Lorna was appalled. She didn’t understand why his proclamation should annoy her so completely, but it did. She glowered at him. She’d been feeling good about things, about herself, and hewas ruining it all. “I’m here to learn how to be a better person, remember? You can’t just switch everything up on me at the last minute.”
“I didn’t mean to switch it up. To me, it’s all part and parcel of the unique Lorna Lott. Whether you realize it or not, you’re doing the work of others who have grieved a loss. The tears, the rage... they are all signs of it.”
Now she was feeling defensive. “I haven’t cried in a week.”
“And that is great progress. Here is Montreal,” he said.
Lorna hadn’t even noticed that the door had opened. She was still glaring at Micah, who returned her gaze with absolute serenity. She was indignant—she’d been sold a bait and switch. “Have a good session,” he said, as if nothing had happened.
Chapter 31Lorna Now
Grief work.
She had never wanted to rip out someone’s ribbons like she did the moment Micah said that. Just when she was wondering how she’d carry on without Micah’s help, he had to go say that. Who did he think he was kidding? Lorna had been to therapists, she had talked about her mother’s death, she was versed in the basic tenets of depression and grief and so on and on and on. Grief was not her problem. Grief implied she had lost something, but really, she was getting herself back.
Then why did his proclamation make her so angry? Was that proof she was grieving? Why else would she fill with rage?
She shook her head. She was going to get Nana’s house back, and when she did, she would be whole again. She would be the Lorna she was supposed to be, the Lorna she was before everything went so terribly wrong. She was notgrieving.And she would simply ignore the alarming feeling that even having Nana’s house back wouldn’t be the right panacea for what was ailing her. She would not entertain the idea that her plan wasn’t the right one.
Nope, she was not going to change her mind. It had been made up for too long.
Bean dragged a bucket of plastic building blocks to Lorna’s apartment that afternoon. “I’m building some houses for the villages,” he announced. He set up his construction zone on the living room floor, admonishing Aggie when she picked up pieces and chewed on them.
Perhaps Lorna should have been more concerned about Aggie eating small plastic pieces, but she was engrossed in the search for Mrs. Tracy.
Unfortunately, her memory was failing her. She couldn’t remember Mrs. Tracy’s first name anymore. There were several people with the Tracy surname scattered around town. What she could recall was that Nicole was from somewhere near Central Austin. She remembered driving by Nicole’s family house in those nights after the accident, tears clouding her vision.
It was possible the family had moved, but that didn’t stop her. She made a list of the Tracy addresses, putting the ones in Central Austin at the top. “Hey, Bean. Grab your explorer gear.”
He looked up from his construction. “Where are we going?”
“To find a family I used to know.”
“Will there be dessert? I still haven’t decided what I’m going to bake.”
She smiled with great fondness at the kid. “We’ll find one.”
Lorna fed Aggie while Bean picked up his building pieces. They left the dog with a Nylabone and headed out. Bean had his map, his compass, his explorer hat, and, today, a watch. “Dad got it for me,” he explained. “It has the temperature, and also you can see how many steps you take.”
The first address they drove to was a house with white siding and a green metal roof, surrounded by an overgrown lawn that sported some overturned lawn chairs. Lorna remembered a brick house and a neatly kept lawn. “This isn’t it.”
Bean pulled out a pair of child’s binoculars from his backpackand surveyed the house and yard. “There are papers stuck in the door.”
“Flyers,” Lorna said. “I don’t think anyone is home.”
“No,” Bean agreed. He took out his disposable camera and snapped a picture of the house. “I’ll put this in our field notes,” he said.
They headed to the second address. This one was in East Austin, in a modest neighborhood marked by redbrick houses and neatly trimmed yards. It had a porch swing, and something about that swing niggled Lorna’s memory. She vaguely recalled—
“Stop!” Bean shrieked.
Lorna hit the brakes. “What?” she cried.
“There’s apuppy!”
“I hit apuppy?” Horror sluiced through Lorna, but Bean didn’t answer—he’d flung open the door and was out before she could stop him.
“Bean! Wait!” she said, but Bean was at the fence. “Can I pet your puppy?” he shouted.
