Perfect (13 page)

I took in a breath. "I'm going," I said. "To talk to someone, I mean."

Aunt Weeny turned, looked straight at me.

"On Tuesday. At four o'clock. I'm going to talk to
someone. Trish, her name is."

Weeny put a hand on my hand and squeezed. "Oh,
Isabelle." Then, "Does your mom know?"

I shook my head. It was too complicated to explain
that Mom knew about Group but not about the one-onone.

Still holding my hand Aunt Weezy said, very softly, "You miss him a lot, your dad. It must be ... well, you
must miss him more than I can imagine."

I nodded. Stopped. Nodded again.

"Do you think ... is this something you want to talk
about with me?"

All I could do was shake my head. I knew if I opened
my mouth I'd start crying, and maybe I'd never stop.

"Okay." Aunt Weezy said, squeezing my hand.
"Okay."

On the porch, right before we went inside the house,
Aunt Weezy hugged me hard. Me and the pizza. "It's going
to be okay, Isabelle. It's going to be fine."

Fine, I thought. It's going to be fine.

Somehow the way she said it, I almost believed her. I
wanted to. I really did.

TUESDAY, FOUR O'CLOCK. Trish and I were sitting
across from each other in her office, which smelled like
Cheez-Its as usual. For some reason this made me mad.
Didn't Trish ever think about other people's noses? Hadn't
she ever heard of air freshener?

"Well, Isabelle, I'm glad you're here," Trish said. "I'm
looking forward to getting to know you better."

"Yeah." As if I had any intention of spilling my guts.

"Are you comfortable?" Trish asked. "You can switch chairs if you like." She gestured across the room. "Or
move to the couch."

"I'm fine."

"Good. I want you to be comfortable."

I thought about this. Comfortable? "This isn't exactly
how I want to spend my Tuesday afternoon, you know.
With a shrink."

"A shrink?"

"That's what you are, right? A head shrinker? Someone who's supposed to shrink my problems?"

Trish smiled, leaned back in her chair. "That's one way
of looking at it, Isabelle.... Okay, let's start there."

"Start where?"

"With any problems you'd like shrunk."

"I didn't say I had problems. I just said that's your job,
to shrink them. If a person had any. Which I don't."

"You don't."

I shook my head and looked down at the orange carpet. There was that stain again, the one that looked like
a yawning dog. If you squinted at it you could make it
move.

"Isabelle," Trish said softly. "I'm going to ask you a
question, and I'd like you to answer it honestly. Do you
think you can you do that?"

I shrugged. "I guess."

"How many times did you throw up today?"

I thought about denying it. But I didn't. "Two."

"Do you see that as a problem, Isabelle? Your throwing
up? Throwing up is natural sometimes. When a person
has the flu or food poisoning, but making yourself throw
up is a different thing. It's usually a sign that something
else is wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," I muttered, more to the yawning
dog than to Trish. But really I was thinking, Yes it is.

"Maybe wrong is a poor choice of words," Trish said.
"Let me put it another way. Bingeing and purging-eating a lot of food and then making oneself throw up-can
he a sign that something is bothering a person. Maybe
she's sad. Angry. Lonely. Upset about something ... and
throwing up is a way of dealing with those feelings. Does
that make sense to you, Isabelle? The way I've worded
it?"

I shrugged, shifted in my seat, sighed.

After I'd shifted and sighed a few more times, Trish
said, "It's your hour, Isabelle. I could sit here and talk the
whole time but that's not really the idea. The idea is for
you to he doing the talking, which I know is hard. Tlking
about feelings can he difficult, and sometimes scary, especially if you're not used to doing it. But let's say that this is
a safe place for you to share those feelings. Okay? Let's say
that this office is a place, and I am a person, you can trust.
What do you say?"

"Okay...." I took in a breath, looked up a little bit.
"So. Let's say there is something bothering me."

"Is there?"

"There might he."

Trish nodded. "Okay."

"Am I supposed to just come out and say it?"

"That would he a good place to start."

I took another breath and looked at Trish. "I don't
have a dad anymore. Okay? He died."

Trish leaned forward in her chair, looked straight at
me. "How does it make you feel to say that?" She picked
up the hox of tissues on her desk and held it out to me.

I took one and held it in my lap. "I don't know."

"Having someone you love die is a horrible thing,
Isabelle."

I nodded and bit my lip hard. I wasn't about to cry in
front of Trish. "Okay, I have to ask you something."

Trish said, "You can ask me anything you'd like."

"Please don't say anything like 'If life gives you lemons,
make lemonade,' or `Just take it one day at a time.' I hate
that."

"You mean like 'Every cloud has a silver lining,' and 'At
least you have your health'?"

"Yes."

Trish said, "Do you think I would do that to you?"

"I don't know. But if you do, I'm leaving."

"Fair enough," Trish said. "I promise not to shower you
with a hunch of cliches that don't help."

"Good."

Trish leaned back in her chair again and pressed her
fingertips together into a steeple. "Okay," she said softly.
"Do you think you can talk about your dad, Isabelle? Do
you want to try?"

I nodded, a very small nod, but a nod. "I want to try,"
I said. And really, I meant it.

When I got home I called Ashley. "What are you doing?"
I asked.

"Nothing. Homework. Where've you been? I tried to
call you before but no one answered."

I lowered my voice just in case Ape Face was listening in. "I was with Trish. Talking about ... You know, stuff
with me."

"Oh ... huh."

"Yeah."

After a second Ashley said, "How come?"

"She practically made me. From last time? When she
stopped me after Group to talk? She basically said I had to
come and see her."

"Oh."

Ashley didn't say anything else, so I kept going. "We
talked about ... you know. Stuff. The same stuff we talk
about in Group, I guess."

"Huh," she said again.

That's when I told her. I didn't plan to, the words just
slipped out. "Mostly we talked about my dad."

"Your dad?"

"Yeah," I said. "My dad. He, well ... died. Two summers ago. It was, like, a surprise. We didn't know he was
sick."

When I finished telling her, Ashley whispered, "I don't
know what to say.

"I know," I said. "No one does."

After I hung up the phone I went into my closet
and sat on the floor, holding Daddy's shirt in my lap. I
thought about how we used to play cards together-go
fish and crazy eights and hearts-and how he used to
let me win. I always wanted him to play his hardest so
my wins would be real wins, so I could know I was good
enough to beat him. But that wasn't what I remembered
most. It was being on the couch next to him with his knee touching mine, and his big, warm hand on my back
when I won.

If I closed my eyes I could still feel it. The warmth of it.

Ape Face knocked on my door after I was already in bed.
"Isabelle?" she said. "Can I come in?"

"What do you want?" I said quietly, as if Mom was
asleep, which I knew she wasn't.

I was hoping Ape Face would say "Never mind. Forget
it," and go away. The thing with Ape Face is she never
does. She's like a homing pigeon that keeps coming hack
even when you're mean to her. Maybe if she were my older
sister I wouldn't mind so much, I'd like having her around.
I could talk to her about things. But what are you going to
talk about with Ape Face? She's only ten. It's not like she
understands anything about anything.

The voice on the other side of the door said, "Please,
Isabelle?"

"Fine," I said. "But only for a minute."

I turned on the radio next to my bed, very softly.
WKLB, the New Country 99.5, the same station Aunt
Weezy plays in her car.

I moved over so Ape Face could sit down on the bed.

"Isabelle?" she said. "What's wrong with Morn?"

"What are you talking about? Nothing's wrong with
Mom."

"Listen," said Ape Face. "Do you hear that? She's like,
moaning. Hear it?"

I sighed. "She's not moaning. She's crying."

"why? "

"Come on, April. Why do you think? Because her pet
squirrel has the measles."

"What? Mom has a pet squirrel?"

I made a sound in the hack of my throat. Sometimes
ten-year-olds are so dense you want to shove them off the
bed.

Ape Face looked straight at me then. "Because of
Daddy. Right? ... Right, Isabelle?"

I nodded.

We were quiet for a minute. Ape Face grabbed the
edge of my blanket and rubbed the silky part between her
fingers. "It scares me when she cries," she said.

"I know."

"Isabelle? You don't think she's going to . . . You
know ... like jenny Singer's mom?"

"What? Kill herself? No way."

"But Margot Reilly said that Jenny Singer's mom-"

"Listen, Ape Face. There's no way that's going to happen. So just shut up about it. Just shut up."

Ape Face shut up for about two seconds. Then she
said, "Can I sleep in here with you tonight, Isabelle? Just
for tonight?"

No way!"

Ape Face stood up right away. She started walking
toward the door.

"Listen, Ape," I said. "Just put a pillow on either side
of your head, like a sandwich, and hum for a while. It
helps."

After Ape Face left, I made my own pillow sandwich,
clasping my arms around my head. I thought about the
look on my little sister's face when I told her no way could she sleep with me, like I slapped her. A good big sister
would say "Sure, April, no problem," and rub her back
until she fell asleep. A good big sister would help her with
her stupid family tree project. I might as well do that, seeing as I'm pretty good at projects. You can buy colored
poster board at the Save More for fifteen cents a piece. I
could get her a purple piece. Purple is Ape Face's favorite
color. She's absolutely honkers about it.

AFTER SCHOOL ON FRIDAY I was lying on Ashley's big white bed. It is so soft you sink into it like you're
lying on a cloud. There's even a canopy, white with tiny
blue flowers. And about five hundred fluffy white pillows.
When you lie down you never want to get up again.

"So," Ashley said. "What do you want to eat?"

I opened my eyes. "I don't know. Anything, I guess."

"Ravioli? And chocolate chip ice cream? Waffles?"

"Sure. Whatever you want."

Ashley started getting excited. "I know! I can make Belgian waffles! With ice cream and whipped cream and
chocolate sauce and everything, and nuts-no! Nuts
would be gross. Unless you want nuts, Isabelle?"

"No nuts."

Ashley smiled. "Right. No nuts.... And Diet Coke,
right? With a twist. Like always."

"Like always."

"'Kay. I'll be back in like ten minutes or so."

Kay.

After Ashley left, I climbed down off the cloud bed
and walked around her room. I walked through her closet
packed with clothes hanging on silky padded hangers and
thought, How does she ever decide what to wear?

I looked at myself in Ashley's white shell mirror and
said out loud, "Whatever shall I wear today?"

I opened the top drawer of her bureau, which I
assumed would be the underwear drawer, and it was. One
pile for cotton. One pile for silky. I thought, Holes and
stains are not welcome here.

I looked in the shell mirror again and said, "Hi. I'm
Ashley. Ashley Barnum. Even my underwear is perfect."