“Franny, don’t forget to breathe.” She kept looking down at her page and then back up at me, her hand moving as if it wasn’t under her control anymore. “Has anyone ever drawn you before?”

I shook my head but then I couldn’t remember what position it had been in before.

“Just be yourself. Work on your word search book. Forget I’m even here.”

Even if I wanted, I could never forget.

I tried to find the same position but nothing felt right, so I stared back down at the puzzle I was working on, waiting for the words to jump out at me like they usually did. Most people circled the entire word, but I circled each individual letter. It took me longer and looked more confusing, but I liked the idea of singling out every letter separately.

“Have you always liked letters?”

I nodded.

“It’s okay to talk, Franny. Really, I want you to be yourself.”

She got off the rocking chair and sat on the other end of the couch. Then she swiveled around so that she was looking directly at me, her sketchbook balanced on her crossed legs.

“I have always known how to spell.” I felt the hotness creep into my face.

“That’s kind of how I feel about drawing. I’ve done it for as long as I can remember and it’s always been the one thing I could count on. No matter how bad things got.”

The music on the radio changed and now it sounded like rain hitting the windowpanes of an empty house. Leah took a breath and then held the sketchbook close to her chest. She closed her eyes and her head swayed delicately to the music. I wished I could freeze that moment so that it would never end, the two of us with the music playing in the background, and a half-finished sketch of me in her hand. I wanted things to be easy, to hide so that nothing bad could ever happen. But something new and strange was growing inside me, taunting me until it was hard to breathe, and I knew I had to speak. I ignored the lump in my throat and took a deep breath.

“Who was he?”

The music was over and the announcer was naming the piece that had just played. I wondered if she’d heard me. Her eyes were still closed, but she stopped swaying. She lowered the sketchbook and was quiet for a few more minutes before she finally spoke. “Someone I thought I loved. He was sweet and passionate and then suddenly he wasn’t. And I don’t know how I didn’t see it. I don’t know how I missed the signs.”