Eureka’s uniform itched. She wished she’d peed before the session started. At least there was no issue of having to race back to school for the cross-country meet today. Even Coach would have given up on her by now. She could drive home slowly, on different dirt roads, paths not frequented by phantom boys.
She wouldn’t see him, so he couldn’t sort of make her cry. Or brush the corner of her eye with his finger. Or smell like an undiscovered ocean she wanted to swim in. Or be the only one around who didn’t know a single catastrophic thing about her.
Eureka’s cheeks were hot. Landry tilted her head, as if noting each shade of scarlet Eureka turned. No way. Eureka was keeping Ander’s appearance—and disappearance—to herself. She reached for one of the hard candies on the coffee table and threw up a screen of noise with the wrapper.
“That wasn’t supposed to be a trick question,” Landry said.
Everything was a trick. Eureka considered opening her calculus book, struggling through a theorem for the balance of the hour. Maybe she had to be here, but she didn’t have to cooperate. But that broadcast would travel back to Rhoda, whose pride would lead to some inanity like car revoking, grounding, or some other dark threat that wouldn’t sound absurd inside the walls of her house, where Eureka had no allies. None with power, anyway.
“Well.” She sucked on the candy. “I did get my inheritance from my mom.” This was no-brainer therapy fodder. It had everything: deep symbolic meaning, family history, and the gossipy novelty therapists couldn’t resist.
“I assume your father will manage the funds until you are of age?”
“It’s nothing like that.” Eureka sighed, bored but not surprised by the assumption. “I doubt there’s any monetary value to my inheritance. There wasn’t any monetary value to my mother’s life. Just things she liked.” She tugged on the chain around her neck to lift the lapis lazuli locket from under her white blouse.
“That’s beautiful.” Dr. Landry leaned forward, weakly feigning appreciation for the weathered piece. “Is there a picture inside?”
Yes, it’s a picture of a million billable hours, Eureka thought, imagining an hourglass filled with tiny Dr. Landrys instead of sand slipping through.
“It doesn’t open,” Eureka said. “But she wore it all the time. There were a couple of other archaeological objects she found interesting. This rock called a thunderstone.”
Dr. Landry nodded blankly. “It must make you feel loved, knowing your mother wanted you to have these things.”
“Maybe. It’s also confusing. She left me an old book written in an ancient language. At least I found someone who can translate it.”
Eureka had read Madame Blavatsky’s translated email several times. The story was interesting—both she and Cat agreed—but Eureka found it frustrating. It felt so far removed from reality. She didn’t understand how it related to Diana.
Landry was frowning, shaking her head.
“What?” Eureka heard her voice rise. This meant she was defensive. She’d made a mistake bringing it up. She’d meant to stay in safe and neutral territory.
“You’re never going to know your mother’s full intentions, Eureka. That’s the reality of death.”
There is no death.… Eureka heard Madame Blavatsky drowning out the therapist’s voice. Only congregation and dispersal.
“This desire to translate some old book seems fruitless,” Landry said. “To pin your hopes on a new connection with your mother now might be very painful.”
Suffering is wisdom’s schoolteacher.
Eureka was already on the path. She was going to connect this book to Diana, she just didn’t know how yet. She grabbed a fistful of disgusting candy, needing to keep her hands busy. Her therapist sounded like Brooks, who still had not apologized. They had tensely avoided each other in the halls at school for two days.
“Leave the dead to rest,” Landry said. “Focus on your living world.”