Me: It’s true. I’m like a kid chasing a stupid dream. I’ve got a business degree. Maybe it’s time to get a normal job and keep normal hours.
Charlotte: Normal is overrated. I love that you’re chasing your dream. I want our son to chase his own someday.
Me: I wish I was there with you.
Charlotte: Me too. But you will be. You’re tired and down, which happens to all of us. But no more crazy talk, okay? You can’t quit hockey. You love it too much and you’ve worked too hard.
Me: All right, boss.
Charlotte: Are you calling me bossy?
Me: Haha, I typed that with a smile. I needed the pep talk. Thanks.
Charlotte: I’m falling asleep. I’m surrounded by pillows and it’s just too comfortable.
Me: Goodnight. See you soon, gorgeous.
Charlotte: Can’t wait.
As soon as I put my phone down, the engine of the bus roared to life and cool air flowed out of the vent by my bunk. At least we were finally about to start moving again.
The Suicide Prevention Center was housed in a small, run-down building in downtown Fenway. I’d caught a few hours of sleep when I got home from the road trip, then showered, and now I was about to start my community service hours.
“Can I help you?” a blond, college-aged woman asked.
“I’m here for community service. Name’s Bennett Morse.”
She smiled. “You’re the hockey player?”
“Yeah.”
“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.
“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.
He’d been heading for the door of the Suicide Prevention Center, but I didn’t want to mention it and scare him away. Blood rushed to my head as I tried to figure out what I should do. If I went back inside to get someone from the center, I was pretty sure he’d be gone when I got back.
“Do you, uh . . . need a friend to talk to?” I asked.
The kid looked right at me, narrowing his eyes just a fraction. “What’s that mean?”
“Just, you know . . . that if you need some help . . .”
His eyes filled with tears and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I don’t know why I came here.”
“That’s okay.”
“It’s not that I want to die, but . . . I just don’t know if I can stand living anymore.” His voice broke again and he looked down at the ground. “I know that sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Every day is a living hell.”
“I’m sorry, man. Truly, I am.” I sat down on the concrete steps of the center and gestured to the spot beside me. “I knew someone who went through that and she said it felt like drowning. Like, no matter how hard she fought, she just kept getting pulled under.”