Transversals

II. Harley // Afton

I could see the psychiatrist's unease at my statement and the question in her expression, glancing between the clock and my blank stare at the window. "If you hold me a minute over I'll tell them you disclosed client information," I robotically add in the silence.

She hastily gets up and shows me to the door. "We'll see you next week, Harley."

I mumble a bye and walk down the hall of offices to the lobby. It smells of ten different grandmothers' houses all crammed into one, an aroma I don't particularly find appealing or comforting like expected. Dad sits in a chair on his phone, scrolling through something or other. He perks up when seeing me, smiling tiredly with crinkles at his eyes. "How'd it go?"

The chip on my shoulder was always put back in place when talking with Dad or Hanna only, so I had to exhale and smile halfheartedly. "Not bad."

"I already set up your next appointment," he says, standing up and walking with me out the door. He starts to take his jacket off and hand it to me, since the rain had begun to pick up. "One week from today."

"Okay," I reply, slipping his oversized jacket on and pulling the hood up. I had just re-dyed my hair and am wearing a light-colored hoodie, so Dad was doing us both a favor. With his jacket I won't be cold, and my turquoise hair dye won't stain the hoodie that he'd have to Google how to wash out.

We step outside into the rain and jog to the truck. I file into the passenger seat and Dad hops into his, staring the engine and turning out. He glances at the notebook and written prescription in my lap. "What's that?"

I look down, not realizing I had taken the stupid thing with me. "It's a uh, journal, I guess. And a prescription slip."

"So we'll have to stop at the pharmacy," he says, nodding thoughtfully. "And if my memory serves me right, I think there's a Dairy Queen on the way." He glances over and gives me dimpled smile, a trait I'm thankful to inherit.

Settling into the seat and curling up into the jacket, I smile genuinely for the first time since coming back. "Hanna's going to want an Oreo earthquake."

"Oh geez, we have to pick her up," Dad says, coming to an abrupt stop and turning right. I should've realized I had to remind him about her. His brain's more active but still scattered as of late. We just started school a month ago and he had to ease into the swing of it all again.

Ah, junior year though. Past the halfway mark. Had it really already been a month since school started? They aren't kidding when they say you move at warp speed your last two years of high school. I can't wait to graduate, though. And do what? I'm not sure. I've looked into technical schools since my GPA isn't a beautiful little sailboat 4 and 0. The aviation program looks promising. Flying was always fun.

I grip my arm tight, reopening a few of the scratches by the sting, but let my fingernails dig in. Flying is going to be a trigger too now, isn't it.

Soon enough we picked up Hanna, going on and on about the upcoming Halloween party that Friday and the awesome soccer goal she made during recess. "I played goalie too!" she excitedly tells me.

I poke her shoulder. "That's great, sis. Olympics the next stop?"

She giggles and dribbles soft serve ice cream on her chin, the three of us crammed into Dad's two-seater truck. "Not yet."

I return to my own ice cream with a small smile, looking out the window. "Tell me when I need to start saving up for tickets, Hans."

We stop at the pharmacy and fill my prescription without another word of it before Hanna, but Dad wasn't going to talk to me about it outside of her earshot anyway. He doesn't know how to deal with my "psychological issues" besides pull me to a psychiatrist after finding the aftermath. But we got the pills and ice cream, and my stomach tosses uncomfortably with the combination in my possession. I'm not crazy, still. But sad, definitely. I had just been so close.