“Brandon, what happened? You come in here drenched as though you’d been out in the rain much longer than it takes to come from the parking lot to the building.”
“I didn’t haven’t an umbrella.”
“You came into the office clearly shaken. Brandon, did you walk from somewhere?”
“No, it’s not like that. I was being stupid. I was running from my car to get inside, and I didn’t see a car coming.” Elijah moved to the edge of his seat, and his eyes started to scan me. I needed to go home. “I really need to go home, Elijah. I mean, Dr. Hamilton.”
“It’s Elijah, Brandon. Finish telling me what happened.”
“I tried to move out of the way, and the SUV skid to a stop. I fell, which is why this one side of my body is wetter than the other.”
“Were you hit by the car?”
“It wasn’t their fault. I was running between cars trying to get wet as little as possible.”
“Were you hit, Brandon?” he repeated the question.
“The bumper brushed against me while I was on the ground.”
“Was it on this side?” he asked as he moved from his seat to sit beside me on the side that I was the wettest.
I nodded, and he rolled up the sleeve of my t-shirt and looked at my shoulder. Gently his fingertips moved over what I could tell was a scrape. He let go of my sleeve and went back to the cabinet where he got the blanket. He returned with a first-aid kit and wiped my scrape with an alcohol pad. Elijah rummaged around in the box and found one of those ice packs that you pop in the center and it releases the coolness. He pressed it against my shoulder over my t-shirt and guided me to lean back so that the ice pack was sandwiched between me and the couch.
“Do you physically hurt anywhere?”
“No. Besides, I like pain. I know, that’s kind of weird,” I volunteered.
“It’s not weird,” Elijah said as he opened the small blanket and draped it from the back of the couch over my shoulder and across my chest and stomach. I kept one arm out from under the blanket so I could hold the hot chocolate and sipped on it. Elijah sat in his usual spot and continued questioning me.
“When you were on the phone with your mom, did you tell her you had been hit by a car?”
“I told her that I almost got hit by a car. She was worried I wrecked my car.”
“Did she ask if you were alright?”
I shook my head. Why didn’t she care about me? I took a deep breath and realized how tired I was. He said it was the surge of adrenaline relaxing and told me the chilled feeling was normal, on top of me being damp.
“We fight constantly. I get so frustrated over dumb shit. But she didn’t even ask about me today. My mom doesn’t care about me,” I commented.
“I think your mom does care about you, Brandon. But only when it’s convenient for her. I know that she had you when she was very young, according to Dr. Keith.”
I nodded. I had heard the story from my mom several times about how I arrived early.
“She had just gotten a deal as a Calvin Klein swimsuit model. That’s why my middle name is Calvin. I caused a lot of issues for her because I was early. I had heart problems because of it.” Since he obviously talked to Dr. Keith, I had a feeling he knew all of this. I decided to test out my theory. “Did Dr. Keith tell you that I was born early?”
“Yes. If I recall, you were almost seven weeks premature.”
I nodded.
“And a crack baby.”
My eyes shot from my hot chocolate to his eyes.What?I had been a crack baby? I could feel my heart pounding, and I didn’t think I was able to contain an expression of shock.
“I take it by your reaction that you didn’t know, Brandon.” I shook my head. While I wanted to know what he knew, I wanted out of there too. “It’s not your fault, Brandon.”
“Wait, are you sure?”
“That is what he told me.”
