FROM: Grant
DATE: Monday, 15 June
In February, I wrote the League regarding Sara Tucker, expressing my unease that her pleasant demeanor was at odds with the despair I could sense within.
After meeting her again, I regret to report that her mourning process has stalled. She made a grave error today, one that put her in danger and alarmed those who care for her. An emotionally healthy Sara would have been visibly contrite. Today’s Sara barely registered her surroundings.
I find the lack of response from her parents to be unsettling. Are they demonstrating confidence in Sara’s resilience? Or do they remain too distracted by their own grief to notice her?
Is Sara eligible for further assistance? It is my understanding that there can only be one assignment per family, yet Kimberley Rey has been served twice. Perhaps a similar exception can be made for Sara. If so, I reiterate my willingness to serve her. Our past relationship makes me an ideal candidate.
2
Double Dose
Kimberley and I rode to North Carolina together on the Tuesday morning train. As we pulled into the Rocky Mount depot, I spotted my dad in the parking lot, standing beside his car.
“Hi, Mr. Tucker. Thank you for picking us up,” Kimberley said as we tossed our suitcases into the trunk.
“You’re welcome, Kimberley.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, princess. Good trip?”
“Yes, sir.” I scanned his face to read his mood and found only fuzziness.
We all got in. On the drive home, Kimberley broke the silence with intermittent bursts of conversation. Dad or I mumbled when courtesy demanded it.
After we’d dropped off Kimberley, he turned to me. “Need to stop by the store?”
“No, sir. Home is fine.”
He said nothing on the way, which was just as well, because I wouldn’t have wanted to answer the obvious questions.
Clearly, Dad wasn’t feeling obvious.
He parked his Mercedes in the garage. My mother’s SUV was gone.
“Where’s Mom? At the shop?”
“No.” He led the way into the house, fumbling with his phone. “She’s at church.”
He didn’t contribute any more details. I’d have to drag them out of him. “Why is she there on a Tuesday?”
“Vacation Bible School.”
My brother and I had attended VBS every summer when we were younger, and our mother had always volunteered. But this year? If Mom was hanging out with a swarm of excited little kids, it would tear her apart. Wouldn’t it? “How is she helping?”
“Refreshments.” His sigh sounded tired. “She raided the freezer. It had a lot of cookies.”
Ten dozen, to be precise. I’d been indulging in baking therapy lately. “Do I need to make something for dinner?”
“No, thank you, she’ll be home by then.” He trudged down the hallway to the first-floor master suite.
It was a relief that my parents were sharing a room again. With all of the horrible things that had happened this year, having them reconcile had been the bright spot. But I wished I could shake them out of their stupor. They never talked about anything of substance. Didn’t want to share meals or spend time together. If they spoke to me at all, it was to discuss factual things, like my schedule at the consignment shop.
Our emotions were still too raw to push for more. I got that. I didn’t know how well I could handle togetherness either. I didn’t feel neglected...
Okay, yes I did, although I got that too. They were hurting. I was hurting. If we put our hurting into the same room for too long, it might combust. But I’d returned from DC a whole day late. Didn’t that rate...something?
I climbed the back stairs and paused before the closed door across the hall from my bedroom. Following the ritual I’d created in February, I pressed my back to the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the carpet, staring athisdoor. It dared me to come inside, but so far I’d been too weak. Instead, that door and I waited for something to give.
