12

Dr. Hieler’s office was cozy and academic—an oasis of books and soft rock music in a sea of institutionalism. His secretary, a relaxed girl with brown skin and long fingernails, was curt and professional, ushering me and Mom in from the waiting room to the inner sanctum as if we were there to buy rare diamonds. She bustled around a mini-fridge, bringing me a Coke and Mom a bottled water, and then waved with her arm toward an open office door. We stepped through.

Dr. Hieler unfolded himself out from behind a desk, taking off his glasses and unveiling a closed-mouthed smile that made his eyes look sad. Or maybe his eyes were always sad. I suppose if I had to listen to tales of pain and misery all day my eyes would look sad, too.

“Hi,” he said, stretching his hand out to Mom. “I’m Rex.”

Mom extended her arm, looking too formal and rigid to be in this office. “Hello, Dr. Hieler,” she said. “Jenny Leftman. This is my daughter, Valerie.” She reached behind her and touched my shoulder lightly, pushing me just slightly forward. “You were referred by Bill Dentley at Garvin General.”

Dr. Hieler nodded; he knew this already, as he also already knew what was next to come out of her mouth. “Valerie goes to Garvin High School. Went,” she amended. Past tense.

Dr. Hieler settled into an overstuffed chair and motioned with his hand for us to take a seat on the couch directly opposite. I flopped on the couch, watching Mom as she stiffly backed up and sat on the very edge of it, as if it would soil her. Suddenly everything Mom said or did was embarrassing, annoying, frustrating. I wanted to push her out of the room. I wanted to push myself out of there more.

“As I was saying,” Mom said, “Valerie was there at the school the day of the shooting.”

Dr. Hieler’s eyes moved to me, but he didn’t say anything.

“She, uh, knew the young man involved,” Mom finished. It was more than I could take, this fake act of hers.

“Knew,” I seethed. “He was my boyfriend, Mom. God!”

There was a brief silence as Mom visibly tried to gather herself up (maybe a little too visibly, I thought, and I figured this, too, was primarily for Dr. Hieler’s benefit—for him to see just what a horrible child she was cursed with).

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Hieler said, very quietly, and at first I thought he was talking to Mom. But when I looked up he was looking directly at me, taking me in.

There was a long period of silence, during which Mom sniveled into a tissue and I looked at my shoes, feeling Dr. Hieler’s gaze on the top of my head.

Finally, Mom broke the silence, her voice sounding shrill in the close air. “Well, obviously her father and I are concerned about her. She has a lot to work through, and we just want her to get on with her life.”

I shook my head. Mom still thought I had a life to get on with.

Dr. Hieler took a deep breath in and shifted forward in his seat. He finally took his eyes off of me and focused on Mom again. “Well,” he said in this soft voice that felt like a lullaby, “getting on with her life is important. But right now it may be more important to put the feelings out there, deal with them, and find a way to be okay with all that’s happened.”

“She won’t talk about it,” Mom argued. “Ever since she got out of the hospital…”

But Dr. Hieler shushed her with an outstretched hand, his eyes once again taking me in.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you that I know what you’re feeling. I wouldn’t invalidate all you’ve been through by telling you that I have any idea of what it’s like,” he said to me. I said nothing. He shifted in his chair again. “Maybe if we just start off this way. How about if we kick your mom out and you and I talk for awhile? Are you comfortable with that?”

I didn’t respond.

But Mom looked relieved. She stood up. Dr. Hieler stood up, too, and stepped toward the door with her.

“I work a lot with kids Valerie’s age,” he said in a low voice. “I tend to be really wide open and direct. Not harsh, just direct. If there’s something that needs to be put on the table we put it on the table so we can work on it to see if we can find our way through it and make things better. I tend to initially listen and try to offer support.” He turned and looked at me, talking to both of us—me on the couch and Mom with her hand on the doorknob. “Down the road, we may or may not think there’s something that you need to change. If we do we’ll talk about it. More than likely at that point, we’ll talk more about your thoughts and your behaviors. Any questions?”

I said nothing.

Mom dropped her hand from the doorknob. “Have you ever dealt with anything like this before?”

Dr. Hieler glanced away. “I’ve dealt with violence. But I’ve never dealt with anything like this. I think I can help, but I don’t want to lie to you and act like I think I know everything about this.” He looked directly at me again and I could swear I saw real pain in his sad eyes this time. “What you’ve been through really sucks.”

Still, I said nothing. It was easier to be silent with Dr. Hieler. Dr. Dentley would’ve locked me up for it; Dr. Hieler looked like he expected it.

I concentrated on my shoes as Mom left the room. “I’ll be right outside,” I heard her say. I heard Dr. Hieler close the door and it was suddenly so silent I could hear his clock ticking. I heard the cushions of his chair let out air as he sat down again.

“This is one of those times where there’s probably not a right thing to say,” he said, very softly. “I would have to imagine that this thing is awful and just keeps on being awful.”

I shrugged my shoulders. I still couldn’t bring myself to look up.

He cleared his throat and said, a little more loudly, “First, you went through this, you got shot, you lost somebody you loved. It’s pretty well screwed up school, family, friendships, and now you’re stuck in an office with a fat shrink who wants to get inside your head.”

I looked up with my eyes only, keeping my head bent, so he wouldn’t see me grin. But he must have because he grinned very slightly back at me. I liked him already.

“Look,” he said. “Not only do I think this whole thing is terrible for you, but I’m also aware that you’ve probably had very little control over any of this. I’d like to do things differently here. I’d like to give you a lot of control. We’ll move only as quickly as you want. If I bring up a subject that you don’t want to talk about or push too hard on a topic, just tell me and I’ll change the topic to something easy and safe.”

I lifted my chin a little.

“The next time we get together why don’t we start by just learning about you, what you’ve been interested in, how life was before this happened, getting to know one another a bit, and we’ll move forward from there. Sound good?”

“Okay,” I said. My voice was tiny, but I was surprised to hear any voice there at all.