Page 81 of After We Fall

“Uh-oh,” Meredith says, because she knows I’m constantly thinking.

“When I start the session, there is a picture of a drab field on the monitor. No music. Each time my brain does something positive, chooses the correct frequency path without my help, it’s rewarded. I stare at the screen, and my brain somehow triggers the image to move. The field transitions to a lush green. Music plays. The screen fills with trees, then flowers.” I hold up jazz hands as if I’m dazzling her. “But the second my brain decides to use the wrong neuropathway, the music ends. The fertile field abruptly recedes and dries up.”

“You’re like one of those—”

“If you call me a dog right now, it’s not going to go well for you.”

She curls her lips in, keeping her mouth shut, but bugs her eyes out at me.

“Fine. Yes. I’m like one of Pavlov’s dogs.” She giggles while I continue. “Rewarded for my good behavior. Not rewarded for incorrect behavior.”

“But it’s not your behavior. It’s your brain’s,” she says.

“You know me. I’m a rule follower. I will walk in a straight line with the best of them. However, for this type of treatment to work, I can do nothing—absolutely nothing—to make my brain play the game correctly. I have no control. There is no ‘trying harder’ in the world of neurofeedback, unless it’s trying to do less.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Uh-oh’ is right.”

I am in a foreign land, and I don’t like it one bit.

I’ve based my entire life on trying harder. Everything I do is the result of my efforts. My research. My energy. My sacrifice.

So where does this leave me?

In the hands of the LORETA Z-score training. In the hands of Dr. Ridding. In the hands of nothing I can control.

“The good news is that we’re moving forward at a solid pace. I’m doing the maximum he’ll allow, which is two treatments per day. Dr. Ridding warned me that my body might not be able to handle the strain. Everyone reacts differently.” I slide my eyes to the side. “But apparently I have a hard head and I’m exceeding expectations.”

Meredith laughs and grabs her side just as Luke appears.

He knocks lightly on the open door. “What’s going on in here?”

“Dr. Ridding diagnosed Penelope with a hard head.” She giggles through her words.

Luke grins at me. “I hope you didn’t pay extra for information we already knew.”

“What does it say,” Meredith interjects, “that Penelope’s brain isn’t working as efficiently as it could be right now, but she’s still smarter than the rest of us?”

Luke’s gaze, full of teasing and affection, locks onto mine. “That we should be very afraid.”

“Well,” she says as she grabs my tray, “I’ll just go put these away.”

Ignoring Meredith’s more-than-obvious move to leave Luke and me alone, I ask him, “Why are you here?”

“I’m giving Bianca a drum lesson.” He struts over to me and pulls a shoebox out of a silver bag.

I purse my lips, trying not to smile. What did he bring me?

Kneeling, he removes the items from the box and slides them on each of my bare feet.

Fancy doesn’t begin to describe these shoes. But they’re house shoes. Slippers adorned with sleek black sequins leading to a band of silver faux fur across the top of my foot.

I shift my focus from the dazzling shoes on my feet to the dazzling man still crouched in front of me and raise my eyebrows.

“I know you miss your heels. I thought these could suffice until you’re back on your feet.”

I miss my heels. I miss my life. But giddiness is about to burst out of my chest. Who is this manly man bringing gifts that sparkle?