Imperfect Spiral by Debbie Levy Page B

Humphrey?”
    I shake my head.
    â€œMaybe that was just Mr. Danker’s problem,” Dr. Gilbert says.
    â€œHis problem?”
    â€œMaybe he’s not great at interacting with a teenage girl.”
    â€œOr a five-year-old boy,” I say.
    â€œI don’t know about that,” Dr. Gilbert says. “Did you not like his interactions with Humphrey?”
    I think back. There wasn’t much to judge. My job was mostly to be at the Danker house when the Dankers weren’t there. As for Mr. Danker and Humphrey—I never could figure that out.
    â€œSometimes it looked kind of—
off
, I guess, to me,” I say. “Hot and cold. One day I’d think Mr. Danker was terrible at being Humphrey’s father. Another day I’d think he was good at it.”
    Dr. Gilberts nods encouragingly.
    â€œBut what do I know,” I say. “I was just the babysitter.”

18
Good Cookies
    Back in the spring, Mrs. Danker had purchased tickets to a children’s concert, intending to take Humphrey in the summer.
    â€œIt’s the National Symphony,” she explained to me the day before the event. “They have these wonderful programs, where they choose pieces that appeal to children, and they talk about the instruments and narrate the music. I’ve been looking forward to taking Humphrey to his first one.”
    But she couldn’t reschedule her treatment. And Mr. Danker could not get away from work.
    â€œSo … unless you can’t stand classical music …”
    â€œI’d love to go,” I said.
    So there I was with Humphrey on the subway, on our way downtown.
    â€œWhy is it called the Candy Center?” Humphrey asked. “Do they have candy at the concerts?”
    â€œThe
Kennedy
Center,” I said. “Not the Candy Center. The Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.”
    â€œBut they still might have candy,” Humphrey said.
    â€œYou never know.”
    It was a long walk from the subway station to the Kennedy Center, but the weather was nice and we practically skipped along.
    â€œMaybe we’ll see Daddy,” Humphrey said. “Since we’re in Washington, D.C., and his office is in Washington, D.C. He said he was going to court today. Maybe we’ll see him walking to court.”
    â€œYou never know,” I repeated. “But I doubt it. I don’t think there are too many law offices in this part of the city.”
    â€œHow about courts?”
    I didn’t know where the courthouses were.
    â€œWell, then, you never know,” Humphrey echoed.
    We climbed the hill leading to the Kennedy Center’s grand entrance.
    â€œLookit!” Humphrey threw his head way back to look up, up, up at the colorful flags lining the high walls.
    We were in the Hall of States, I told him after consulting an informational placard.
    â€œThese are the flags of all fifty states,” I said, “plus the five U.S. territories and Washington, D.C.”
    â€œThese are really giant flags,” he said.
    â€œThey are.”
    â€œI know our state’s flag,” Humphrey said. “I’m going to find it. Don’t tell me if you see it first.”
    I didn’t see it first. Humphrey pointed it out.
    Our necks hurt after a while.
    â€œI can’t look up anymore,” Humphrey said.
    â€œLet’s go to the Concert Hall,” I proposed.
    We found our seats.
    â€œWhat are the five U.S. territories?” he asked.
    I had wondered when he would come back around to this.
    â€œI was afraid you would ask,” I said. “I don’t think I know them all.”
    â€œI bet you do. You know a lot.”
    â€œPuerto Rico is one.”
    â€œOkay. What’s two?”
    â€œGuam.”
    â€œG-wam?”
    â€œYes. Guam.”
    â€œOkay. Next?”
    â€œAmerican Samoa.”
    â€œI love Samoas,” Humphrey said.
    â€œThose are some good cookies, aren’t they?” I