Page 31 of Everything She Feared

Soft classical musicfloated in the somber air of the North Seattle community hall.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, gleaming on the polished wood floors. The building was often rented for corporate meetings, community gatherings, banquets and wedding receptions.

Today it was crisis counseling.

Watching people entering and leaving the hall, Sara accepted the risk in bringing Katie here. But given what Katie had experienced, Sara wanted her to talk to someone who knew about these things. She also secretly hoped that in some way coming here would allay her own deepening fears that went beyond the tragedy, to something so dark it was unimaginable.

“Welcome,” Violet Juarez, director of the Sunny Days Youth Center, greeted Sara and Katie. “Please sign in and we’ll set you up.”

At a table nearby, an SDYC volunteer gave Sara a consent form to fill in. Upon completing it, Sara and Katie waited in the reception area where Connie, Dakota and a few others from the group were talking. Seeing Katie, they swept around her in a flutter of tearful hugs.

“Oh, Katie,” Dakota said.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Connie embraced her, then clasped Sara’s hand briefly.

“I felt we needed to come,” Sara said, putting her arm around Katie, pulling her close. “Are Lynora and Chuck here?”

“No,” Connie said. “But word is the service might be next week.”

A woman emerged from a room nearby and said: “Sara and Katie Harmon?”

The woman was in her forties, wearing black-framed glasses and holding a tablet. A laminated ID card hung from a chain on her neck.

“Sally Mehta,” she said. “I’m with the crisis team. Sorry if I’m interrupting.”

“It’s okay,” Connie said, excusing herself with the others.

Sally Mehta turned to Sara and Katie. “Please come with me.”

As they walked with her, they saw some people leaving, including Dylan Frick and his mom. Dylan appeared to give Katie a cold look, which she returned as they passed each other, leaving Sara unsure what to think of it. In the main room, the hall dividers had been employed, configuring the area into several small rooms that afforded privacy. Each had folding chairs around a folding table with a box of tissues, a pitcher of water and plastic glasses.

“Not the warmest, most ideal setting,” Dr. Mehta said. “But it’s the best way for us to help the most people the soonest.”

Everyone sat and Dr. Mehta poured them water while smiling.

“I’m a psychiatrist. I teach a class at the University of Washington. I have a practice and I volunteer with the crisis network. There are a number of us here today. You can call me Sally, if you like. Do you have any questions before we start?”

“This is confidential, right?” Sara said. “Whatever we discuss stays with us?”

“Absolutely,” Dr. Mehta said. “For us, this is doctor-patient privilege.”

Sara nodded. “We’re here for help,” she said. “I brought Katie here because after what happened, and after we got the note about crisis counseling, I felt it would help if she talked to someone.”

“Of course.” Dr. Mehta smiled. “Katie, do you have any questions? I might not have all the answers but it’s good to ask.”

Katie lowered her head, looking into her hands.

“Just that I’m really, really sorry for what happened.”

Dr. Mehta observed her, then said: “I can understand how hard this is.”

“Sally, are you familiar with what happened?” Sara asked.

“We’ve been given a summary, but not specific names or details to protect privacy.”

“So you’re probably not aware,” Sara said, “but Anna was our babysitter, our friend, and Katie was with her on the cliff. She saw it happen.”

Katie lowered her head. Sara hugged her.

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