“What about Kira?” I say, at the exact moment Domhnall says the same thing.
Kira was the first therapist we turned to when Domhn realized Anna was dealing with mental health issues beyond anything he was prepared for.
And Kira’s become a good friend, now wife to Isaak, the leader of the commandos who put their lives on the line for us back in Austin.
“Call her,” I press. “Please. See if she has any openings to come talk to Harper.”
He heads out the door. After he leaves, I turn toward Harper’s door and stand there looking at it.
A small noise has me spinning back to the door Domhnall just left through.
Bruiser is standing there now, wet-haired and dripping, a towel around his waist over his swim trunks. He's been at the pool all morning with Anna and her baby.
He’s not looking at me. He is looking at Harper’s door that I was just staring at, with his small hands pressed flat against the doorjamb on either side of him. His face holds the expression I recognize with a specific cellular knowledge. I was once a nine-year-old, trying to decode adult voices and silence and the particular quality of a different closed door.
I cross the room and crouch in front of him.
His eyes come to me. Green, like hers. Wide and blinking hard. “What’s wrong with Mom?”
“She went through something really scary.” I keep my voice level because he needs level right now, but also I don’t want to lie to him. I hated it when adults lied to me and said it was goingto be okay when I knew what was going on with my mom was actually very, verynotokay.
“And sometimes after going through a big scare,” I keep going, “your brain and body need time to recover, even after the scary part is over. It’s like when you run hard and your legs keep shaking even after you’ve stopped. But your momisgoing to be okay.”
I make sure to look him in the eye when I say this, because I always trusted adults more when they did that and talked to me like I was an actual person.
“Anna’s friend is a doctor who specializes in talking to people in situations like this, and she’s going to help.”
He turns this over with his particular deliberate processing thing he does, like he’s testing my words for weak spots.
His fingers tap a rhythm against his thigh—three beats, pause, three beats, pause—and I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it.
He’s probably never noticed, even though he’s likely been doing it his entire life. An automatic reach for patterns when the world gets too loud. And he’s been doing it alone, with no one to tell him what it means or where he got it from.
I watch his hands and something in me goes very still.
“Okay,” he says finally, eyes still narrowed. It’s the reluctant provisional acceptance of someone extending credit. Then his expression clears. “What’s for lunch? I’m starving.”
Right. Feed the child. Gotta hit the basics of parenthood.
“Sure. Go get changed and I’ll make you a sandwich. Do you like grilled cheese?”
His eyes light up. “Yeah. Will you put pepperoni in it? Mom always puts pepperonis in it.”
“Oh. Well.” I nod and look toward the little kitchen. “I’ll see if there’s some in the fridge.”
“Fire.” He runs toward his bedroom, small wet footprints tracking down the hardwood behind him. I stand in the hallway, frozen for a second as I watch him go.
Kira arrives right as I’m pulling the grilled cheese—with pepperoni, a genius idea really—off the grill.
“Hey,” I greet her with a wave of relief.
She nods at me, gives a small wave, and I point her toward Harper’s room. She knocks and then steps inside.
“Did you know,” Bruiser says around a bite of sandwich, oblivious, “that if you make a rectangle using Fibonacci numbers for the lengths of the sides, and you draw a curve through it connecting opposite corners of the squares, you get a spiral that’s almost exactly like a nautilus shell? Mom showed me pictures. She said nature is just math showing off.”
I turn back to face him, leaning against the counter because my legs suddenly feel unreliable. “That sounds like something she would say.”
“She’s really smart,” he says, and his voice gets quieter, more uncertain. “She’s gonna be okay, right? She just needs some extra sleep? Like when you’re sick?”