Driving Heat (15 page)

It was going to be a long day. Cynthia knew it as soon as she stepped into the H.E.L.P. Agency offices, before she reached her area, turned the corner, and saw trouble. There sat Leah, an hour early for her appointment, talking to Margo, who had no business with her client. After last night’s revealing talk with Jayden, painful disclosure to Byron, and two hours’ sleep, she was not in the mood.

She walked over to Margo. “May I help you?”

Margo stood. “Good morning, Cynthia. I was walking by and saw this pretty young lady sitting here all alone. Your assistant is nowhere in sight, so I stopped to ask if I could help.”

Cynthia was about to inflict a verbal slice and dice, but she noticed the strain on Leah’s face. This young adult lived in a world of drama. She didn’t need to see it in the place she came for help. She owed Margo nothing, least of all an explanation on the goings-on of her department.

“Good morning, Leah. Let’s go in my office.”

Cynthia left Margo standing in her department’s reception area, not even looking her way as she closed the door.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No, I’m fine.” The troubled countenance and low, tremulous voice told Cynthia that Leah was anything but.

“You’re early.”

“Yeah, I got dropped off.”

“Okay, no problem. Rather than have you wait an hour, let’s go ahead and get started. We’ll sit over there.” Cynthia nodded to the sitting area. Leah walked over and plopped down on a tan-colored leather chair that matched a blue, tan, orange, and ivory striped love seat. Two square cubes were arranged to form a coffee table. Atop it were a small bamboo plant and a set of slate coasters boasting positive messages such as believe, dream, and gratitude. A large potted plant set in the far corner. In the corner behind Leah was a tall, three-tiered table housing magazines on the bottom, an iPod and dock on the second shelf, and a combination serenity fountain and candle holder on top. The fountain was turned on, providing the soothing sounds of a softly babbling waterfall. Leah seemed oblivious to the attention placed on providing an ambiance of peace and calm. Her eyes were glued to the cell phone she held, her thumbs in synchronized movement as she typed.

After setting down her bag and retrieving her iPad, Cynthia walked over to the sitting area. She placed her large coffee with a double shot of espresso on one of the coasters and then walked over and turned on the iPod. Soft strands of a new age instrumental played with a soothing combination of piano and strings swept through the room like a warm summer breeze. She turned and witnessed Leah’s tense shoulders relax.

Good.
Cynthia took a deep, clearing breath. It was time to put aside every personal situation and focus on her client’s needs.

She sat in the middle of the love seat, close enough for their conversation to feel intimate, yet far enough away to give Leah her personal space. The iPad remained on the table. She picked up her coffee, leaned back against the sofa, and chatted as though she were talking to a friend. “So . . . how is school this week?”

“It’s all right.”

“Leah, would you please put away your cell phone and give me your undivided attention, the same as I’m giving you?”

A few more seconds of typing, a healthy sigh, and then Leah complied with Cynthia’s request.

Aware of Leah’s need to feel in control of some aspect of her life, Cynthia took another sip of coffee, and another deep breath. “Is there anything specific you’d like to talk about today?”

“Not really.”

“Why don’t we start with what has you unhappy.”

“I’m not unhappy,” she mumbled with a scowl.

“Then you should let your face know.” Cynthia glimpsed a wisp of a smile. There was hope.

“How does that woman know my uncle?”

Now it was Cynthia’s turn to scowl. “What woman?”

“The woman who was with me when you got here, trying to get all up in my business. I can’t stand when people do that, acting all fake like they really care.”

Except for a slight narrowing of the eye, Cynthia did not react. Oh, but she wanted to. She wanted to react all over Margo Edwards.
Do not curse. Do not get up. Do not behave as your dear friend Lisa would, leave this office, find Margo, and slap her sideways.
She looked at the coaster on the table.
Breathe.
She decided this was a good idea and in mere seconds could speak without yelling, which would be most uncouth.

“What did she say?”

“Something about him looking familiar. She asked where he lived.”

Why would she want to know that?
“Did you tell her?”

“Why would I do that? I don’t know her. So I just said south central.”

“Hmm.”

Cynthia picked up her iPad, giving herself time to take her attention off of Margo, for the moment, and put it back on her client. And giving Leah an opportunity to gather her thoughts and take the lead in their discussion. Many counselors with whom Cynthia trained talked constantly—probing, asking, digging. These methods were often successful. But Cynthia believed that sometimes silence was the space that people needed in order to open up.

Several minutes passed. Music played. Water flowed. Cynthia sipped coffee and made notes on her pad.

“His birthday’s tomorrow.”

Wow. A breakthrough.
“How old would your brother have been?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Ah, that makes him a Gemini. So is my father.”

“When’s his birthday?”

“This coming Saturday.” Cynthia almost added that he’d be sixty years old, but stopped herself because that was an age Leah’s brother would never reach. “What did Lance normally do on his birthday?”

“He liked to go to the ocean.”

“Really? Where would he go?”

“Dockweiler. It’s a beach straight out Manchester. You can take the bus there.”

“Do you like the ocean?”

She shrugged. “He didn’t want me to go with him. He’d always take his friends.”

“But you’ve seen it, right? You’ve been there.”

“A couple times.”

“Do you think that’s something you’d like to do on his birthday? Maybe go to the one Lance enjoyed and experience what he loved?”

“I don’t know why they had to shoot him. He was minding his own business, just walking down the street.” A tear escaped each eye. She angrily wiped them away.

“It’s a horrible thing they did to your brother. Not only him but you, your mom, uncle . . . everyone in your family. Sometimes bad things happen to good people, for no reason at all.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.”

“He used to always tell me not to get caught up with the boys on the block.”

Cynthia put down the iPad and sat back. “Sounds like a smart brother to me.”

“He was really smart, wanted to be either a computer scientist or an engineer.”

“What do you want to be?”

Her voice dropped. She looked directly at Cynthia for the first time since entering the room. “For real? I just want to be alive.”

There were some situations that couldn’t wait until Sunday. So shortly after her session with Leah, Cynthia told Ivy that she had to run an errand and would be back in half an hour or less. She reached the building’s lobby, walked outside and into a corner restaurant. After ordering an orange juice and small salad, she retrieved her cell phone and dialed Gayle’s number.

“Hello, Gayle. It’s Cynthia.”

“Hello, Cynthia. This is a surprise.”

“I know. Middle of the workday calls are rare. Are you busy?”

“Of course, but there’s always time for you.”

“Good. Can you hold for a moment?” Cynthia tapped the contact icon and then Lisa’s face.

“Hey, chick!”

“Hello, Lisa. I’ve got Gayle on the line. Let me merge the calls.” She did. “Gayle, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“Can you call Dynah and conference her in?”

“Is everything all right?”

“Obviously not, Gayle,” Lisa replied, “since Cynthia’s trying to have a Sunday girl chat on a Tuesday.”

“I’d just like all of your perspectives on a situation.”

“With that sow Margo?”

“Gayle, can you please—”

Gayle interrupted. “Hold on.”

Lisa kept talking. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s wait until Gayle gets Dynah so I don’t have to repeat myself.”

“Cynthia?” No idea what was happening yet already Dynah’s voice was filled with concern. “What’s going on?”

“Okay, ladies, here’s the deal. And since time is limited, let’s not make this about whether or not I should be dating someone like Byron.”

“Did you hear that, Gayle?”

“Did you hear me say anything, Lisa?” A beat and then, “Cynthia, this isn’t about him, right?”

“Yes, and no,” she began, and then gave a brief overview of what all had transpired. About going out with Byron Friday night (a fact that she’d pointedly not shared on Sunday), feeling as though someone was watching her (while at the art show with the man whom she’d chosen not to discuss), but not seeing anything out of the ordinary. She continued with Margo’s cryptic comments yesterday and the questions she asked Leah today. “I think she saw me with Byron, remembered him from the day he was in our office, and has put two and two together.”

“And come up with what?” Lisa asked, irritation obvious and patience short. Lisa was always ready to kick butt first and ask questions later. “Is it against the law or your company’s rules to attend an art show with a client’s uncle?”

“No, but depending on the circumstances, it’s also not necessarily a good look. Margo and I are the only ones being considered for the director position. Since the company is being restructured, other titles will shift as well. On paper, we’re almost even. She has more experience, but I have a master’s degree. We both bring a unique skill set to the table. For me, it’s a diverse perspective and book knowledge. For Margo, it’s the fact that as a troubled teen, she received similar counseling to that which she now discharges and can relate on another level with both teens and adults.”

“What about the board?” Gayle asked. “They’re ultimately the ones who decide, correct?”

“That’s a good question, Gayle. Yes, the ten members who make up the board will choose who heads up the agency.”

“Any idea which way they are leaning?” Lisa asked.

“I’m almost certain of four members who will vote my way and equally sure of four who will most likely pick Margo. That still leaves two people undecided. The vote can go either way. What I believe the choice will come down to are personality and behavior, which is why any type of professional impropriety against me right now, no matter how small or even imagined, could make the difference between having a job or looking for one.”

Her friends knew Cynthia’s family was financially comfortable, which meant she wouldn’t be homeless or starve. Still, no one liked the possibility that she could be forced out of a position she loved.

“I haven’t heard from you, Dynah? What are your thoughts?”

“Cynthia, you know what I’m thinking and you know what to do. End all contact with Byron immediately, personal or otherwise.”

“I agree,” Gayle quickly added, as though she’d waited the entire conversation for an opening to speak what was really on her mind.

Dynah continued. “Where personal relationships are concerned, you know that the ACA’s Code of Ethics is similar to that of the ASCA.”

“Okay, y’all just dropped me into a bowl of alphabet soup. What in the hell are y’all saying?”

“Never mind that, Lisa.” Gayle had a meeting in ten minutes and needed the conversation to stay on point. “Cynthia, what is the code pertaining to this type of situation?”

“Intimate and/or sexual relationships between the client or their family members is prohibited—”

“Then case closed!”

“Bam!”

“I think your question is answered.”

Everyone chimed in at once and over each other.

“But!” Cynthia continued. “The definition of family is not clearly defined and is at the discretion of the counselor based on what, if any, harmful effects said relationship could have on a client—which in this instant is none because she is not aware of the intimate relationship—and how said relationship potentially affects a counselor’s ability to maintain a professional and separate relationship with the client. The client’s welfare and best interests have always been and will remain my primary focus, no matter what.”

“Great argument, counselor,” Dynah said softly. “Was it convincing enough to believe that what you’re doing is correct?”

“I’ve got to run.” Gayle’s brisk tone suggested she was already mentally down the hall. “But let me say this. You’ve already spent too much time with a man who’s not a DHOP, marriage material, a career enhancer, or has any networking benefits. He’s a bus driver, Cynthia. And unless you want to be riding in it with him instead of driving your Lexus, I’d delete his number as soon as you end this call. Ciao, ladies.”

“I have to go, too,” Dynah said. “And while my reasoning is different from Gayle’s position, the end result is the same. Cut ties with Byron immediately and hope that Margo had nothing concrete to back up whatever accusations that may come up. We all want love, Cynthia. It’s maddening to be in a position to demand the best, when the best seems scarce. But you deserve the best, someone who can at least do for you what you can do for yourself. And that’s not Byron. I love you, girl.”

“Love you, too.” Cynthia placed a bill in the receipt holder and headed out of the restaurant. She’d been gone fifteen minutes and judging from Margo’s underhanded actions, that may be fourteen minutes too long.

“All right, Lisa. I’m headed back to the office. Thanks for your input.”

“You’re welcome, but I haven’t inputted yet.”

“Your straightforwardness and humor are as valuable as anything else I heard just now.”

“Then humor me, and hear this. When you’re on your death bed, it probably won’t be a client who comes to see you and help you cross over. If you’re lucky, if you’re smart . . . it will be your man.”

The elevator door closed, effectively ending a conversation that was already over. In hindsight, Cynthia wondered what the heck she’d been thinking. That this wasn’t an obvious no-brainer points to just how off-kilter were her priorities.

She would end things with Byron tonight, if possible, no later than Friday and her trip back home. A shame that it had taken his being forcibly removed from her life for her to realize how much she wanted him in it.