Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [26]
Theresa swooped in on the few bacon crumbs on her plate, then leaned across the table and bared her teeth at us. Not a pretty sight.
“Got any leftovers?”
“Well, just a few,” said Cathryn.
A few? I rolled my eyes. What a diplomat. An entire afternoon snack waited between her teeth.
“You can pick up a toothpick on our way out. I have to show Leah where to go for her next appointment, then you and I will go back to the floor.”
“I don’t need no toothpick.” Theresa raked between her teeth with her thumbnail. “How's this?” She pushed her top lip up, and I dreaded to think of the extent to which Theresa could push the boundaries of acceptable behavior.
Bits of green still lingered in a few places, but Cathryn looked at her watch. “We need to get moving. You can finish cleaning up when you settle down in your room.”
As I walked toward the place Cathryn directed me, I heard Theresa shout, “Catch you later, Miss Two Shoes.”
I opened the door to find those predictable white walls again, platinum shag carpet, two semi-stuffed wingback chairs, and no windows. Anxiety rippled the skin on my back, perched itself on my chest. I’d seen these “we’re so sorry to tell you” rooms in medical hospitals where doctors bring families to deliver tragedy.
Maybe no one would show up. Maybe Cathryn goofed and confused the rooms. Maybe I officially lost what brain cells I hadn’t already destroyed.
What's the protocol for waiting in a nearly empty room? I sat in the chair closer to the door. The air-conditioner vents shivered when the thermostat kicked off; otherwise, the silence loitered in the room like an unwelcome guest. I made a deal with myself that if no one appeared after I counted all the ceiling tiles, then paced for two hundred steps, I’d leave.
Trey pounced in at ceiling tile number seventeen. I didn’t yet know his name. I just knew he caused my first official almost heart attack.
13
Is the sky falling?”
Trey's resonant voice might have startled me. But his mere appearance had already pushed my short-circuited heart right through my open mouth. I popped up, as my quirky Aunt Joycie used to say, “faster than a pimple before prom.” My grandmother, often appalled by her daughter's unpredictable perceptions, promised us she took the wrong baby home from the hospital.
I eased back into the chair. “No, but I think my heart rate might be.” By then my eyes had bounced back into their sockets so I could survey this intruder. He wore a suit, definitely atypical attire from what I’d seen so far, and he wore it well. No tie, but a starched pinstriped shirt. His light brown hair was flattop military style. Instead of carrying a leather briefcase though, he had a navy blue backpack slung over his left shoulder.
He didn’t smile. In fact his lips could have been carved into the space above his chin. He walked over to the other chair, turned it to face me, sat, unzipped his backpack, and withdrew a slim manila folder.
“So, Leah,” the words rolled out of his mouth as he crossed his right leg so his ankle landed on top of his left knee. “My name is Trey. Today, I’m here to introduce myself and ask you a few questions. We’ll be talking more in other sessions.”
“Do people in this place ever have last names?”
He still hadn’t made eye contact with me because he spoke into the now open folder perched on the crook of his leg. He coaxed reading glasses out of the inside pocket of his tailored suit, slipped them on, and continued to stare at the papers in front of him. “Is that important to you? To have a last name?”
“Well, it sure makes alphabetizing easier,” I said. The room felt colder. I curled my feet in the chair and hoped the hospital also treated frostbite.
He glanced at me, reached into the backpack again, pulled out a black Mont Blanc fountain pen, and scribbled