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“I’m about to go to lunch but I’ll meet with you later,” he says to whoever is outside, then slips into his office. He sees me standing next to his bookcase.
“What are you doing over there?” he asks.
I wave. “Hey, I was just looking for a book that could help me better understand the data I’ve collected. I can’t find anything that jumps out at me though. Maybe I could pick your brain about the book you wrote.”
“What did you want to know?” Rich asks. “Was there any part of the book in particular that you wanted to know more about?”
Trying to think, I cast my eyes about, landing on a framed photograph on his desk—a group of smiling children standing with him in front of the community center. “I’m curious about the Haven Center,” I tell him. “You talked about it in the book a little but I’d love to know more.”
“Oh right. The Haven Center. Lemme think. Well, I met so many kids there, and they all grew to mean so much to me,” he begins, his voice filled with nostalgia. “I’ll tell you what though, it wasn’t always easy. I worked with a lot of troubled kids but there were a few who stood out. They came from broken homes and saw way more adversity in their lives than most adults will ever see.”
“Sounds tough,” I tell him, sitting down on the worn sofa. “How did you handle it?”
He gives a chuckle, a shadow crossing his features briefly as he speaks. “Honestly? It was an uphill battle. Plenty of times I wondered if I was doing the right thing, if I was making a difference. But I think that kind of thing always plagues us in this line of work. Are we researchers or are we saviors? What is our role in these kinds of situations?”
As he continues to speak, my mind circles back to the necklace in the drawer. Something about it gnaws at me. I can’t put my finger on what about it seems so odd, but there’s something that has me unsettled.
“We also opened a counseling center, and I was one of the first class of interns there,” he continues.
“I didn’t know that,” I admit, forcing myself to push away thoughts of the mystery necklace and focus on his words instead.
“I helped establish the center, as part of my doctoral thesis. My supervisor took the credit, but I brought the idea up during a meeting with her,” Rich tells me, a tightness around his smile. “Being there for the kids was the most important thing anyway,” he adds.
“How did your work with the kids influence your research?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I never drew directly from individual counseling sessions,” he says, eyes drifting to the window as if lost in thought. “But the challenges those kids faced were always at the forefront of mymind. I pushed for the committee to use my interviews, but they were worried about the ethical implications, so we tried to use the broader insights and challenges instead.”
I stare down at the book in his hands, wondering about the ethical implications of using the private sessions of these children for research fodder. It seems almost exploitative in some way.
As though sensing my thoughts, Rich speaks up, drawing my gaze. “I want to assure you, that we took every precaution to uphold ethical standards in my research. An ethics committee meticulously reviewed every aspect of my work to ensure confidentiality and integrity were maintained.
I try to shake away the lingering doubt, reminding myself that Dr. Thornton’s research was invaluable in improving the health services offered to communities across the country. “Right,” I say. “Of course. Your research is amazing. I was really impressed when I read the book. It felt like for the first time, someone out there was seeing me and sharing my experience.”
“That’s what I wanted to do,” Rich says. “You don’t get to know those kids like I did and not have a soft spot for them. They deserve to have their stories told.”
I try to push aside these suspicions, reminding myself of his invaluable contributions to research and the positive impact he's had on countless lives. Yet, there’s something that nags in the back of my mind, questions that remain unanswered. The necklace’s presence, the lingering concerns about his research …
Despite my doubts, I do appreciate that he was willing to share this with me and offer guidance on my own research. Maybe I'm just overthinking things, letting my insecurities get the best of me. After all, Dr. Thornton has always been nothing but supportive and encouraging.
Are you ready to go grab lunch?” he asks. “I’m starving.”
“Sure,” I say, grabbing for my bag. “I appreciate you telling me more about your work.”
“Anytime,” he says. He stops, walking over to his desk to grab some papers. “Did you readFamily and Povertyby Dr. Eric Clifton?” he asks, stopping by his desk to grab something.
“It’s on my to-read list,” I tell him. “I started it in undergrad, but I never got around to finishing.”
He looks down for a moment, a frown on his face, then glances back at me. “We can talk about it over lunch,” he says, giving me a broad smile. “It had a strong influence on my own work so it might be helpful for you too.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” I mumble, forcing a smile as we step out into the bright sunlight. My stomach is suddenly in knots and I don’t know why. The image of the necklace in that drawer still tugs at the back of my mind.
“Sure, sounds good,” I mumble, trying to mask the turmoil churning inside me. But as we walk down the corridor, a sudden thought strikes me like a bolt of lightning. Did he realize that I was the one who closed the drawer?
The realization sends a shiver down my spine, but I push it aside, unwilling to confront the possibility head-on. But as we head out to get something to eat, unease grows inside. For the first time since I met him, I start wondering about the true nature of Dr. Thornton’s intentions.
22
CALEB
