“Dr. Kells.”
I wondered where she was going with this. “She’s all right.”
“There’s an outpatient program that Dr. West recommended—it’s actually run by her as part of Horizons. They do a lot of group therapy work—teens only—and art and music therapies, that type of thing.”
“Okay . . .”
“I think it would be good for you.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. Outpatient was better than inpatient, certainly—and I had to act like I wanted that brand of help. But dropping out of school was a big deal. I needed a minute to think.
Luckily, I got it. Because the elevator doors opened and there was my father standing in the lobby, looking healthy and invincible. I knew better than anyone that he wasn’t.
“Dad,” I said, with a smile so wide it hurt my cheeks. “You look good.” He really did; the pale skin we shared had some color to it, and he didn’t seem tired or haggard or thin, despite what he’d been through. In fact, standing there in khakis and a white polo shirt, he looked like he was heading out to play golf.
He flexed one of his arms and pointed at his biceps. “Man of steel.”
My mother shot him a withering look, and then the three of us walked out into the sub-Saharan humidity and into the car.
I was happy. So happy that I almost forgot what landed me in the hospital in the first place. What landed my father in the hospital in the first place.
“So what do you think?” my mother asked me.
“Hmm?”
“About the Horizons Outpatient Program?”
Had she been talking? Had I not noticed?
Either way, I was out of time. “I think—I think it sounds okay,” I finally said.
My mother let out a breath I hadn’t noticed she’d been holding. “Then we’ll make sure you start ASAP. We’re so happy you’re coming home, but there are going to be adjustments. . . .”
There’s always another shoe.
“I don’t want you home alone. And I don’t want you driving, either.”
I bit my tongue.
“You can leave the house as long as Daniel’s with you. And if you come back without him, he’ll have to answer for it.”
Which wasn’t fair to him. Which they knew.
“Someone will take you to and from the program every day—”
“How many days a week is it?”
“Five,” my mother said.
At least it wasn’t seven. “Who’s going to take me?” I asked, peering at her. “Don’t you have work?”
“I’ll take you, sweetheart,” my dad said.
“Don’t you have work?”
“I’m taking some time off,” he said lightly, and ruffled my hair.
When we pulled up onto our street, I was surprised to find myself annoyed. It was the picture of suburban perfection; each lawn meticulously edged, each hedge carefully trimmed. There wasn’t a single flower out of place, or even a stray branch on the ground, and our house was just the same. Maybe that was what bothered me. My family had been through hell and I was the one who put them there, but from the outside looking in, you’d never know.
When my mother opened the front door, my little brother rushed into the foyer wearing a suit, pocket square and all.
He smiled with his whole face, threw his arms wide open and seemed like he was just about to launch himself at me, but then stopped. He teetered on his toes. “Are you staying?” he asked cautiously.
I looked to my mother for an answer.
“For now,” she said.
“Yes!” He wrapped both arms around me, but when I tried to do the same he jumped away. “Watch the suit,” he said, glaring.
Oh, boy. “Have you taken over the operation of some Fortune 500 company while I was gone?”
“Not yet. We’re supposed to dress up as the person we most admire and write a speech from their point of view for school.”
“And you are . . .”
“Warren Buffett.”
“I didn’t know he was partial to pocket squares.”
“He isn’t.” Daniel appeared from the kitchen, his fingers wrapped around a very thick book, the title of which I couldn’t read. “That was Joseph’s special touch.”
“Wait, isn’t it Sunday?” I asked.
Daniel nodded. “It is. But even with the entirety of spring break to practice, our little brother doesn’t appear to want to wear anything else.”
Joseph lifted his chin. “I like it.”
“I like it too,” I said, and ruffled his hair before he ducked away.
Daniel grinned at me. “Glad to have you back, little sister.” His eyes were warm, and I’d never felt happier to be home. He ran a hand through his thick hair, creating a gravity-defying mess. I cocked my head—the gesture was unusual for him. It was more reminiscent of— Noah glided out of the kitchen before I could finish my thought, holding his own massive book. “You’re completely wrong about Bakhtin—” he started, then looked from my parents, to me, to Daniel, and then back to me.
Scratch that. I’d never felt happier to be home until now.