Grandma Jean were alive, she’d be able to immediately tell me whether to expect bad weather.
“Storms a comin ’,” she’d say. “Feel it in m’ knees.” Sure enough, later that day some sort of storm would pass through. I’d crawl into the rickety old rocking chair with her and wait out the rain, or snow, or hail, from the safety of her lap.
Right now, a storm brewed in my life. I felt the winds of change pressing against the floodgates of torrential emotions. But I felt powerless and blind. There was too much I couldn’t control and even more I didn’t know. Lately, I had just wanted to forget everything and lose myself in my feelings for Maddie , but the run-in with Richard reminded me that I couldn’t. I had a family to protect.
When I got home, my mother’s car was in the driveway, but the house seemed empty. The blinds were drawn and the lights were off. I walked toward the phone to call Maddie when I heard, “You must think I’m the worst mother ever.” My mother sat on the couch with her back to me staring at a blank TV screen. I really didn’t know what to say to such a remark. It wasn’t a question, so I couldn’t respond with a yes or no. Even if it was a question, a simple answer like that wouldn’t have been appropriate.
I knew what she wanted me to say. She wanted me to forgive her for the foster homes, the hospital visits,
“I asked you a question.” I walked towards him and towered over his round body as he sat in his favorite wooden chair. He jolted out of his seat and made his way to his desk as he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
After he had the security of the desk between us he said, “What I discuss with Eden is protected by doctor patient privilege. I think you should just calm down and have a seat before I have to call your social worker. This behavior you’re exhibiting is disturbing and…and I feel you may be a danger to your family. You don’t want to go to another foster home, do you?”
Did he really think I was a danger? How could he possibly believe that after all I’ve done all my life to protect them? No, there was definitely another reason why he felt so threatened by me all of the sudden.
I stared at the large wet circles forming under his armpits. So much heat radiated from his face his glasses had started to fog.
When I didn’t move, he placed his hand over his phone. He was really going to make a phone call that would separate me from Eden. I couldn’t let that happen. I took a deep breath and sat down determined to study this man as closely as he had studied me for the past decade. Something wasn’t right with him. And if it had anything to do with my sister, he would regret the day he ever met me.
Chapter 13: Brewing Storm
The appointment with Richard proved worthless as I spent the entire time studying his actions and facial expressions while providing sarcastic, succinct, or shrouded answers to his probing questions.
He wanted to know whether my disregard for my mother’s rules last night was a sign of things to come. Would I turn into the typical withdrawn and unruly teenager?
“Is that what you would prefer, Richard?” I asked, answering his question with one of my own. “Would that make you more comfortable to know exactly where I fit? To label me with some sort of textbook diagnosis?”
“Why are you always so…,” Richard paused as he searched for the right word. I decided to help him out.
“Caustic, argumentative, obstinate, recalcitrant?”
“I was going to say difficult or defensive, but yes, all those adjectives fit as well.”
I stared into his eyes with a cold glare. I thought about the way he’d acted toward me just minutes ago and said, “I could ask the same question of you.”
He ended the session.
***
As I walked home from Richard’s office I noticed the dull gray sky. It was mid November and we were due for a snowstorm anytime. If Grandma Jean were alive, she’d be able to immediately tell me whether to expect bad weather.
“Storms a comin ’,” she’d say. “Feel it in m’ knees.” Sure enough, later that day some sort of storm would pass through. I’d crawl into the rickety old rocking chair with her and wait out the rain, or snow, or hail, from the safety of her lap.
Right now, a storm brewed in my life. I felt the winds of change pressing against the floodgates of torrential emotions. But I felt powerless and blind. There was too much I couldn’t control and even more I didn’t know. Lately, I had just wanted to forget everything and lose myself in my feelings for Maddie , but the run-in with Richard reminded me that I couldn’t. I had a family to protect.
When I got home, my mother’s car was in the driveway, but the house seemed empty. The blinds were drawn and the lights were off. I walked toward the phone to call Maddie when I heard, “You must think I’m the worst mother ever.” My mother sat on the couch with her back to me staring at a blank TV screen. I really didn’t know what to say to such a remark. It wasn’t a question, so I couldn’t respond with a yes or no. Even if it was a question, a simple answer like that wouldn’t have been appropriate.
I knew what she wanted me to say. She wanted me to forgive her for the foster homes, the hospital visits,
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