a few showcasing the current teen celebrities being worshipped worldwide. Shelves held books in addition to popular toys—Transformers, a Cabbage Patch Doll, stuffed animals, games—strategically placed for all to see. A bowl of good candy (Joanne Lynch knew what the kids currently liked) was on her desk. This is not a dull place, the room pleaded. This is a cool place, kids—a place you can “chill” and “rap” with me whenever you want.
In front of Joanne Lynch’s desk were four cushy chairs positioned in a semicircle. Arty and Jim did not sit next to each other. They took a chair on each end of the half-circle so they could face one another. Arty had suggested this to Jim beforehand so that Jim could take cues from his older brother during the course of the session.
Jim looked at Arty as soon as the soda question was asked, and Arty shook his head with a subtlety that was invisible to anyone but Jim.
“No thank you,” Jim said.
Joanne looked at Arty. “Arthur?”
“Arty,” Arty said. Now, only one person on Earth was allowed to call him Arthur.
Joanne looked genuinely sorry. “I’m sorry. Arty. Would you like a soda?”
Arty shook his head slowly and said, “No thank you.”
Joanne smiled and took a seat behind her desk. She started to dig with a delicate blade. “So how does it feel to be back in the swing of things now?” she asked.
Both boys mumbled affirmative replies.
“Are you doing well in your classes?”
More hollow affirmatives.
“Arty, you’re the big man on campus now. A fifth grader. How are you liking it?”
“It’s fine.”
“Jim? How about you? You liking third grade?”
“Yeah.”
Joanne looked down at her desk and rubbed the nape of her neck. She was chipping at granite with a toothpick.
“Okay, boys…” She raised her head, breathed in. Time for a different approach. “I’m sure you know that your mother asked me to speak to you. And, well…that’s why we’re here. Your mother, and myself for that matter, are a little concerned about your behavior as of late.”
Arty frowned, and then Jim frowned.
“Were we bad?” Arty asked.
“No, no.” Joanne’s eyes widened, her hands waving in front of her. “My goodness no. You’ve both been fine. Please don’t think you’re in trouble here. In fact, the problem has been that you’ve been a little too fine…considering all you’ve been through.”
The brothers gave the woman a blank stare.
“Boys, you suffered a very serious loss, yet you’ve exhibited no signs of anguish or grieving whatsoever. You’re showing classic signs of denial and suppression—” Joanne quickly stopped, shook her head as though scolding herself, then repeated her words with more juvenile clarity. “What I mean is, you don’t seem to be bothered by your father’s death at all. Your mother and I think you might be holding it all in, and that maybe you’re afraid to let it out.”
Arty knew what to say. Even at the age of ten, he knew what this woman wanted to hear. He fed her. “I don’t think we understand.”
Joanne Lynch looked almost too eager to explain. “Well, you see, boys, it’s not uncommon for people—children especially—to hold very sad memories deep down inside so they can go on with their lives. It’s something called suppression.”
She paused a moment. When Arty realized she was gauging a response, he feigned interest and nodded understandingly. Joanne continued.
“I think witnessing your father’s death was so upsetting for you boys that you’ve almost pretended it never happened. You might even be thinking that your father may return someday.”
Arty envisioned his dead father reappearing on their doorstep, soaking wet and asking his sons why they decided to drown him with a large wooden oar. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
* * *
A minute of silence followed. Joanne Lynch had said her bit and seemed content to wait in that silence, perhaps hoping that tears would soon follow—a sure indicator that she had not only scratched the surface of the Fannelli boys, but made a sizeable crack to boot.
Arty knew the next move. He shot a quick glance at Jim that carried flared nostrils and a clenched jaw. Do as I’m about to do, Jim, it read.
And Jim took the cue perfectly. As soon as Arty dropped his head into his hands and started to cry, Jim did exactly the same.
Joanne Lynch hurried from behind her desk and pulled both boys in for the hug. As each boy took a shoulder, pretending to sob, they periodically exchanged goofy faces behind the