cadence. She liked the halls better when they were teeming with children, when her footfalls were indistinguishable from a thousand other sounds.
Her classroom was hushed and empty. Gary had already left, and she was slightly disappointed that he had not waited to see what Penny would advise. Amanda slid into her desk chair and looked at the business card Penny had handed her from across her desk moments earlier.
“This guy’s really good with young adults,” Penny said. “He’s pretty young himself. Twenty-nine, I think. But a fabulous psychologist. I think his age makes a difference. Young people trust him.”
Amanda slowly reached for the card. “I don’t think Neil is ready to do this yet. Call anyone, I mean.”
Penny nodded and then laced her fingers gently. “Here’s the thing, Amanda. If Chase has no memory of the fire, or if it’s safely tucked away in a far corner of his mind that he’s never bumped up against in all these years, then just mentioning thefire isn’t going to open a floodgate. On the other hand, if the memory is resting just below the surface and if it’s strong and powerful and building in pressure, then releasing it now will indeed open a floodgate. But don’t you see? Now’s the time for that to happen. Not a couple years from now when he’s away from home and trying to handle college life, and not a few years after that when he’s entering the workforce or marrying someone or becoming someone’s father. If you really think there might be emotions and fears that Chase hasn’t dealt with, you owe it to him to get him some professional help now.”
“But what if he really doesn’t remember it?”
Penny unlaced her fingers as if releasing a wisp of air. “Then your bringing it up will have no negative consequences.”
Amanda thanked Penny and told her she’d consider everything she said. She now studied the name on the card: Brandon Pinelli. She tapped the corner of it on her desk.
Chase had seemed fine the last few days. He’d politely taken Tally to school, offered to help her find her way, included her on the sociology project, put air in the tire like Neil had asked, immersed himself in his video projects, teased Delcey, offered a dose of sarcasm when the opportunity presented itself, left his clothes lying around, and spent most of his free time quietly engaged with his own priorities. It had been an unremarkable week.
Still. Those fifteen unexplainable seconds at the picnic gnawed at her. Penny said she and Neil should gently ask Chase directly if he remembered the fire. There would be no wondering about those fifteen seconds if they did.
But she’d already imagined that conversation. She’d already seen it played out in her mind with several scenarios—none of which put her at ease.
“Chase, do you remember the fire at the baby-sitter’s house when you were four?”
“Fire? What fire? Why? What happened?”
What would she tell him then? Everything? “Remember the flames? the smoke? crawling out of the room where you’d been asleep? the screams of the baby no one could reach?”
Or Chase might reply, “The fire? Oh… oh yeah. The fire… No one came for me. I had to crawl out of a burning room. There was a baby… What happened to the baby?”
Or, “Of course I remember the fire. Don’t you?”
Then he’d ask why they’d never said anything until now. All those years and they’d never said a word. Why?
Amanda inhaled deeply and stroked the card in her hand. God, what am I supposed to do? But the room was silent.
The beeping of her cell phone split the quiet. Delcey was texting her, reminding her that she needed to be picked up from dance team practice. Amanda picked up her book bag and walked out of her classroom, still holding the card in her hand, oblivious to the sound of her clicking heels.
Dinner was a subdued affair. Amanda made a lasagna toss, which apparently none of the family really cared for but was a quick fix on busy days.
Her classroom was hushed and empty. Gary had already left, and she was slightly disappointed that he had not waited to see what Penny would advise. Amanda slid into her desk chair and looked at the business card Penny had handed her from across her desk moments earlier.
“This guy’s really good with young adults,” Penny said. “He’s pretty young himself. Twenty-nine, I think. But a fabulous psychologist. I think his age makes a difference. Young people trust him.”
Amanda slowly reached for the card. “I don’t think Neil is ready to do this yet. Call anyone, I mean.”
Penny nodded and then laced her fingers gently. “Here’s the thing, Amanda. If Chase has no memory of the fire, or if it’s safely tucked away in a far corner of his mind that he’s never bumped up against in all these years, then just mentioning thefire isn’t going to open a floodgate. On the other hand, if the memory is resting just below the surface and if it’s strong and powerful and building in pressure, then releasing it now will indeed open a floodgate. But don’t you see? Now’s the time for that to happen. Not a couple years from now when he’s away from home and trying to handle college life, and not a few years after that when he’s entering the workforce or marrying someone or becoming someone’s father. If you really think there might be emotions and fears that Chase hasn’t dealt with, you owe it to him to get him some professional help now.”
“But what if he really doesn’t remember it?”
Penny unlaced her fingers as if releasing a wisp of air. “Then your bringing it up will have no negative consequences.”
Amanda thanked Penny and told her she’d consider everything she said. She now studied the name on the card: Brandon Pinelli. She tapped the corner of it on her desk.
Chase had seemed fine the last few days. He’d politely taken Tally to school, offered to help her find her way, included her on the sociology project, put air in the tire like Neil had asked, immersed himself in his video projects, teased Delcey, offered a dose of sarcasm when the opportunity presented itself, left his clothes lying around, and spent most of his free time quietly engaged with his own priorities. It had been an unremarkable week.
Still. Those fifteen unexplainable seconds at the picnic gnawed at her. Penny said she and Neil should gently ask Chase directly if he remembered the fire. There would be no wondering about those fifteen seconds if they did.
But she’d already imagined that conversation. She’d already seen it played out in her mind with several scenarios—none of which put her at ease.
“Chase, do you remember the fire at the baby-sitter’s house when you were four?”
“Fire? What fire? Why? What happened?”
What would she tell him then? Everything? “Remember the flames? the smoke? crawling out of the room where you’d been asleep? the screams of the baby no one could reach?”
Or Chase might reply, “The fire? Oh… oh yeah. The fire… No one came for me. I had to crawl out of a burning room. There was a baby… What happened to the baby?”
Or, “Of course I remember the fire. Don’t you?”
Then he’d ask why they’d never said anything until now. All those years and they’d never said a word. Why?
Amanda inhaled deeply and stroked the card in her hand. God, what am I supposed to do? But the room was silent.
The beeping of her cell phone split the quiet. Delcey was texting her, reminding her that she needed to be picked up from dance team practice. Amanda picked up her book bag and walked out of her classroom, still holding the card in her hand, oblivious to the sound of her clicking heels.
Dinner was a subdued affair. Amanda made a lasagna toss, which apparently none of the family really cared for but was a quick fix on busy days.
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