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before work.” The wings had given her trouble. She couldn’t get the sheer gauzy texture right. The impossibly thinned paint simply failed to capture his wings’ wispy feel. So light and thin, yet a solid shield. “Not obsessively at all.”
    Sadie would not be perceived as some crazy, eccentric artist. No severed ears, so help her. “Totally normal painting.”
    “ Alright.” Dr. Meyers’ eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “How’ve you been sleeping?”
    Oh no. These weren’t the usual questions. “Eight or nine hours, I suppose,” Sadie said. Painting? Sleep? How did she change the subject without alarming them?
    “ That’s sounds like an adequate amount.” Dr. Meyers set her chin to her hand, her lips remained a soft near-smile. Like a parent with a child. Knowing. “How would you describe the quality of the sleep itself?”
    Did she look tired? Had Heather been calling in, reporting on her? Jen certainly wouldn’t. Jen treated her as normal as anyone ever had. In the hospital, Jen had brought gossip magazines and Starbucks. No eggshells, no tip-toes.
    “ Average?” Sadie hedged, hating how clearly it rang like a guess.
    “ This isn’t a test, Sadie,” Heather said, her fear thinly veiled.
    Guilt slid down to the pit of her stomach. She’d let her little sister down two years ago, succumbing to a bizarre certainty that something was inside of her, trying to get out.
    Or maybe she’d just decided to check out.
    “ A restful sleep is vital to managing stress,” Dr. Meyers said. “If you are not getting sufficient rest, we need to know so we can help.”
    Sadie merely nodded in response, afraid to speak. Sleep…dreams. The desire to tell Dr. Meyers everything, up to and including today’s cart incident, itched up her throat. She craved telling someone. Anyone. Even with Heather right there to hear it all and panic for Sadie all over again. Elijah. Another shiver raced inside her, the image of his eyes boring into hers. If only she could tell. But they would assume the worst.
    Biting her lips, she averted her eyes. The encouragement shining from Dr. Meyers’ gaze tempted her too much. She fought through her thoughts for something else to grasp onto, to wrangle her attention away from shivers and glorious wings. “Heather wants me to move back in with her and Remy.”
    Dr. Meyers gave a slight aha nod. Like, aha, so that’s what’s causing all this evasiveness and squirming. Sadie smoothed her hair, wishing she’d brought a pony tail holder. She’d been rushing; her time always vanished when she painted. “How do you feel about that?”
    Sadie scratched at her cheek. The paint was not coming off. “What do you mean by feel?”
    “ Do you want to move back in with your sister and brother-in-law, Sadie?”
    What if Jen had seen her painting and had told Heather and then Heather had called the office and told Dr Meyers and this was all a trap? “She thinks my painting is like with our mom’s. Except it’s not.”
    “ But it has been.”
    “ Once. Only once.” She leveled her gaze at her shrink. “I only paint canvas.”
    “ Mom painted canvas.”
    “ Yeah. And the walls, and the ceiling and the carpet. The inside of the oven.”
    “ We were discussing moving back in with Heather,” Dr. Meyers said, a hand up toward Heather. “And if you wanted to.”
    “ God, no. I don’t want to.” She didn’t have to look to know it hurt Heather. She could feel it in a wave emanating off of her sister’s slight frame. “I like living with Jen.” She loved it. Jen gave her space, acres of it. Jen cooked. Jen stayed up late and sat around in pajamas all day and didn’t look at her with anxious eyes if Sadie sat around in pajamas, too.
    Maybe she could tell Jen about Elijah. Would Jen get it?
    “ I see.” Dr. Meyers motioned to stay Heather’s protest. She always had a pen, always a pad of paper , but never any notes. Props. Have paper, will document. Take care with what we say. “Can you