Just having fun. Another player ended up in the hospital. They’d pressured him, taunted him. Brian deserved to be punished. “What about Logan?”
“He’s young. Probably embarrassed everything came back on him.”
What he said didn’t sit right, but it was true. Everyone at school treated Logan like he was the screw-up for getting sick, not Brian and his friends for causing it.
“You know, I don’t think what happened was an accident,” I said, glancing into the hallway through the narrow window on the door. “I think some of the boys might have targeted Logan.”
“Targeted? Baby B, what are you talking about?”
“I know Brian had it out for Logan. He said Logan kept messing with him at practice and stuff.”
“They’re a team. Any frustrations stay on the court. Other than that, they have each other’s backs.” Lawson shook his head and crossed his arms. “I know it might not make sense to someone who isn’t used to sports.”
Sure, I was a girl and no expert on athletics, but I was an expert when it came to Brian. I knew what he did had nothing to do with fun and team. He was looking out for himself. He was getting even.
“I don’t think so, Coach. You don’t know Brian the way I do. This is what he does when he feels threatened. He lashes out at people. I hate that these other boys were punished all because Brian had it out for Logan.”
Coach Lawson looked at the ceiling and whistled. “Geez, Della. Paranoid much? I know he’s your brother, but I’ve had Brian as a student and a player. He’s a good kid. What happened this weekend was just boys messing around. Hell, you should have seen the stuff I got into with my friends back in the day.” He looked as though he was hoping I’d ask, all too happy to share the details of his misspent youth.
“Brian doesn’t mess around. He hurt Logan on purpose. I’m telling you—” I stopped talking when I saw the look on Lawson’s face. A mix of annoyance and shock. He didn’t believe me, thought there was something wrong with me that I’d even suggest it.
“Look, I know it’s not easy growing up in someone’s shadow,” he said in the most professional tone I’d ever heard him use. “That’s no reason to kick your brother when he’s down.”
I nodded, leaving the room without saying anything else. I looked back to see that disbelieving look still on Lawson’s face. It was the same look he gave me the rest of the semester.
Eleven
Now
On Tuesday, my thoughts revolve around Darcy. How she’s healing. What she’s feeling. I wonder if she’s remembered anything else about the attack but is not willing to come forward. High school is a brutal time. So much shame is brewed between these walls. I think of the pictures passed around at the party. If Darcy already thinks she’s a joke, I understand why she wouldn’t want to throw the label of victim into the mix.
After school, I have a therapy session with Dr. Walters. I arrive at her office, which happens to be one of the downstairs rooms of her massive house. It’s a beautiful place, and I can’t help but think the surroundings contributed to my liking her more than any of the other therapists I visited.
Dr. Walters opens the front door. Her auburn curls fall over her shoulders, and she’s always wearing glasses with different colored rims. Today’s are teal.
“Welcome, Della,” she says, stepping back to let me in.
“Sorry again about last week,” I say. “It’s not like me to double-book.”
“Perfectly fine,” she says in her calming voice. “I’m happy to see you again.”
One hour every two weeks is our standard amount of time together. It’s helpful having a person, other than Danny, I can speak with about whatever’s going on in my life. Keeping my emotions bottled up increases my volatility. In the years following Brian’s arrest, I found it hard to trust people. Neighbors. Classmates. In my fragile, adolescent mind, they were all threats. Committing to ongoing therapy is one way to keep those negative feelings at bay. We don’t always discuss Brian. In fact, we rarely do. I’m not in therapy for him; I’m in it for me.
We spend the first half hour discussing our normal lineup: always a few introductory comments about the weather, work, my stress levels. Danny. I tell her about the guest room we’re completing, and she breaks role long enough to tell me about a great antiquing spot in the area.
“Anything else on your mind you’d like to discuss?” she asks, sliding her glasses back to the top of her nose.
“Not really,” I say, laughing nervously. “I’m sorry you have such a boring patient.”
“Never boring. I look forward to our time together,” she says, smiling. “You seem more anxious today than you have in previous sessions.”
I notice my tapping foot. I’ve also bitten my fingernails down to nubs. “Sorry,” I say, shaking my head.
“Don’t apologize,” she says, sitting back. She stares at me, inviting me to share what’s going on in my head. She knows I’m holding back. I’m so rarely bothered by anything anymore, that when I am, it shows.
“There’s this student,” I start, not knowing how much of the story I plan on revealing. “Something happened to her.”
Dr. Walters locks into her listening position, that’s what I call it anyways. When her legs are crossed, and she’s got one arm propped under her chin. That’s how she sits for long intervals when she wants me to continue speaking.
“I chaperoned the Spring Fling dance on Saturday,” I say. “After the dance, one of my students hosted a party. And she was attacked. She’s not saying exactly what happened, but it appears her leg was cut.” I look away.
“My goodness,” Dr. Walters says, covering her heart. I’m certain she’s heard worse stories, but they usually aren’t delivered by me. “That poor girl.”
“I’ve not seen her yet,” I say. “She hasn’t been at school.
