When we're done, I have a backpack full of stuff, the poster tucked under one arm and Adam's laptop in my hands, and he's carefully carting his television downstairs. I give a longing look toward the kitchen, but decide it's probably not worth dealing with Mrs. Rockswell reporting my jam vandalism to the cops.

Take away a woman's son and she gets pissy. But ruin her carpets and all hell breaks loose.

#

The rest of our day is spent playing video games on the new TV and marveling at how much difference high-definition makes. Adam is usually better than I am, but I don't mind much because he always seems so genuinely surprised and happy he's good at anything.

After dinner, Adam surprises me by asking if I want to go jogging. He never goes with me. When I say yes, he hands me my coat and says, "Let's go to the bridge."

It's not even six o'clock and the sun is already vanishing, nothing more than an orange sliver against the skyline. We park and jog down the rarely-used bike trails to the bridge, across it, stopping at its center. I can pinpoint the exact spot where Casper crawled over and was prepared to jump. The precise area we all huddled together.

For a moment, I am lost again. Holding onto the railing like I might fall over the edge if I don't. Adam curls his fingers around the rail and stares out over the water and the sunset. "Can I ask you something?"

It's been a good couple of days. I'm not sure I want to talk about anything heavy. But this is us trying, right? So I say, "Okay."

"Are we all right?" he asks

This could very well be a trick question. I turn, back leaning into the railing. So cold. "In what way?"

"As in...is this going to be okay? Are we going to be okay?"

I don't have the courage to look at his face because his eyes are too honest. "I don't know. I think so. Is that good enough for now?"

Adam shoves his hands in his pockets, toeing at the ground. "I meant what I told my mom. I want to get into therapy." Pause. "I want you to, too."

"I've been to a doctor before," I protest.

"Not all doctors are the same. That was then. This is now."

I'm aware, but are they different enough? Speaking to the doctor Maggie took me to, there were talks of hospitalization, of BPD or manic depression, of a lifetime of medication. If that is what lies in store for me, I don't want to hear about it.

Will I ever know, though, if I don't try? And am I willing to try for Adam?

We stand toe-to-toe on the bridge, neither of us looking at one another. Aware he is worried about me, and also aware he's in no state to be worrying about anyone when he's trying so hard to get himself stable.