Letters to Nowhere Read Online Free PDF Page B

it.”
    “That explains a lot.” Maybe this wasn’t the worst place to be living while training. It was kind of like a home court advantage.
    “Ready, Karen?” Coach Bentley called from the foyer.
    “I’ll be in the shower in a few minutes,” Jordan whispered loudly. “Just in case you need to know. Don’t want you to accidently walk in on me. We should probably post a schedule or put an alarm on the bathroom door.”
    I closed my eyes and turned around, feeling completely mortified.
    “Karen?”
    “Uh–huh,” I said, not looking back at him.
    “Thanks for not saying anything. About yesterday …”
    Which part? Forgetting to give me a ride or the girl you were feeling up on the couch last night? I let out a breath. “No problem.”
    January 30
Coach Bentley,
    Thanks for the scrambled eggs and for making my lunch this morning. I promise not to even so much as make a face during strength training today.
    Thanks again, Karen
    Jordan,
    Can you please not drink out of the milk carton? I know it’s your house but seriously, it’s so gross. Also, you have really nice abs. What kind of core conditioning are you doing?
    Your bathroommate, Karen
    ***
    “Should I just come back in an hour?” Coach Bentley asked, when he pulled up to the shrink’s office.
    I opened the door, the cold air hit my face, and I drew in a slow calming breath. “Uh…sure. I’ll watch for you. You don’t have to come in.”
    He had already left a mound of paperwork on his desk just to get me here. He didn’t need to go out of his way any more than that or my extra presence in his life would be wearing thin very soon.
    After I checked in with the secretary, I sat down and opened the lunch sack Coach had given me this morning. Inside was what looked like a whole wheat bagel, a small tube of peanut butter (my very favorite food), a container of yogurt (but no spoon), and a banana. For some reason, a lump formed in my throat. There was something so personal in this gesture by Coach Bentley, and yet it made me ache inside. My mom would have never forgotten the spoon.
    “Karen Campbell?”
    I stuffed the bagel back into the paper sack and glanced up—way up—at the nearly six–foot–tall woman with willowy legs and a long neck. She looked young and trendy—brown flat–ironed hair and bangs. Her smile was warm and inviting, like she wanted to be my best friend or sorority sister or something. And I began to immediately doubt that we’d get anything remotely therapeutic accomplished, but at least I could make my grandma feel a little better about leaving me here. Not sure what I’d do about the possibility of more panic attacks, but I’d have to come up with a new plan for that problem.
    I stood up and followed her into her office. I did take note of the fact that she didn’t wear the dead parents face. Maybe you get desensitized to stuff like that when you have to hear sad stories all the time? “Dr. Carson, right?”
    “Technically, yes.” She sat behind the desk and pointed to a large armchair for me to occupy. “But you can call me Jackie.”
    Okay, I totally called this one. Jackie and Karen: best friends for life .
    “And don’t let me keep you from eating lunch. In fact, if you don’t mind, I might eat my sandwich, too.” She opened a drawer and removed a reusable lunch sack, pulling out a pita sandwich and a container of fruit. I took her cue and resumed eating my bagel, but decided against the peanut butter for now because it would make speaking impossible. “I talked with your grandmother last week. Very nice lady. She told me a little about you and what kinds of things you were hoping to talk about with me, but not much. I’d love to hear your version.”
    “I’m sure she got it right.” I wasn’t sure why we needed to rehash what she already knew.
    Jackie nodded and took a swig from her Diet Coke. “Fair enough. So, you’re not in school? You’re homeschooled?”
    School…I can talk about school . “I