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“Hi, I’m Gretchen.” She held her hand out for a handshake. “I’ll show you what to do.”
“Great.”
She led me around several desks in the open main room and through the door of a small conference room.
“We have a ton of envelopes that need to be stuffed and run through the postage machine.” She sat down in front of a giant pile of letters and envelopes. “I’ll help since it’s slow in here.”
I grabbed a pile of letters and started folding and stuffing.
“So how’d you end up with community service?” Gretchen asked. “You don’t look like the bad-boy type.”
“Uh . . . it was a fight.”
“You hockey players love to fight, don’t you?”
“I don’t love it, it’s just part of the game.”
“I bet you’re really strong.” She bit her lip and looked at me.
I focused on the stack of letters, knowing what that look meant.
“So why the Suicide Prevention Center?” she asked.
An image of Kelly smiling flashed before my eyes, followed immediately by an image of her crying, her face thinner and her expression drawn.
“Someone I was close to took her own life a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Gretchen said. “My best friend in high school made an attempt but fortunately survived. I get credit hours toward my psych degree for volunteering here, and it’s a good place.”
“Good.”
“You can get training to handle calls to the hotline if you want to.”
I bristled. I hadn’t known what to say to Kelly when she was hurting. I’d just listened. If I’d known the right words to say, things might have ended up differently. I didn’t want to fail anyone else.
“Maybe,” I said.
&
nbsp; “So what’s your deal? Are you married, single?”
“I’ve got a girlfriend. Her name’s Charlotte. We’re having a baby in June.”
Gretchen’s eyes widened with surprise. “Oh, wow.”
We stuffed in silence for another half hour and then Gretchen showed me how to use the postage machine and disappeared into the break room. I posted all the envelopes and then had to watch a volunteer orientation video.
“I’m heading out,” I said to Gretchen when the video ended. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”
“See you then.”
I glanced at my watch on the way out the door. It was 4:50. I could stop by the store and get stuff to make dinner at Charlotte’s. While weighing my options for the menu, I came face-to-face with a gangly teenage kid whose shaggy hair hung down to his eyelashes.
His expression registered panic. He glanced from side to side and turned to run away.
“Hey, man,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Um . . . fine.” His voice cracked nervously.
