Kathryn Shay - The Wrong Man For Her

She smiled at the kids. “Hello, everyone.”

Nick was about to ask to speak to her in the hall when he noticed the expression on the face of one of the girls. She’d yet to take a seat and had been wandering around the room as if she was going to bolt. When she saw Maddie, the stiffness seemed to leave her body. “Dr. Walsh, hi.”

Maddie walked over to the girl. “Hi, Kara.” She sat in a director’s chair and Kara followed suit in one close by.

Nick gave them a weak smile. “Obviously, I’m surprised we have another counselor. But glad for the help. Welcome, Madelyn.”

She nodded.

Stretching his legs, Nick addressed the group. “So, here we are.” He pointed to the food he’d set out on a low table—chips, cookies and some fruit. “Help yourself to snacks first and there’s soda in the fridge by the door. I’ll give you a few minutes to get what you want before we start.”

When the kids began to mill about, he stood and crossed the room. Kara had gone to get a soda, so he took her chair and leaned in close to Maddie. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The red tunic and pants she wore darkened the color of her eyes. “Just what I said.”

“Maddie, no. This is a bad idea.”

“It’s the only idea.” Her jaw tightened. “Do you think I’d be here if it weren’t?”

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

“This isn’t the time to get into that, Nick.”

When he saw the kids returning to their seats, he stood. “We’ll talk later. I want some answers.” Back in their midst, he took a sip from the bottle of water he’d put by his chair. Its cool wetness didn’t soothe the heat in his throat. With a poise he didn’t feel, he started his intro. “What I’d like to do today is get to know you better and hopefully have you get to know each other some.” Actually, he’d memorized the contents of their folders and would only have to refer to the clipboard by his side in an emergency. “Then I’d like to talk about how our group will run. You all are going to decide much of how we’ll operate here.”

A snort from the corner. He glanced at the kid’s name tag. “What, Hector?”

“Real choices, dude, or phony ones like they give us in the group home?”

Hector Santos and his twin sister Carla had been placed in a teen shelter after their father had brutally beaten and killed their mother—in front of both sixteen-year-olds. The elder Santos had been put in jail, with no bail, and the kids were going to have to testify in court about what they’d seen. Meanwhile, they were headed to foster care.

“I hope I give you real choices. But if I don’t, you got the job of telling me I’m not living up to what I said I’d do.”

The kid shrugged.

“Remember, Hector—and all of you—I’m fully aware that you’re the victims of crimes, and not the perpetrators. Nor are you at-risk juvenile delinquents. This is your group. Together, we have to find the best ways to help you deal with any issues caused by your victimization.”

Most of the kids nodded or made eye contact at his acknowledgment of their status.

“Let’s start with introductions.” He patted his chest near the square that held his name. “I’m Nick Logan. I have a bachelor’s degree in social work and a masters in psychology, but more important, I’ve worked with teenagers extensively in the past.” He held up a sheet. “On here, along with other information, are the e-mail addresses of three kids from my last job who’ve agreed to tell you what kind of guy I am.”

That brought surprise to many of their faces.

“What do we call you?” A skinny boy with red hair that looked like he’d chopped it himself asked the question. J. J. Camp. Before his fifteenth birthday, J. J. Camp had fallen victim to a series of tragic incidents. His parents had been killed in a car accident a year ago and he’d gone to live with his aunt in the city. As the new kid on the block, and a gawky one to boot, tough inner-city school life had been miserable for him. He’d consistently been the brunt of bullying. Two of his taunters had been suspended for a month and sent to juvenile detention because, in one of their harassment incidents, J.J.’s arm had been broken. It was still in a cast. Nick suspected the bullying hadn’t ended there. One set of bullies had just been replaced by another.

“I hope you’ll call me good things, J.J.,” Nick joked.

“I mean, Dr. Logan, Mr. Logan, Nick?”

“Either of the last two. Though I’d prefer Nick.”

“What about you?” Hector’s sister Carla asked Maddie. The twins shared the same dark curly hair and big, almost-black eyes. “When we met that day we signed up, we called you Dr. Walsh.”

“That or Madelyn’s fine, Carla.” Maddie’s smile was forced. Too bad. If she’d let Nick know she’d be joining them, he and she could have discussed how she wanted to be addressed.

“Now that that’s settled, let me tell you about the schedule.” He was giving them time to acclimate before he asked them to introduce themselves. He held up the paper again. “The schedule for the group sessions is on here; we’ll meet in this room. I’m offering them Tuesday after school, Thursday nights and Saturday mornings.”

Hector shook his head. “I gotta work on Saturday.”

His sister said, “And I got softball practice most days at three.”

“That’s why there are three sessions. I’m trying to make this easy on you. You’re welcome to come to all of them, but I do want a firm commitment from you that you’ll attend at least two. This support group isn’t meant to be a drop-in thing.” Since they’d all agreed to come—either by choice or coercion from their guardians or parents—he expected their cooperation. “For individual counseling appointments, we can meet here at the Center, at your school if we can find some place inconspicuous or even at a coffee shop. I hear the Spot is still hopping in Rockford.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Maddie shift in her seat. One of the differences in their style was his informality. She played by the rules. In the past, he’d liked to tease her out of that box.

Kara leaned over and her light brown hair obscured her face as she whispered something to Maddie, who responded to her privately, then said aloud, “I won’t be doing any individual counseling with you. But I promise to be at all these group sessions. And as Nick told you, he’s very experienced.”

Nick rose and picked up one of the brand-new notebooks. “First off, I’m suggesting we write in these at each session. If the activity doesn’t work for us, we can stop, but I’d like to try this because it has worked with kids in the past. The entry today should be one you can share with us.”

Anne Nguyen raised her hand and Nick nodded for her to ask her question. A fourteen-year-old Asian girl, she’d been traumatized by a break-in at her house. Her father had been severely injured when he’d tried to stop the intruder, who’d been caught, tried and put behind bars. “What about other entries?”

“I thought we’d have several types.” He moved to the whiteboard he’d set up. “One will be a communication between you and us.” He wrote down, types of journals, then you, Nick and Madelyn. “Or you can choose one of us to read it. The second will be for teen eyes only.”

“Sounds like a song.” From his wheelchair, Tommy Danzer looked up for the first time. His curly blond hair fell over big and distrusting blue eyes. The victim of a drive-by shooting, the boy had a spinal cord injury and would never recover. He was only fifteen years old.

“Yeah, but don’t expect me to sing. I’d only do that to punish you.” Nick smiled. “Some entries you can record and plan to share at a later date.”