Again, Calvin laughed; if the first had seemed forced this one was (more) natural. “That’s a good question,” he said. “Very psychiatrist-y.” His eyes were on Dr. Wells again, having settled for a moment on one particular intersection of the poorly-painted cinderblock walls behind her. Calvin Sweet had a habit, it was becoming increasingly clear, of focusing on different things around the room almost constantly. Even here, where the walls and the decor were painfully selected so as to<i>avoid</i>any sort of personality, his eyes seemed to shift constantly. His head didn’t jerk back and forth—it was just those eyes, moving slow, finding individual little points of interest in the plainness and honing in on them til he’d grown bored.<br/><br/>“Would I say she was a good mother…” he repeated, aware of the time he had allowed to elapse in stilted silence in the interim.<br/><br/>“Yeah, I think so. I’m not sure. What I would definitely say is this: she did the best she could,” he said. “Life wasn’t kind to her. She tried to make it kinder for my sister and me. She got beat when she was a kid; she never beat us. She had a problem with drinking, and god-awful taste in men. She swore them both off every now and then but it never took. But you can only play the hand you’re dealt, yeah?” He shrugged. “We always had something to eat and somewhere to sleep.”<br/><br/>“I figure: some parents shelter their kids too much, protect ’em from the world,” he said, and for a moment he shot Dr. Wells a smile that could be described as<i>knowing</i>, were it actually possible that he knew anything about her upbringing. “My mom was on the other end of the spectrum. Let the kids make their own mistakes and suffer their own consequences. So growing up wasn’t picture-perfect, but it wasn’t a nightmare, either. My sister made it out alright, it’s just me who wound up a fuck-up.”<br/><br/>“Anyways, I’m rambling. You asked me if I’d say she was a good mother—the answer’s yes. Compared to probably nine-tenths of the moms of the guys in this place, the woman was a saint. I’ve heard some of the shit these guys went through in their childhood. Listening to people regurgitate those kinds of horrible stories day in, day out, it’s gotta take a toll on a person, huh?” he asked, and though his tone indicated he was asking the question broadly, rhetorically, his eyes were sharp, unblinking, on Dr. Wells.