"You're not coming in?"
"I have some errands to run. I'll be back in an hour to pick you up."
I open my door, then turn back to him. "Did you ever want to see me? When I was growing up?"
He lets out a breath. "Go. I'll be back in an hour."
He didn't answer me, which means he didn't want me. I already knew that but it hurts to have him confirm it.
I wish I'd never found out he's my dad. I'd rather have an alcoholic druggie dad than one who never wanted me.
Chapter Thirteen
"Rumor Halliway," I say to the receptionist. "Or Bennet. I don't know which name he used."
The woman looks over her appointment book. "Halliway." She smiles as she stands up. "Right this way."
I follow her down the hall to an office where a woman in a navy suit is waiting. She's older, maybe Brock's age, with short black hair, black glasses, and bright red lipstick. I already don't like her. The suit is too corporate and the red lipstick looks like blood against her pale skin. She doesn't even smile when she sees me.
"Rumor." She shakes my hand. "Clarice Robbins. Thank you for switching your appointment to today. I have a conflict tomorrow."
"I didn't have a choice," I mutter, sitting on the high-backed black chair across from her desk. The top of the chair curves up to a point. It reminds me of the chairs in the haunted house Axl and I used to go to every Halloween.
Clarice sits down at her desk, a big wooden desk that matches the bookcases that line the wall behind her. Neither her desk nor the bookcases have a single photo on them. She either doesn't have family or doesn't want anyone to see them. Looking around the room, I see three other chairs like the one I'm sitting in, along with a small coffee table. There's nothing on the walls, which are painted white with white trim. It's a very sterile room. It makes me wish I was back in Ms. Adams office. At least it had some warmth to it with all the colors and the fluffy rug and the bean bag chair. Or maybe the warmth came from Ms. Adams. She was odd but at least she smiled, and she was nice once I got to know her.
Clarice is professional but cold as ice. And she still hasn't smiled.
"Let's get started." She holds a pen over her black leather-bound notebook. "Tell me about your mother."
"That's it? We're just starting? Don't you want to ask me some questions first?"
"I just asked you a question."
"I mean questions about me. My interests. Hobbies. I don't know, it just seems a little fast to go straight to my mom."
"We're not here to talk about your hobbies and interests. I don't waste my client's money asking about weekend plans or what you had for dinner. I get right to the issues, and from my conversation with Brock, it seems you're struggling to move on from your mother's death."
"It's only been a few months. I think it's a little soon to just move on."
"Tell me about your grief. What stage are you in?" She slides a sheet of paper across her desk, setting it in front of me. It lists the five stages of grief. She wants me to pick one? Isn't she supposed to be telling ME what stage I'm in?
"I don't need to look at it." I slide it back to her. "I had a lecture on this at school today. A girl in my class was killed and they had an assembly."
She writes something in her book. "You don't seem very upset about that. The death of a classmate? That's typically very traumatic for someone your age."
"I didn't know her that well, and I AM upset but I'm not going to sit here crying about it."
"Did you cry after your mother passed?"
"Of course I cried," I say like she's crazy. "My mom was my best friend." I pause. "And I watched her die."
"Tell me about that."
"I'd rather not. I don't want to relive it."
"Tell me about the next day. What happened?"
"Didn't Brock already tell you all this?"
