Free These Gentle Wounds by Helene Dunbar Page A

know it was all my fault. He’d hate me and even though it’s probably what I deserve, I think that actually would kill me.
    â€œYou don’t have to talk to me. You could try talking to someone else again,” he suggests.
    I stare at him. Given the number of hours he’s had to spend with the school shrinks and the equal number of hours he’s spent bitching about it, his suggestion is almost funny.
    â€œNo.” I say. “I’ll be okay.”
    I’m sure Kevin doesn’t believe me. I don’t even believe me.
    â€œFine. Here, Romeo,” he says, tossing the phone to me, his version of a peace offering. I think about the chances of my pulling it together to call Sarah now, and about what I could say.
    My heart is beating a little fast. I know I’m looking at the phone like it’s some giant vat of ice cream that I want to eat and eat until I pass out.
    â€œYou really like her,” Kevin says. I can tell he’s relieved to be talking about something that makes sense to him. His little brother crushing on a girl.
    â€œIt’s just school,” I say, but we both know I’m lying, and that feels weird. I get up, so I don’t have to see the look in his eyes, and find the paper with the phone number on it. Then I stare at each digit, waiting to see if they’ll tell me what to do.
    â€œSure it is.” Kevin says. “Go ahead and call her. Maybe it will help.”
    I nod, because doing what he says seems easier than trying to figure anything else out.
    There’s a dull buzz as I mechanically punch each number into the phone. A part of me hopes no one answers. A part of me is scared no one will. Somehow, where Sarah is concerned, I always seem to be feeling two opposite things at once.
    â€œHello?” I’m pretty sure it’s her.
    â€œSarah?” My voice is all choked up like I’ve been smoking or something. I have to cough to clear it.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œIt’s Gordie.”
    I wait for her to say, “Gordie who?” or to ask why I’m calling or to tell me to go away.
    â€œHey, I was hoping you’d call,” she says, and it makes my stomach flip.
    I suddenly realize I have no idea what to say now that she’s on the phone. The line is filled with silence. Too much. My hand starts to tighten and a shadow that may or may not be real moves across the room.
    â€œAre you there?” she asks.
    â€œYeah. Yeah, just … sorry.” I shake my head and the shadow disappears.
    â€œOh, okay,” she says. “So, what do you think about going and taking photos tomorrow afternoon? Maybe somewhere around the monastery?”
    She talks for a while about the things she can photograph. I’m not really paying much attention to what she’s saying, just to the rhythm of her words. Eventually there’s a pause and I know that I need to add something.
    â€œSure.”
    Kevin raises an eyebrow. I turn to face the other direction so that he doesn’t see the small, embarrassed smile on my face.
    â€œDoes one o’clock tomorrow work?” she asks. “I can meet you there.”
    â€œOne sounds perfect,” I say, and I mean it.

Nine
    Sarah is right where she says she’ll be and already bustling around. I don’t know exactly what she’s taking photos of. And I don’t know what types of “harbingers of doom” I’m going to photograph. It’s snowing huge white flakes even though the sun is shining, and it looks like we’re in the center of a snow globe. I know I need to care about the assignment, but I’m not sure I really do.
    Sarah rushes around checking angles, shadows, and light while I climb up to the roof of the old wooden train and lie down, watching the snow fall around me like feathers. It’s not cold out, for Michigan anyhow, and the snow melts as soon as it hits the ground, so I just look up at the blue, blue sky and watch the