Page 9 of The Fates We Tame

“The dogs are at home with Gerald,” Erin explains patiently.

I know some people have life-changing revelations about their career after something like this. You hear about the rehabbed woman who changes careers and retrains to help people just like her once she’s healed, but I wouldn’t do this job for all the money in the world.

It’s chaos and requires vast amounts of patience.

Belle-Odette looks confused. “But… dogs they...”

“I walked them…and fed them,” Theo says. “The little brown one was”—he closes his eyes tight for a second—“happy as…fuck to see me.”

I snap my head to look at him, but he’s just looking straight at Belle-Odette, who puts her hand to her heart. “Oh, thank you. Coco and I…went shopping yesterday.” She smiles, then sits.

Confabulation. That’s another thing you learn here. There’s a version of amnesia where you just talk bullshit. You can completely rewrite what you think happened yesterday. Belle-Odette is always here. There is no way she went shopping with Coco, but I bet she’d pass a polygraph test if you asked her if she did.

“Get started on your news article,” Erin says, and comes over to our table. “Theo,” she says. “Thank you for trying to help, but it doesn’t help Belle-Odette if we lie to her. It’s important for her to know what’s really happening in her life.”

“Maybe, Doc. But to what…end? She’s got clear difficulty determining…fuck me…” He breathes like we’ve all been taught.

I breathe with him out of habit. A part of me wants to put my hand on his back and reassure him we’re used to waiting long periods for someone to speak here.

“Reality.” The word comes out on a sharp snap of breath. “She’s not in her home. Her dogs…” He rubs his right hand on his chest. “Give her peace, yeah?”

“Valid point, Theo,” Erin concedes.

“That was really nice of you,” I say, finally.

Theo shrugs. He reaches for his coffee again, but his shaking seems worse. His fingers brush the handle, and it tips over. Thankfully, it’s in a cup with a lid, so it doesn’t immediately spill everywhere, but I jump from my seat and launch myself across the table to catch it before it rolls out of reach.

“Parkour,” I shout, even as my hip nails the hardwood edge, making me wince.

Theo shakes his head. But I see the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Sit down…before…hurt.”

Belle-Odette gives us a retelling of…something. I’m not sure. But we all sit riveted because she’s trying so hard.

Tears sting my eyes because I remember being her when I first arrived. With a missing eye, a scarred face, not knowing anyone, trusting even fewer. The world felt, and still does, like a dangerous place.

My team has been making really strong suggestions that I’m ready to leave, but outside this building is a terrifying world I’m unfamiliar with. Leaving, as a concept, scares me.

Theo gives us a rundown of a Nets versus Knicks game. He holds his composure right to the end, even when he struggles to find the language he needs. When he’s done, he skims the article like a pebble across water. I watch as it glides off the table and lands near Belle-Odette’s feet.

We finish the session after I repeat the details of a play review by a major theatre critic. “In conclusion, the revival ofChekhov’s Seagullinevitably fell flat,” I say.

I manage not to laugh, but only because I breathe the heck out of the ending. I can feel the giggling vibrations in my chest though.

“You want to grab lunch together?” I ask Theo as we prepare to leave. It’s always a logistical challenge. Wheelchairs, walkers, and people unsteady on their feet like me. There are porters and carers who arrive to help people move to their next session. “I’veseen you looking sad and mopey all by your lonesome in the cafeteria.”

Theo glances my way. “Perhaps I just like my own…company.”

“Or perhaps you haven’t made any friends yet?”

“Or I”—he winces—“don’t like…talking now.”

“Fair. But I can fill the silence. My small talk is one of my greatest strengths. Ask anyone.”

He rubs his hands across his face, then glances at his watch. “You …hitting on me, Sparrow?”

“God, no.” I laugh. “To hit on someone is way above my pay grade. You’re speaking to someone who can’t even remember ever going on a date. Don’t make me eat alone just because you’re in a bad mood. I don’t have massage therapy for another ninety minutes.”

“Fine.”