It's You Read Free Page A

ask, even though I already know. I glanced at the chart on the counter even as I was washing my hands.
    “I have a cavity,” Brett whispers.
    “Well, I’ll fix that up for you.”
    “Will it hurt?”
    “No.” I pat his arm. He’s warm. His arm is small. I want to protect him. When you are a child you have no control. Everyone makes all the decisions for you. I can’t imagine not having any control.
    “Are you a kindergartener?” I ask.
    He shakes his head.
    “He’s going to be,” his mom answers from her chair in the corner. “In September. He’s in pre-K now.”
    “You’re going to love kindergarten,” I say.
    He shakes his head. “I have to wear a uniform. And a vest.” His sadness has changed to despair. “I hate vests.”
    “Why do you have to wear vests?”
    “Because it’s a Catholic school,” his mother says. “The children wear vests on Mass days.”
    Brett looks at her and then me. “I’d rather wear my Ninja Turtle shirt,” he whispers.
    “I would, too,” I whisper back.
    He smiles at me but there are tears in his eyes.
    I smile back because if I don’t smile, I’ll start crying.
    Brett leaves the office with thick cotton tucked between his cheek and gum and a shy smile for me.
    He has beautiful eyes, golden brown with long black lashes.
    Andrew had lovely lashes, too. So long they didn’t look real. I used to touch them lightly, wonderingly.
What did you do to get eyelashes like these?
    And then suddenly I remember the note.
    Learn to park.
    Asshole.
    And I want Andrew back. I want him to make fun of the note. And me. I want him to make things better. He knew how to make everything better . . .
    Suddenly I can’t be here, in this office, anymore. I can’t handle the frigid temperature or the whir of the drill, or the sweet eugenol with its clove oil scent.
    Even though I have yet another patient waiting for me, I walk down the hall, out the door into the warm Arizona sunshine, squeezing my hands into fists, digging my nails into the skin to keep from making a sound.
    My heart is broken.
    It will never be the same.
    None of it will ever be the same again.
    • • •
    D r. Andrew Morris finds me outside. Andrew, my Andrew, was named after his father. My Andrew is the third. His father, the founder of the dental practice, is the second. AndrewMorris the first wasn’t a dentist. I don’t know what he did but he isn’t spoken of in hushed, reverent tones. He isn’t spoken of at all.
    “Helene mentioned something about your father taking a spill,” Dr. Morris says, hands buried in his white coat. Unlike the new generation of dentists that prefer suits and ties and collared shirts, Dr. Morris still wears a white buttoned coat over his shirt. He’s old-school, and proud of it. “Is he okay?”
    I nod once. “A fractured wrist. He says he’s fine.”
    “Are you okay?”
    I nod again, more slowly, but no, I’m not okay. I’m not sure what I am.
    For a moment there is just silence. I want to go see my dad. Not Memorial Day weekend—two weeks from now—but now. I want to go
now
. Tonight. I need to. I need someone and something that is mine.
    “I think I should go see him,” I say quietly. “I would feel better if I could check on him personally.”
    Dr. Morris hesitates for just a moment and then nods. “That’s probably a good idea. When would you go?”
    “I’d like to go tonight—” I break off, take a quick deep breath. “I’ll be back in the office Monday morning. It’ll mean cancelling the rest of the week’s appointments.”
    “I could probably take some of them.”
    “You don’t mind?”
    He shakes his head. “It’s good that you’re heading up to see your dad. But maybe you shouldn’t rush back. Maybe you need more time up there. Maybe you need more time for you.”
    “I’ll schedule some time this summer—”
    “I don’t know that you can wait.”
    I lift my head and look up into Dr. Morris’ face. His expression is focused, his eyes sad.