Chapter 7
Maya’s first therapy appointment began with both of us in the room.
The therapist, Ms. Grant, showed Maya where she could sit and told her she could ask me to stay or wait outside. Maya chose the chair nearest mine.
Ms. Grant asked what would make the hour easier.
“Knowing what we’re going to talk about,” Maya said.
“We can start with how things have been this week.”
They talked about sleep, soccer, and Pepper stealing a sandwich from Tasha’s plate. Maya smiled once. Then she asked me to wait outside while she finished the appointment.
I told her I would be right beyond the door.
In the waiting room, I thought about all the times she had been alone with a frightened thought because I hadn’t known how to hear it. This time she knew exactly where to find me.
When she came out, she asked whether we could get lunch. I let her choose the place. She ordered soup and half a sandwich. She ate most of it.
For the next month, our days acquired a shape.
Maya went to therapy once a week. We met with her school to arrange work she could do at home, then a gradual return when she felt ready. Tasha took us to a quiet park after dinner. Sometimes Maya walked beside me. Sometimes she wanted to stay near the car with Pepper.
I didn’t ask her to be cheerful. When she laughed, I laughed with her.
One afternoon, the district administrator called about Mr. Keene. The review had found that he failed to follow the school’s procedure for a student who said she was afraid to go home. He would no longer be counseling students while the district addressed it. Staff were receiving further training, and Maya would have a different counselor if she returned.
I wrote everything down. Then I asked for it in writing.
When I told Maya, she looked at me for a long moment.
“He won’t send another kid back to class?”
“He won’t be meeting with students now. The school says it’s changing how they respond, and I’m going to follow up.”
She sat with that. “I want to talk to the new counselor before I go back.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
Our advocate also kept us informed about Robert’s case. I learned how slowly the process could move. Some days, Maya asked for every update. Other days, she asked me to hold the information until after therapy. I let her choose when I could.
One evening, I found her looking through photographs on her phone. She showed me one from the previous fall. Robert stood between us at a soccer game, his arms around our shoulders.
“We looked happy,” she said.
“We did.”
“Were you happy then?”
“I loved being with you. I didn’t know what he was doing.”
She touched the edge of the screen. “I don’t want every picture from before to be ruined.”
“You can keep the ones you want.”
“Can I be happy in a picture and still know he hurt me?”
“Yes.”
She put the phone down and leaned against me. I had no way to make those memories simple. I could listen while she decided what they meant to her.
At my own counseling appointment, I spoke about Robert’s voice. I told the counselor how easily I still heard his explanations in my head.
“He used to say I worried too much,” I said. “Then when Maya was sick, I kept thinking I might be doing that again.”
“What do you know now?” she asked.
“I know Maya was afraid. I saw it. I wish I’d trusted what I saw sooner.”
I left with no sudden feeling of forgiveness for myself. I did leave knowing what I would do the next time Maya told me something was wrong: I would listen and ask how to help.
The following Monday, Maya visited the school after classes ended. The new counselor met us at the entrance. She showed Maya a room with a door she could close, explained how to find help during the school day, and asked what name Maya wanted on her contact list first.
“Mom,” Maya said.
She looked at me. “And Aunt Tasha.”
The counselor wrote both down.
We walked through the empty halls. At Maya’s locker, she turned the combination slowly. Inside were two notebooks and a photograph of her soccer team. She took the photograph out and smiled at it.
“Could I come back for one class next week?” she asked.
“We can plan that,” the counselor said.
On the drive home, Maya held the team photograph in her lap.
“I might be nervous,” she told me.
“I can drive you and wait nearby.”
May you like
“You can go home after you drop me off,” she said. “I’ll call if I need you.”
I looked at her in the mirror. “Okay.”
