Not long after Gabriel’s death, Reesa and Tamara began going to sessions with their school counselors. Reesa had difficulty verbalizing her grief at first, though, so one night before bed, Hazel came to speak with her about some alternatives.
“Your counselor thinks expressive arts might fit you well. You wouldn’t have to follow any rules or try to make it perfect, because that’s not what it’s for. You could unburden yourself creatively,” her mother had said. “You can also try play therapy. Dr. Patel says you don’t have to be a certain age.”
In the present a dozen years later, as Reesa built and destroyed block towers on a persistent loop, she yearned for the days when talking through concerns was purely optional.
“Look, Ree!” Seraphina, Myko’s six-year-old cousin, said as she finished her own creation: a village of houses arranged in neat rows. Her room in the smallest of Lorenzo and Gemma’s guesthouses was a refuge for her building partner.