The second thoughts hit me on the way down in the elevator,
me back in the chair, Serena tucked back inside my coat, El
Brujo back draped over my lap.
I mean, what if Deena's dad was there to punch me in
the nose? I could easily imagine the scene earlier this evening
from his point of view: he's sitting in their living room
feeling good about how Deena's first session with the councilors
went, maybe thinking how helpful Gus, that odd little guy in the
wheelchair had been, when the front door slams open and in
rushes Deena, her little dog clenched to her chest, tears
streaming from her eyes--
Not that she'd actually been crying, of course. At least
she hadn't been when she'd turned and run, had left me staring
after her out in front of their house, and she hadn't cried back
when she'd slammed into her bedroom after I'd started asking
about her museum, either.
Which led into my third thoughts, got me to thinking
that maybe it would be OK. Deena's father--Mr. Schwarber, I
could call him now that I knew his name--he'd seemed like he was
used to her outbursts in the hall outside her bedroom door after
the slamming and the shouting. Maybe he just wanted to know
what I'd said or done that had set her off.
Or maybe--fourth thoughts, then--maybe Deena had told him.
Maybe she'd rushed in, had told her father about me summoning a
crow--and not just any crow, either; Jefe was the
biggest, scruffiest, most disreputable crow most people were
ever gonna see their entire lives--how I'd opened a hand and
he'd dropped a pebble into it as if I'd somehow asked him to,
and--
"August," El Brujo muttered, motionless across my thighs
except for a single flick of her ears, "you're grinding your
teeth."
"Well??" I wanted to flail a hand out, but the residents'
elevator at Chrysalis House is pretty small. "What if Deena
told her dad about what I did?? What if he's here to...to--"
"To what?" She looked back at me with half-closed eyes.
"Confront you with your ability to talk to animals? Really,
August." She faced front again. "How likely does that sound?"
A rattle, a shake, and the elevator doors rumbled open,
Eric standing at the bottom of the stairs. He gestured toward
the physical therapists' office halfway down the hall. "I
wasn't sure if this was something you needed to do behind closed
doors or anything," he said, "so I put him in the waiting room
just in case." He gave me a look I didn't think I'd ever seen
from him--and I've seen a lot of his looks, ranging from
his hard-eyed squint when I insist I can't crank out the one
more curl he wants from me to his despairing eye roll when I
settle into the front room most every morning to watch the
little pony show. "You didn't get this girl in trouble, did
you, Gus?"
I wanted to reassure him, but all I could manage to say
was: "If anyone's in trouble here, it's me."
Judging by his rapid eye blinks, I just managed to confuse
him. "You need me in there in case it gets ugly?"
"No!" I blurted out. Not if Mr. Schwarber was going to
confront me and accuse me of--
But then it occurred to me what Eric was saying: that he
had my back, as it were. That he was willing to help me if I
needed it...
My throat tightened a little, and I added, "Thanks.
It...it ought to be fine."
He nodded, stepped down the hall, and opened the door to
the office. I swallowed, rolled down, and spun myself inside.
It all continues, then, in 36!
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