Page 81 of Lucky Strike

The most appealing program is BU’s, but they only accept applications for fall, not spring. Like most schools, that deadline came and went months ago—I knew it would be a leap—so I’d have to wait until March to apply for the following year. Disappointing, but not surprising. I continue searching, see if anything else fits the bill. Online classes might be an option, but I’d prefer being in the classroom if possible.

Then I remember Delphine, who I’ve kept in touch with over the years. She went to Harvard, majoring in political science. Last I saw on social media, she was working on a master’s in international relations. On a whim, I shoot her an email, asking about possible classes at Harvard. It’s a long shot, but she might have some insight.

She responds within the hour.

Dearest Bria,

Maeve mentioned you were coming back! It’s been an eternity, we should catch up over dinner.

I asked around about Harvard’s psych program and there’s a new one starting in the spring. Most of the graduate programs here run year-round, so you might be able to find something.

Let me know, I’ll connect you with someone.

XO,

Delphine

P.S call me

617-555-9439

I clickon the link she provided, which takes me to a synopsis of the program at Harvard. It focuses on the psychology of trauma, offering courses in resilience and mindfulness. Interesting, but not what I want. But then I find what I’m after: a Master of Liberal Arts in Extension Studies with a concentration in psychology, which can be tailored to include a forensic focus. I make a few notes of follow-up questions I’d need to ask the faculty and then send Delphine a thank you, letting her know I’d love to get together.

Feeling accomplished, I shut my laptop and peek over at Liam, who’s snickering evilly at his game. I love my job, and it would be easy to stay here forever. But I’ve wanted to be a forensic psychologist since the eighth grade, when I saw a woman discussing correctional counseling and policy development on a true crime documentary. If I can understand why people turn to crime, then maybe I can help them before they ruin their lives. I could help people like my father.

The irony of who I work for is not lost on me. It’s called cognitive dissonance.

“Want to go outside for a bit?” I ask Liam. He stares wordlessly at his screen, absorbed in the game he’s playing. Dinosaurs, of course. “Liam.”

He looks up, wide-eyed. “Bria, I can’t look or I’m gonna lose!”

“Okay, well, wrap it up so we can go make cookies.”

He grumbles a little, but the promise of cookies is decent enoughthat he follows through, handing back his device with a heavy sigh at the end of his game.

“Should we make chocolate chip or snickerdoodles?” I ask as Liam wanders into the pantry.

He nods sagely. “Yes.”

“Liam-a-saurus! Bria the Cheese!”bellows Tristan, gravitating toward a batch of chocolate chip cookies cooling on the countertop. “Smells like heaven in here!”

“Hi, Uncle Tris!” Liam bellows back, wobbling a little on his stool. I put a hand to steady him just as Lucky does, our eyes meeting for a second. “Hi, Daddy!”

“Hey, buddy.” Lucky stands behind us, squeezing Liam’s shoulders. “What’s the big occasion?”

I shrug, rolling a ball of snickerdoodle dough in cinnamon sugar before dropping it onto a cookie sheet. “Doesn’t need to be one for cookies.”

He lingers, the awareness of his gaze prickling down the back of my neck. Brushing sugar from my hands, I pick up the sheet and edge past Lucky. “Excuse me, Tristan. I have to get in there.”

“Sure.” Tristan slides out of the way, opening the oven door for me. “So, Liam tells me you’ve been enjoying his jiu jitsu classes.”

“I love it,” I say. “Liam’s really good at it, too.”

“Yes,” agrees Liam, eating a piece of raw dough before I can swipe it from him. “I am good.”

“He started when he was three.” Lucky leans against the counter, ankles crossed. “We took him to one of Tristan’s competitions, and he said he wanted to do it. I didn’t think he’d stick it out, but here we are.”

I slide the rest of Liam’s dough out of reach. “Can you imagine what he’ll be like when he’s older?”

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