Lily took a leisurely sip of her caramel macchiato, then set her cup down and said, “I had a long talk with Heidi last night in the teen lingerie department, and she told me that things aren’t going so well.”
“You’re really out to get me today, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Teen lingerie?”
Lily chuckled. “Oh, Carson. She’s not going to be a little girl forever—”
He hissed and raised a hand, cutting her off. “What did she say?”
“She told me about the ice cream parlor.”
“Okay.” Not surprising Heidi had shared that with Lily.
“So, she’s clearly struggling.”
“I know.” He took a sip of his coffee, hating that he had to agree with her. “But I’ve dealt with what she did with a consequence, and she’s apologized to Phoebe Sellers. Everything’s been handled.”
“You really think it’s that easy?”
He looked at the swirling blackness of the coffee in his cup and remained silent. He didn’t want this turmoil.
After a bit of a silence, Lily said, “Carson, Heidi has been dealt two terrible blows, and she’s acting out because she’s having a hard time dealing with all the changes in her life.”
“I get it.” That much was obvious. But what to do about the obvious? Not quite so much a slam dunk.
Maybe he needed help here. He hated asking, but for Heidi’s sake, he would. “Any suggestions?” he asked, slanting a glance at Lily.
She leaned forward. “Have you thought about getting her counseling?”
Guilt zapped him. “I haven’t had time to find someone.” Yeah, he’d dropped the ball on that one. But keeping all of the balls in the air on his own since they’d moved had been a real challenge.
“Why don’t you let me work on finding a good teen therapist around here, okay?”
He nodded stiffly.
“And how about more counseling for yourself?” Lily asked, regarding him directly. “I can’t imagine the few sessions the department required were enough.”
“I’m fine,” he said curtly. But was he really?
She leaned in and touched his hand. “No one would be fine after everything that’s happened to you.”
“I can handle it.” And he would. Somehow. That’s what he did—plodded on without complaint and dealt.
“Yeah, I know you think you can.” She quirked her mouth. “But you’re a guy, and most guys just want to put their heads down and plow forward.”
“Yep, that pretty much sums it up right there.” And if he could avoid emotional chaos, even better.
“So. How’s that working for you?”
He shifted in his chair and ground his molars together. “Not that well,” he said truthfully. Heidi deserved that he be honest with himself. Even if he didn’t like dissecting every little emotion. Or admitting he needed help.
Lily picked up her purse. She dug around inside, then pulled out a piece of folded green paper and held it out for him. “Take a look at this. I picked it up at church last Sunday.”
Wary, he took the paper and unfolded it, scanning the contents quickly. His stomach pitched.
The flyer announced a series of classes set to take place at Moonlight Cove Community Church every Thursday night for the next month. Starting tonight.
Grief-counseling classes.
Sighing heavily, he dropped the paper on the table and looked at Lily. “You really think this will help?”
“Yes, I do. You’re grieving the death of your son and the death of your marriage. That’s a lot for anyone to deal with, Carson. Someone would have to be a superhero to handle what’s happened on their own.”
“I thought I was a superhero,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ve always been able to handle life’s ups and downs on my own.” Although he’d never been thrown something as traumatic as his son dying and his wife abandoning him.
“I know, and you’ve been superhuman in the past, believe me. But that routine isn’t working now, and your daughter is struggling. Don’t you think you need to get some help to deal with your grief—to heal—so you can give her what she needs and deserves?”
More guilt loaded on. How could he have gone so wrong? “Everything you’ve said is true,” he said. “But honestly, Lily, this feels like a failure to me.” He let out a derisive snort. “I should be able to handle this without some class to show me the way.”
She looked at him, understanding in her brown eyes. “It’s not a sign of weakness to ask for help.”
“It is in my book,” he replied, swiping a rigid hand through his hair. “I’m a cop, a problem solver. I’m used to stress. I should be able to deal.”
“Well, you’re going to need to get over that misconception for Heidi’s sake.”
For Heidi’s sake.
Those words reverberated in him, hitting home Lily’s point like brass knuckles to the gut. He needed to focus on what was best for Heidi, and she needed him, now more than ever. He’d be a selfish idiot and a neglectful parent not to see that and act on it.
“I’ll do whatever I have to for Heidi,” he said to Lily. Even if doing so meant admitting his weaknesses and attending some touchy-feely counseling class for the next four weeks.
Even though he rather be Tasered, what other choice did he have?
* * *
“So,” Rebecca, the grief-counseling instructor, said from the front of the room. “Does anyone have any questions?”
Phoebe shifted in the small, hard chair set up in a classroom in the basement of the Moonlight Cove Community Church. Thankfully the rest of the grief-management classes would take place in the more comfortable singles’-group lounge, once that room became available next week. Spending any more time in these uncomfortable chairs didn’t really float her boat.
Someone to her left raised their hand and asked about the schedule. Phoebe tapped her pencil on the desk, listening intently, trying to make the most of her time here, even though she’d had to coerce herself to come.
Forcing herself to talk about painful things was always, well, painful, and she felt like she had when she’d gone to the dentist for a root canal.
Fortunately, they had Novocain for a root canal. But for handling grief? No such thing.
When all of the questions had been answered, Rebecca said, “All right. I’ve gone over the basic structure of the course and covered the schedule in depth. Now, if you’ll remember, I mentioned working with a discussion partner outside of class.”
Everyone in the class murmured their assent along with Phoebe.
“Okay, there are twelve of us, and since Randy and Joanna are married and want to be partners, we’ll need to count off by fives to make five groups of two.” She pointed right. “Start here and count off, and then we’ll partner up, get to know each other for a few minutes, and adjourn.”
Everyone dutifully said their number, and Phoebe uttered “five” when it was her turn. The counting hit the back of the room, and the last person to speak—a guy with a vaguely familiar deep voice—said “five” after a pause. The counting ended.
Phoebe drew her eyebrows together. She hadn’t