“You’re her, aren’t you?”
“Who?”
“Orion’s girlfriend.”
I stiffened. “He told you?”
“He let it slip. I pretended not to notice.” Wolfe’s expression deepened with concern. “It was already a difficult conversation.”
“What do you mean?”
“He told me he can’t write,” Wolfe said in a low voice. “And that words have holes in them. Do you know what he’s talking about?”
“I think so,” I said. “But…not exactly.”
I shut the door and sank down in the chair opposite his couch. Inside my bag, the notebook paper Tessa had given me felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Orion desperately needed a trusted adult on his side, but it still felt like a betrayal. I’d already been so clumsy and heavy-handed.
“It’s delicate, I know,” Wolfe said, reading my mind. “But I feel as if Orion has been abandoned or lost in a system that is so busy gazing upon its own accomplishments, it’s become blind to anyone who doesn’t reek of perfection.”
I nodded. Wordlessly, I pulled out the notebook paper and handed it to Wolfe.
He scanned it. The hallway outside was quiet. Second bell had come and gone. Piano class obviously wasn’t happening, and I sort of loved Ezra Wolfe in that moment. Because finally,finally, Orion had an adult on his side.
Wolfe studied the paper and then folded it and handed it back. “So much of what I’d suspected now makes sense. My old speech therapist taught me more than she realized.” He leaned forward. “Have you ever heard the term ‘twice exceptional’?”
***
I remained in Wolfe’s office until last bell, and then shouldered my bag.
“Thank you, Professor.”
He waved a hand. “I’m not a good person, but every now and then I get something right. The proverbial broken clock.” His brows furrowed with concern. “Do you have an idea where he is?”
“No,” I said, rising and heading for the door. “I’ll try Atlas Hall first. Once I figure out what to do with my little brother.”
“Please let him know I will ensure that this godforsaken institution provides him the resources he needs.” Wolfe’s expression darkened. “He’s been fighting this battle alone, Harper, but it didn’t have to be this hard. He won’t like to hear that it never had to be this hard.” To my shock, Wolfe’s eyes grew shiny. “They all bloody failed him.”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice thick. “They did.”
My hand was on the knob when Wolfe said, “Oh, and Harper? The answer to your question is pain.”
“Sorry?”
“Why do I drink if I have young people counting on me? That was your question earlier, wasn’t it?”
“Oh. Yes.” Because I wanted to know. Because all I had was anger. My own pain. And my mother had never given me any answers, only excuses.
“Every addict is filling a hole of deprivation,” Wolfe said. “A need. From the outside, people will label that deprivation attention or fame or money, but those things are just fillers. They’re no different from drugs, or sex, or booze. Because the need, when you dig all the way down, is love.”
I swallowed hard. “That’s what’s missing?”
“Indeed. That essential ingredient. Love that was denied or withheld. That hole is always there, so we cover it up with our substance of choice in order to pretend it’s not there. But that doesn’t work. It never works. Because as soon as the buzz wears off, the hole reveals itself all over again. ‘Hitting rock bottom’ happens when you fall in.” He smirked grimly. “How’s that for some two-bit wisdom? I should’ve been a philosophy professor.”
I stood very still. I realized I knew nothing of my mother’schildhood. She never told me of her past. I never knew my grandparents; they died when I was little. All I ever saw was a string of shitty boyfriends. Men who used her and left her, one after the other, and the alcohol filling in all those holes where good people should have been.
“Harper,” Wolfe said, breaking me from my thoughts. “You have every right to be angry at whoever you’re angry at. I’m not going to tell you otherwise. Trauma isn’t an excuse to treat anyone like shit. I only said what I said to offer a measure of understanding that it’s not your fault. I don’t have much to offer except that. Whatever is going on at home, it’s not your fault.”
I nodded, turned to go, then stopped, clearing the emotion out of my voice.
