The Breakers Code Read Online Free PDF Page A

accordingly, whether we realize it or not.”
         She moved the pen from her teeth and pointed it at me like it was a gun or an accusation.
         “I think you’ve picked up on some of these cues and they’ve given you pause.”
         “So you don’t think he likes me?” I asked, shuffling uncomfortably in my seat.
         “I wouldn’t have any idea. I don’t even know the boy. That’s certainly a possibility. It’s also possible that he feels the same way you do and you’re picking up on that.”
         She wasn’t making any sense.
         “Why would Owen liking me back make me afraid?” I asked, like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Cause it was.
         Dr. Conyers placed her pen on her pad and then put the pad on the table beside her, which she only did when she meant business.
         “Cresta, you’ve been through a very tumultuous period. In the past two years, your entire life has been uprooted, shaken around, and rearranged. I know you think you’re strong, and you are. But even the strongest of us needs time to heal properly. You’re finding your footing here, just finding it. It’s natural that, on some level, you would be apprehensive toward any changes. You can’t let that fear hold you back though. You can’t let what happened to you, what happened to your father, define you for the rest of your life.”
         I shot straight up in my chair, every muscle in my body tensing, the beanbag rolled under me like waves on an angry sea.
         “Can we not talk about my father,” I asked. My voice was low but terse, like a stifled cough.
         “This is your session. We can talk about whatever you like,” Dr. Conyers said, but she picked her pen back up.
         I hated this; the way everything seemed to come back to my dad. I didn’t want to think about him. I didn’t want to be reminded of what happened to him, of what happened to both of us.
         But it was too late. Just the mention of him and I was gone. I was back on that bridge on the last night I ever saw him, the last night I would ever see him.
         It was clear in my mind, as clear as a movie playing before my eyes. I was with him in the car. We were going over the Clark Street Bridge, headed toward the loop. We had just left Giordano’s, which was regardless of what anybody tells you, the best pizza place in all of Chicago. Mom was working, but we had three pieces of pepperoni in the backseat for her.
         I could never remember what we were talking about, but we were laughing when his favorite song of all time ‘Don’t Worry Baby’ by the Beach Boys came on the radio. He started swaying behind the wheel, dancing along with the song.
         He looked over at me; his eyes free of anything but light and said, “You know what?”
         I didn’t ‘know what’, and it turned out I never would.
         Later on, when everything was over, the police would tell me the driver of the semi in front of us fell asleep, causing him to skid across three lanes. I didn’t see any of that though. All I saw was my dad, the wall of the bridge coming up toward us, and then the water.
         I remembered the force as we veered off the bridge, as gravity pulled all the blood to my face. And then we hit the river. It shattered against the car, splitting like we were driving through a plate glass window.
         I remembered the water seeping in, slow at first and then quicker. I thought it would be a haze. I had heard stories, seen movies about car accidents, about people who go through horrible things. They all say time plays tricks on you, that it either speeds up or slows down; that’s it’s over in a flash or that it drags on forever in slow motion.
         None of that happened though. It was all clear. I knew where I was. I knew what was going on. And, watching ice cold gulps of the Chicago River pouring in, I knew we were going to die.
         Dad