Auntie and I both stand to go with her. The lady smiles. “Sorry, you’ll need to wait here. Don’t worry, she’ll be okay.”

I grit my teeth. What right do these strangers have to build boundaries around my sister and brother?

Olivia takes the woman’s hand and goes with her without as much as a glimpse back. It bothers me that my sister lets people in her life as easily as a key slips through a keyhole.

Walk This Way

Walk This Way

Olivia returns thirty minutes later, smiling, with a pack of chewing gum. “I drew pictures,” she says, smacking her gum.

“Isabel,” the lady says. “Please follow me.”

With each step down the long white hall the words sound off in my head. I knew. I knew. I knew.

Introductions

Introductions

The counselor is not the Filipino lady. The counselor is a fat Chamorro man. At his desk, he’s eating the last bite of a hamburger. Wiping off his mouth with a napkin, he motions me in, stands, and holds out his hand. “I’m Eduardo Gurrero. Just call me, Ed, though.”

I take his hand, then quickly release it.

“Sorry about the mess,” he says, wadding up his McDonald’s sack and throwing it into the garbage. “That was a late lunch. I have to squeeze my meals in between sessions.”

His office is a mess. There are supersized McDonald’s cups around the room, five that I’ve counted so far. Books are crammed on shelves and stacked in towers on his floor. Animal puppets lie in a pile on his chair. An old poster I’ve seen in movies is tacked to the wall. It’s the one with the pretty lady wearing the red bathing suit, but someone has made a muumuu for her, covering almost everything from the neck down.

“Isabel, I guess you were in school today?”

I’m wearing my uniform, but I politely say, “Yes.”

“Where do you attend school?”

“St. Cletus.” I glance down to make sure I’m wearing the white blouse embroidered with my school’s name.

“Of course, of course.” He leans back in his chair. It squeaks and I wonder if it will break from his heavy body. He gets up, walks around away from the desk, and somehow manages to get to the couch without tipping over any books.

Ed flops on the couch and locks his hands behind his neck. “Well, I understand you’re the oldest. I guess that means you have a lot of responsibilities?”

Here it is. I might as well get it over. I breathe deep and say, “It’s my fault. I knew about Frank.”

Ed appears confused. “What do you mean, it’s your fault?”

“I knew Frank was hurting himself, at least I thought he might be. I w-wasn’t sure, but I should h—”

Ed holds up his palm. “Whoa, whoa, Isabel. We’re not here to talk about Frank.”