“You mean since before she was—before she was gone?” Dead, she thought. Murdered. She imagined Lucy’s murderer still walking around and shut her eyes against the thought.
Dr. Mallory nodded. “Yes. Did they treat her that way before she was dead?”
Rain considered this. “No,” she finally said. “No. They treated her normal. I mean, she was popular. Everyone liked her and stuff. Except maybe for the mean girls like Bethany and Allison—but they don’t much like any of the other girls.”
“But it makes you angry about the yearbook?”
“Yeah. I guess it’s wrong to feel that.”
“Not wrong. Feelings aren’t right or wrong. They just are.”
Right. What planet does she live on? Everyone knew it was wrong to feel angry. Or jealous. Or mean.
“Our feelings can sometimes feel uncomfortable, but they are not wrong.” Dr. Mallory smiled. “Let’s talk a bit more about why you are upset.”
“Let’s just forget it, okay.”
“That’s another thing about feelings, Rain. They’re not so easy to deny or forget.”
“I’m just saying, everyone forgets Lucy wasn’t perfect.” She was lucky to get a C in algebra. And she could break rules, too. Rain remembered the time when Lucy had called her from the Hayeses’ one night when she was babysitting and had told her to come over. It had been Lucy’s idea to open the liquor cabinet and taste the gin. They both hated it, agreed it tasted like pine needles. Wouldn’t everyone be surprised to hear about that? Or about the fib she told her parents about riding in Jared Phillips’s car. “Now just because she’s dead everyone is acting as if she was.”
“I’m sure she wasn’t perfect.”
“What?”
“Well, Lucy was human, so she was flawed. Just as we are all flawed. That’s part of being human. So go on, Rain. Let’s talk more about the yearbook dedication.”
Again anger took hold. “Half the kids in the senior class didn’t even know her that well. Now they’re acting like—like she was their best friend.”
“And she wasn’t.”
“No.”
“Who was her best friend?”
Her throat ached and she swallowed against tears, but one escaped and slid down her cheek. Dr. Mallory didn’t tell her everything would be all right or try to hug her or even reach over and touch her hand. She just waited until Rain’s tears stopped.
“Sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“I’m not a baby. I don’t usually cry.”
“Oh, child, tears are one of the most healing things on the earth. ‘The cure for everything is salt water—sweat, tears, or the sea.’ The writer Isak Dinesen said that. Do you know of her?”
“No.”
“She was another feisty, independent woman. Her given name was Karen Blixen, and she was born in Denmark. She moved to Africa. She was a pilot and a writer. I think you might enjoy reading her.”
“I don’t read much,” Rain lied.
“Tell me, Rain. What’s hardest about missing Lucy?”
“I don’t know.” Laughing. Having secrets. Having someone to have your first taste of alcohol with. Having someone to trust absolutely. One of the great things about Lucy was if you told her a secret she would never tell anyone. “I guess having her to talk to.”
“Yes. I understand that. Having someone to talk to, a friend like that is a great gift.”
Rain nodded.
“I know I can’t take Lucy’s place, Rain. But I hope I can be a person you can learn to trust. A person you can talk to.”
Fat chance. Rain noticed that the time was up. Dr. Mallory crossed to the desk and her appointment calendar. “Same time next week work for you?”
“I guess.” She picked up her backpack, vowing it would be the last time she’d come here. What could her mother do if she refused? Put her in jail?
At the door, Dr. Mallory touched her shoulder. “Wait one minute. There’s something I have for you before you go.” She walked away in her worn black shoes and returned a minute later and handed Rain a book. It was so thin at first Rain thought it was some kind of brochure, or like the monthly devotion pamphlets in the rack by the entry of Holy Apostles. “I think you might enjoy this.”
Rain read the title on the cover. “Babette’s Feast,” by Isak Dinesen.
“Dinesen understood a lot about dreams, about destiny and courage.”
“Whatever.”
“One more thing, Rain. I’m going to ask you to do something.”
Rain waited.
“Do you have a favorite shell or something like that? Something small you found or someone gave you?”
“I don’t know.” The Lucky Strike stone. “Why?”
“I want you to carry it with you. And when you feel sad or angry or overwhelmed, take it out and hold it in your hand.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Can you do that?”
“I guess. It sounds pretty stupid.” But it wasn’t. Not really. She and Lucy used to carry the Lucky Strike stones around with them.
“You know, in some cultures there are traditions of carrying amulets, touchstones, and charms. Worry beads,” Dr. Mallory said. And then, as she had at the end of Rain’s first appointment, she said, “Take care of yourself, Rain. And if you aren’t able to take care of yourself, call me.”
As if.
Outside, the driveway was empty. No big surprise. She could have predicted it. Duane had forgotten he was supposed to pick her up. She swung the backpack over her shoulder and started walking, knowing when she got home and told her mother she’d had to walk somehow it would turn out to be her fault. Another predictable thing.
She had gone two blocks when she heard the sound of his for-shit Mazda slow down beside her, but she wouldn’t give her brother the satisfaction of looking over. The car crept along beside her.
“Hey there.”
Not her brother. It was that pervert custodian from the school. Jervis.
“Need a lift?”
“No thanks.” Like she’d ever get in his car. Creepy.
“It’s pretty hot to be walking. Where are you heading?”
She walked a little faster and stared straight ahead. She’d kill Duane when she got home. If she got home. Thoughts of Lucy popped in her head.
“Come on. Hop in and I’ll give you a ride.”
“No thanks.”
A car headed toward them. It slowed down as it approached, but Jervis continued to creep along at her pace, the smell of his car’s exhaust clouding the air. The other driver glanced over at her and then continued on. Rain swung her book bag from one shoulder to the other so it hung between her and Jervis.
“Hey,” he said again.
She stopped and turned. “Look,” she said. “I don’t want a ride, okay. My brother is on his way to pick me up.”
He smiled. “Yeah? Looks like he forgot.”
“He didn’t forget. He’s just late.”
A car pulled up next to Jervis, and Rain recognized it as the one that had passed moments before. The driver rolled down his window.
“Any problem here?”