Page 146 of Keep This Promise
What fucking package? I groan and toss the postcard onto the desk.
“Everything okay?” a feminine voice asks from the entryway.
“Hey, Kate. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Dr. Kate Dehring is the new head of the mental health department. I tried to get my friend Dr. Mike Girardo, the doctor who helped Brielle after her memory loss, to stay, but the hospital could never meet his salary requirements. Thankfully, Kate came in, and she’s made a ton of changes, all for the better.
The hospital isn’t bad, just underfunded.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
I laugh, and she enters the room. “They’re not even worth that much. What brings you down here?”
Kate taps on the other side of the desk and sighs heavily. “I need your advice.”
“That must be a change for you. It’s usually you hearing that.”
She smiles, pulling her long brown hair to the side. “This is true, but you are the expert in this field.”
“Take a seat. What can I help with?”
“I want to create a program for children at the youth center where your friend works. It would be to help with coping with life’s struggles and also grief. Kids are so often forgotten about, and I know the town was lacking in counseling options when your friend died. I like the idea of just focusing on all aspects for children.”
I lean back in my chair. “The high school did a great job bringing in counselors for its students.”
“Yes, and that’s why we would be able to handle many areas of family conflict, grief, exposure to drugs and violence . . . you know, life stuff.”
“I could talk to Brielle about it,” I offer.
“That would be great. I started a similar program in Texas, and a lot of families appreciated having somewhere to turn to for help and guidance.”
“You’re right. I’ll see what I can do.”
Kate gets to her feet. “Thanks, Holden. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. I’m heading over to meet my friends now, so I’ll be sure to bring it up to Brielle.”
I grab my coat and leave the hospital before my mysterious package arrives. I don’t like games, and I’ve had enough of them to last a lifetime. On my ride over to Blakely’s new office, I do my best to push all of that from my mind and focus on helping my friends.
When I get there, I am immediately put to work. On what? Desk assembly.
What is it about furniture directions? Are they purposely vague and impossible to understand? They give a screw that’s a half millimeter a letter that isn’t on the package, and somehow, we’re all supposed to know where it goes. The worst part is that it’s from the one store that everyone knows and loves, so they still shop there, regardless of the impossible instructions.
“What’s the hold up on building the desk?” Blakely, Emmett’s infuriating wife, asks.
I put the half-assembled drawer, which is assembled backward, down. “Nothing.”
“Do you need instructions to put the thing together?”
Yes, ones in English, but I don’t say that. I have to keep my false bravado up so I don’t listen to everyone rib me about it for the next month. “I’m a fucking surgeon. I can put a desk together.”
Blakely, however, doesn’t buy it. She smirks, seeing the drawer is clearly not together right. “Then do it already. Sheesh.”
I’ll give her sheesh.
I start to say something back, but my other asshole best friend’s wife looks at the floor and then to me. “Do you need the directions?”
What I need is new friends who marry non-irritating women.
