Page 105 of Chosen Road

“You going to be able to fly?”

“Yes. I’m going to see the doctor tomorrow and I’ll get a prescription, enough for a trial run, and enough for the flights.” She shrugged. “I can’t not go. Vander needs me, maybe even George needs me. His mother is a shrew.”

“Good for you. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks. Now…” She looked at me slyly. “Tell me about you and Gus.”

Chapter 34: Parallels and Survival

Amber

I attended therapy regularly. Though I revealed little of a personal nature, I learned, and what I learned I attempted to pass on to Mallory during her appointments.

“What I’m telling you is that there are things you can do to help yourself that don’t require sharing with me or anyone else.” I held up my hands. “This is obviously not enough to heal from the past, but it’s a start.”

I walked her through a few of the skills and activities my therapist practiced with me, and she listened attentively, the snow from her boots melting and dripping all over the floor. She refused to take off her shoes, no matter the state of her footwear, despite the signs on the walls. Why would she? It was likely she did not own any socks. I should stock those on my shelf. I could label them ‘reading socks’.

To my everlasting surprise, she immediately downloaded the meditation app I recommended.

“I’m not going to remember all of this.” She looked down at her lap. “I don’t know if I’ll remember any of this.”

This was the first hint of vulnerability she’d shown me.

“Can I write a few things down for you? I could write it in one of these journals,” I suggested, indicating the journals on the shelf behind me.

Her eyes lit and her mouth twisted with amusement. “Don’t you think I’ve got enough of your journals?”

I laughed. It was the first time she acknowledged taking them from me, let alone admitting to still having them.

Her eyes skittered to the sketchbooks before she quickly looked away.

I waited for a minute and pretended to think. “I might have a printout.” I opened my laptop and quickly printed off a few sheets with the ideas we had discussed, then rose to pull them from the printer for her. “Another outlet is art. Art of all kinds: drawing, painting, make nature art, songwriting, poetry, photography… I don’t know if you’ve ever tried drawing, but it might be a good choice for you.”

I turned around and slid one of the identical sketchbooks off the shelf as well as two pens and a set of sketching pencils. “Here you go.”

Instead of setting them down on the table as I usually would, I held them out for her to take in her hands. I realized my mistake at the stricken look on her face. I pulled them back towards myself. “Do you want me to put your name inside?” I forced a chuckle. “Of course not. I’m guessing you can take care of that yourself.”

With that, I placed everything in a neat pile on the table in front of her and stood. “C’mon. You didn’t bring me a disgusting coffee, and we didn’t raid the staff room. Let’s go get a drink.”

I left the office without looking back and thirty seconds later she joined me in the staffroom, poking fun at me when I chose a camomile tea.

We brought our drinks back to my office. Under her sharp gaze, I carefully trained my eyes away from the empty space where I’d left the art supplies.

She chatted away about all things Minecraft and the dreadful David, as I’d taken to calling him in my head.

“I know you know about internet safety,” her back stiffened, “but do the younger kids in your house spend a lot of time on the computer?”

I’d learned that she often felt protective of her younger foster siblings. She grew attached to them easily, and the constant shifting and moving often sent her spiraling. At least the home she was in now was decent, if over capacity.

“Yes, why?” she asked suspiciously.

I reached around and grabbed a couple of pamphlets on internet safety, one for adults, one geared towards younger kids. “Maybe share these with your foster parents,” her mouth twisted bitterly.

“What?”

“You think they care? It’s a paycheck. We’re a paycheck.”

“That sucks, Mallory.” I didn’t know her foster parents, and I wouldn’t defend them. Far too often, what she said was true.

---