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I nod and then realize he can’t see me. “Yes,” I say.
“Cool, we’ll see you there …” he pauses, waiting for my name.
“Blaire. I’m
Blaire.” I clear my throat awkwardly.
“See you tomorrow, Blaire. Bye.”
“Bye.” The phone clicks off, and I stare down at the screen. I know this is what’s best for me. What’s right. But I’m scared. I’m learning that I’m scared a lot lately. It’s not something I’m used to, and I don’t like it.
I park outside the double door entrance to the school’s gymnasium. I’d had to call Ryder back to get the time to meet—he’d apologized profusely for the slipup, but I promised him it was okay. There are a few other cars here, but otherwise the lot is empty. It’s seven in the evening and already pitch-black out. I hate that about the winter.
I turn the car off but make no move to get out. I know I need to. The group is starting any minute. But I need a moment to gather myself.
I lean my head against the back of the seat and close my eyes. I startle a moment later when someone knocks on the glass, screaming and jumping straight up in my seat.
The guy raises his hands innocently. He looks to be around thirty years old with thick black hair and almond-shaped eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. He’s wearing a gray sweater with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. How is he not freezing?
He motions for me to roll down the window, but since I turned the car off, I can’t. I’m not afraid of him—there’s nothing scary about him—so I step out of the car.
“I’m Ryder,” he says, holding out a hand. “I’m going to assume you’re Blaire?”
I nod, my dark hair blowing around my face when I put my hand in his. His hand is warm despite the cold air.
“I usually check the lot for first-timers.” He shrugs, and we head toward the building, out of the cold. “I’ve been leading Group for a year now, and I’ve learned that people tend to hide in their car the first time they come. I know I did my first time.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “You’ve lost someone?”
“Yes—” he chuckles “—why else would I be leading Group?” He opens the door for me and waves me inside.
I step into the warmth of the school, and the door clicks shut behind us. “I don’t know.” I lift my shoulders. “I guess I figured you were a therapist or something. You’re not?”
He laughs. “No, I’m a teacher.” I lean against the cinderblock wall and he stands across from me. “Group isn’t a therapy session. It’s a place for people who’ve been through similar things to just … talk. It helps being around people that understand and don’t constantly say, ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’” he mimes with a sneer. “If I could have a dollar for every time I’ve heard that,” he mutters. “Are you ready to go in?” He points to the doors leading into the gym.
I nod. “I don’t really know what to expect?” I let my question hang in the air.
“You’ll see.” He winks. He opens the gym door, and like before, he holds it open for me. I step inside and find ten or so people sitting in chairs positioned in a circle. There’s a table set up near the wall with coffee, water, and donuts.
“Hey, Donny.” Ryder waves to an older balding man. “Thanks for bringing the donuts.” Under his breath, Ryder whispers to me, “He usually forgets when it’s his turn.”
I laugh lightly and it feels good. For the moment, at least, I’ve forgotten where I am.
“Amy, can you grab another chair for Blaire?” Ryder asks.
“Sure thing.” A woman a little older than me with shiny blond hair stands and heads into a closet.
“Do you want some coffee? Donuts?” Ryder leads me to the table.
“I think I’ll have some coffee,” I say, reaching for a white Styrofoam cup. I pour a little coffee in and Ryder hands me a thing of creamer.
“You look like a creamer kind of girl.” He grins. He has a nice smile and his dark eyes light up. He doesn’t look sad, or grieving, but maybe he’s not anymore and that’s why he’s in charge of the group.
“Thanks.” I take the creamer from him and pour it in.
Ryder nods and waits for me to take a seat—the empty chair now beside Amy.
Ryder takes the other empty chair, which is almost directly across from me.
