off a cliff. He was almost an accident. She knew the cliff was there. She led him there. There was a moment when she could have saved him. She didn’t. She thought about it, but then she didn’t. She watched him fall. She heard him break. The next one, she planned it and she killed him. But it was from a distance. She didn’t get her hands dirty. It was not up close. He was a good eight or nine feet away from her. But that third one was…” She falls back into first person, “that third one was in my face, bloody and gory all over me. I felt him die on top of me. I was wet with his blood. And then, the worst one got away.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t, you can’t.”
“You’re probably right about that. Doesn’t sound like something a person could imagine.”
“Look, Doctor, you seem like a nice man and you can come and talk to Jimmy and Hank all you want, but unless you can call in the Marines to protect my family you really can’t help me.”
“Perhaps next time I come you will meet with me downstairs.”
She let her gaze go back to the photographs on the wall. She falls into them. They are a sweet place for her to be.
At the bottom of the staircase, Hank crosses quickly to Doctor Cartwell and asks. “What do you think?”
“She’s traumatized. It’s going to take a while.”
“Okay.” Hank focuses with sharp intensity. He wants frantically to do all the right things. “What should I do?”
“Anything that feels normal.”
Hank’s head shakes, “Doctor, nothing feels normal.”
“I understand. But anything that can be tied to what was normal before will help her reconnect with herself.”
“Okay” Hank says. “Yeah, okay.”
Abruptly on Wednesday at 1:30 p.m., the media siege ended: some teenager across town shot his friend two times in the chest and Hank regretted he lived in a world where for them that spelled relief. The news vans packed up and split in seconds. Hank was positive that now things would begin to fall into place. But the departure of the media had unexpected consequences. While the house was surrounded by cameras, Alison felt a limited safety, but when the media left, it became very quiet, very quickly. Then, she knew - he was coming.
* * *
Chapter Twenty
Friday morning feels fresh when Jimmy opens his eyes. The air in his bedroom is autumn cool and he hears his dad downstairs making coffee. He’s always loved Fridays. He likes the assembly at school where all the students gather in the gym for announcements and sometimes they give awards. He sits on the wooden pullout bleachers next to his best friend, Barry, who can fart anytime he wants and always does when the principal is talking and that is hilarious. Then the principal asks why are you boys laughing, and tells them to stop laughing, which of course, they just can’t. Yeah, he loves that. He throws off the covers and gets out of bed. Also, his mom, who always monitors everything he eats, lets him buy lunch on Fridays. Lunch at the school is cool because you can get nuggets, or pizza, or hot dogs, and there isn’t anything green for miles, and even though his mom says it’s disgusting, on Friday he gets to have it.
Down at the breakfast table Hank is sitting alone with his coffee and the newspaper. He acts nonchalant when Jimmy enters dressed for school, walks over to the pantry and takes out a box of Cheerios. Yes, Hank thinks, this is good - this is normal. He holds back the grateful tears in his eyes. Jimmy is turning the corner.
He asks casually, “Hey, buddy, you’re up for school today?’
“Yeah.”
“Cool.” And that was all they said. It was perfect.
After breakfast, upstairs in Hank’s bedroom, where Alison is lying awake in bed, there are no grateful emotions.
“Absolutely not,” Alison says.
“He’s going back today. It’s his decision and it is what the therapist recommended.”
“No, Hank, no, please.”
Hank sees the fear on her face, walks over, and sits on the side of the bed. He takes her hand. “Alison, this is the right thing for him. He looks good this morning. It’s what he needs. It’s what’s best for him. You have to support it.”
“No, I don’t.”
Jimmy bounds into the room. He has his coat on, his favorite scarf and beanie, which he believes makes him look really “swa-eet”, and his school books balanced on his hip. He practically