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“Rose, if I may ask, is there anything that worries you now?”
“His grief.” Another sigh. “He’s not moving on, and it’s been three years.”
“Yes, he told me about that. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Miss Cavanaugh.”
“Kellie.”
“Can you help him, Kellie?”
She felt her back stiffen. “I’m not his counselor. I’m helping with the evaluation.”
“He’d have a fit if he knew I’d said this, but I want him to go through some sort of counseling. Ryan’s too deep a thinker. He keeps his feelings locked up inside and wouldn’t dream of seeking help on his own. And he needs help.”
Still waters run deep with dangerous currents and undertows.
“Kellie?”
“Yes, ma’am?
“Do you believe in God?”
A personal question for sure, but Kellie wasn’t surprised or offended. Ryan’s brother was a pastor, and he’d told her that they’d been raised in a Christian home. The Marsh family had been more than simply Sunday morning churchgoers. They tried their best to live their faith. Like her.
Kellie cleared her throat. This call was taking an unexpected turn. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“There’s an old poem that refers to God as the Hound of Heaven. Well, I think God’s tracking down my son to bring him back. Please recommend Ryan to go through counseling. He can’t carry his burden of grief anymore. He needs to finally give it over to the Lord, before he lets it destroy him. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do, Mrs. Marsh.” A little too well, in fact. Some things were hard to let go of.
After a few more questions, Kellie hung up the phone. God worked in mysterious ways, but this one really confused her. Was she supposed to be God’s instrument in this man’s life? That was a big responsibility. One she didn’t take lightly. A knock on the door to her tiny office interrupted her thoughts, so she hit the save button on her computer.
Ginny stuck her head around the door. “Do you have that Marsh evaluation done yet? John’s asking for it. He’s got a relatively new group starting up and can take on another client.”
“It’s right here.” Kellie hit the print button and then pointed at the shelf. “Or rather, there.”
“Great. Let’s review it before our teen group session, okay?” Ginny gathered up the pages and scanned them quickly. “Heard anything from the school yet?”
“Not yet. I don’t expect to for a while.” Kellie sat on her hands to keep them still while Ginny settled into a chair. She gave her time to read the report thoroughly.
“So, you believe this guy’s telling the truth?” Ginny’s gaze narrowed.
“I do.”
Ginny smiled. “You’re so young.”
Kellie knew that was her mentor’s way of saying naïve. One of the things Kellie had learned interning here was that the counselors were pretty skeptical. They had to be.
“And yet you’re recommending a minimum amount of counseling. Why?”
Kellie wouldn’t admit that Ryan’s mother had asked her to, or that she’d confirmed Kellie’s thought process. “I think he might be headed for real trouble if he doesn’t deal with his emotional pain.”
Ginny rolled her pen between her fingers. “Might being the operative word here. Do you think he’s an alcoholic?”
“Most of the signs point to no.” But Kellie had her doubts.
The way he’d admitted to a reprieve that night at the party, the night he’d been arrested, raised a red flag. Ryan Marsh had found a destructive way to cope.
Kellie knew all about that.
Ginny gave her a hard stare of consideration. “Okay. I’m approving it. John will be happy for a solid self-pay, and maybe we can prevent this guy from going down the wrong road.”
“Exactly.” Kellie nodded, but she felt like she’d betrayed Ryan.
A guy like him wasn’t going to be happy with the news. Nope. Not one bit.
Chapter Two
How’d he get here? Really, how had this happened? Ryan took a seat in one chair of many that made a circle. The group session room at LightHouse Center looked sterile and cold despite the inspirational posters on the walls and potted plants on the windowsills.
Some of his fellow group members were a little rough around the edges. The young woman to his left might as well be a walking billboard for the tattoo shop in town. Another guy had a beard that shouted Willie Nelson impersonator. Seriously, they looked like they belonged here. He didn’t. And he had weeks of this to look forward to?
Clenching his jaw, Ryan glanced around. Where was that pretty intern? He wanted to tell her she’d made a big mistake. He’d read that report, and yeah, there was some scary truth to what she’d written, but that didn’t mean he needed this. He definitely didn’t want it..
He watched more people roll in and take their seats. Normal-looking people, professionals even. So far, thankfully no one he knew.
“I think we should get started.” John Thompson, the guy he’d met with briefly after hearing the verdict of his assessment, also sat down in the circle.
“We’ve got several new people,” John announced. “I’d like to go around the room and have everyone introduce themselves and state why you’re here. First names only. Everything said here stays here. Confidentiality and anonymity are crucial to the safety of the herd.”
Ryan would give anything to wring that intern’s neck. What color would her eyes turn then? The thought made him smile. And then he heard the silence and realized the group was waiting for him.
He slid back in his chair and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I’m Ryan and I don’t get why I’m here.”
The woman with the tattoos gave him a sarcastic once-over, like he was the loser. A couple of folks snickered.
“Okay, Ryan. Eventually, you will.” John didn’t like his answer. No surprise there.
John hadn’t liked any of his answers when they’d met to map out his master treatment plan. Ryan’s goal was getting this over with as soon as possible and meeting the condition of his sentence so the charges would be dropped. Period. He didn’t have a problem. Not a drinking problem anyway.
Then the guy slouching next to him answered, “Yeah. My name’s Pete, and what he said is good enough for me, too.”
“Honesty, folks.” John peered over his glasses at them before giving Ryan a pointed look. He had a short stack of papers attached to a clipboard, resting on his knee. “We’ll get nowhere fast with minimized answers.”
And so it went. Ryan steeled himself for the psychobabble that promised to fill his next hour and a half. By the time the group session was over, Ryan didn’t linger. He didn’t want to meet anyone. He didn’t want to chat over coffee. He wanted out of there.
Climbing into his truck, he started the engine and pulled out. He cringed at the squealing sound from his tires but kept driving—too fast. He had to get far away from all that. As far as he could go.
Okay, slow down and breathe. Just breathe.
A couple of miles out of town, he finally relaxed. He’d survived his first session. He could do this. He clicked the power button of the radio and fiddled with his preset tabs until he found a country station. The current song’s poor-me wails had him changing the channel to a contemporary Christian station. He tapped his fingers on the wheel as he listened to the soothing sounds of a rock-styled worship song.
How many times had he sung this song in church without a thought to the words? He felt a tugging at his heart but clicked off the radio.
Why, Lord? Why is this happening?
Ryan didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t get one either. He wasn’t exactly on solid speaking terms with the Almighty. Sure, sometimes Ryan talked—ranted usually—but rarely did he hear.
Maybe he didn’t listen hard enough, but empty silence had a way of shutting down a person’s prayers. Pain that wouldn’t go away did that, too. Yeah, his prayers had definitely dwindled in the last couple of years.
With a sigh, he kept driving until he spotted a small car with its hazard lights flashing. A woman sat on the hood with what looked like a cell phone in her hand.
“Stupid,” he muttered.
Why would a woman sit outside her vehicle on a lonely stretch of road when it was starting to get dark? All right, dusk hadn’t settled yet, but it was a dark and gloomy day. He couldn’t leave her all alone, so he slowed down and pulled over.
He got out of his truck and walked toward her with his hands open in an easy manner he hoped sent the message that he was okay. He was safe. “You need help?”
“Nope. I’m good. A tow truck is on its way.”
He recognized that husky, straightforward voice and stepped closer to the twenty-year-old Toyota Corolla that had a dent over the passenger side front tire. “Ms. Cavanaugh, you really shouldn’t sit out here like this. Anyone could come along.”
She looked up then and her eyes widened. Green. They looked green in the glow cast by his headlights. Her eyes darted nervously, too. “Ryan.”
“What happened?”
She slid off the hood and stood ramrod straight. “It sputtered and died. Look, you don’t have to worry. I called a tow truck.”
“When?”
“Just now.”
“I can’t leave you out here by yourself.”
“Sure you can. I’m fine.” Her shoulders straightened, but she didn’t look as confident as her tone sounded.
“I’ll wait with you till they come. In the meantime, why don’t you pop the hood and I’ll take a look.”
“Do you know anything about cars?” She reached inside the opened driver’s side window and did what he’d asked.
“I know engines. Do you happen to have a flashlight?”
“Umm, no. Just this one on my key ring.” She held up a little LED light.
“That’ll have to do.” He leaned over the car’s engine and looked around. “Point it this way.”
She did. And that brought her closer to where he stood. She smelled like fresh air and cinnamon gum.
“Does it turn over?”
“Does what turn over?” She looked confused.
Young and pretty, Kellie Cavanaugh perfectly fit the bill for a wild Irish rose complete with sharp little thorns that cut quick. Her reddish-brown hair was pulled back in a fat braid like the day he’d met with her. The wispy spirals around her face hinted at curls. What would all that hair look like loose?
Ryan refocused his thoughts. “The car. Why don’t you try and start it. Let me hear how it sounds.”
She climbed in behind the wheel and turned the key. The car ignited but wouldn’t start.
“That’s fine.” He held up his hand and then closed the hood.
She popped out of the car quick as a rabbit. “Do you know what it is?”
“Sounds like maybe your fuel pump. That’s my guess.”
She wrinkled her freckled nose. Definitely pretty. “Is that expensive to fix?”
He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Depends on what you consider expensive.”
She briefly closed her eyes. “Let’s just say the tow truck is expensive enough in my checkbook.”
He watched her closely. Her clothes were basic jeans and a sweater topped with a colorful scarf wound around her neck and a flannel-lined denim jacket that looked like it had seen better days. She’d dressed similarly at LightHouse Center.
He couldn’t stop the offer from coming out of his mouth. “I could take a look at it for you. Might be able to save you the cost of labor, at least.”
Her eyes shone with alarm and then she held up her hand. “No. Definitely not.”
He cocked his head. “Why not?”
“You’re a client of the agency where I intern.”
“So?”
“So it wouldn’t be right to take advantage of you to save a few bucks.”
He laughed out loud. “Take advantage? I offered. And I don’t know why considering you’re the one who put me there in the first place. Why’d you do that, Ms. Cavanaugh?”
She looked down at her booted feet. “My name’s Kellie.”
“Kellie, then.” He liked the sound of her name. Pert and to the point, it suited her.
Her movements were quick and jerky. Even standing still, she twisted the ends of that scarf with her fingers. Nervous energy or did he make her uncomfortable?
He tried again. “Why’d you recommend me for treatment?”
“This conversation is completely inappropriate.”
He laughed at that, but the sound came out harsh and bitter. “Why? It’s about me. I read your evaluation. You think I’m headed for, let’s see, how did you phrase it? Alcohol dependence due to a traumatic event in my recent history.”
