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Fo-Fo was what she called me, so I said, “Yeah, I see the tree. It’s big, isn’t it?”
“Big,” she agreed solemnly.
“Why does Foster go to meetings, anyway?” Amy wanted to know. “Why not anyone else?”
My stomach burned in humiliation because I was the only one who had to attend a grief group. I was the only one of us who was still messed up. But Breydan hadn’t been born yet when it had happened, Reed had only been two—too young to remember Hayesorthe accident—and Amy never really understoodwhereone of her brothers had gone. She’d gotten over his sudden absence with surprising ease.
As I waited for Mom to answer, wondering what embarrassing thing she was about to reveal about me, Reed announced, “I wanna go to a meeting too. With Foster.”
“You can’t, sweetie,” Mom said. “You’d be too young for his group.”
And besides, he wasn’tgrieving.
“But I wanna go.”
“So do I,” Amy spoke up. “Why is he the only one who gets to go?”
Getsto? Was she serious? I’d gladly let her go in my place. Anytime.
“Snack!” Breydan commanded.
As I fed everyone in the backseat another round of cereal, Mom pressed a palm to her brow, and then she avoided answering my younger siblings by turning up the radio and having Reed and Amy sing along to Katie Perry’s “Roar” with her.
Thankfully, that kept them occupied until she pulled to the curb in front of the center.
Knowing she couldn’t leave the others and walk in with me, I waved goodbye while I opened my door. But as soon as I began to slide out, Mom called, “Foster, wait.”
I paused in confusion as she climbed from the driver’s seat to hurry around and meet me on the curb.
My heart started to pound with worry, thinking she might walk me to the front door after all, leaving the other three behind—where they could escape and get run over by a car or start choking on cereal with no one around to give them the Heimlich maneuver. Panic spread under my skin like a rash.
But instead of trying to escort me anywhere, Mom merely hugged me. “Try to have fun, at least,” she encouraged before kissing my hair. “You said you liked the other boys in your group, right?”
When I nodded, she smiled in relief. “Well, maybe you could make friends with one or two of them.”
I swallowed down a wince because we weren’t that kind of group. Yeah, the others seemed cool and all, but the only thing we had in common was our complete reluctance to be stuck in a meeting together for ninety minutes every week.
“You never answered whether you’ve talked about that day with them yet.”
Shame burst through me, heating my cheeks, and I had to bow my head in contrition because I couldn’t lie to my mother, even though telling her the truth seemed even worse.
But honesty got the best of me, and I gruffly admitted, “Not yet.”
“Oh, Foster.” She sounded disappointed as she swept a hand over my hair. “You’ve been going for a month now. Why haven’t you talked about it, sweetie?”
I lifted one shoulder, not sure how to explain how paralyzing and awful it would be for me to actually speak words detailing that day.
When I glanced up, I said, “No one else talks abouttheirtrauma.”
But Mom didn’t care about the others the way she cared aboutme, and I could see the worry and distress in her eyes, making my guilt skyrocket.
I hated to worry her. I hated to disappoint her. The last time I’d demanded any kind of special treatment from her, I’d lost a brother. I never wanted her to have to go out of her way for me ever again.
So when she murmured, “At leasttryit, won’t you?” I bobbed my head, determined to be a good, obedient son. To do everything right and make her proud.
She smiled in relief and added, “You never know. Maybe if you tell your story, it’ll prompt the other boys to open up as well. You could helpeveryoneby going first.”
“Maybe,” I said, not believing that at all but wanting to make her happy.
