Disturbed Mind (A Grace Ellery Romantic Suspense Series Book 2) Read Free
Author: Charlotte Raine
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students are in their late teens or early twenties. It’s a bit disconcerting, but after I had been called in to substitute at Waycroft less and less, and there appeared to be no midterm positions opening up, I decided it was time for a change. I was pursuing a Master of Education in Counseling and Development with a concentration in School Counseling PK-12. I managed to get a job at Stoddard High School as an English teacher through Kevin Deats, my old neighbor and the superintendent of the Murray, Virginia schools—Waycroft High, Chaplain Crawford Middle School, Briar Run Elementary and Murray Farm Elementary.
“I mean, what if you had a student that repressed childhood abuse? Wouldn’t it help them if you figured out about the abuse?”
“Ashley, right?” Professor Kingston asks. She nods. “Let’s pretend that you have a student with anger problems. You suspect that they were abused, but they don’t remember it. First off, it’s dangerous for anyone involved in counseling to try to get someone to recover memories—that’s why people talk about false memories. Second, how does that help the student? They still have anger problems. The cause is not important—the student could have been abused, he could have been bullied, he could just have the personality of an angry person. The effect is what’s important and those can be resolved through different therapies…which we will talk about on Monday. Good class, everybody. Read chapter eight of the textbook and answer the prep questions at the end. I want them typed in size twelve front and double-spaced. Two of your forgot to put your names on the top last time. Don’t do that again.”
As I gather up my books and shove them in my bag, I think about Francis Tate and Deke Cochrane, two young men I taught and was unable to help before they committed violence. Was I focused too much on finding the source of their pain rather than trying to treat it? Could their pain have been treated at all?
I walk out of the classroom and take out my cell phone, which had been set to silent during the class.
1 missed text
Sam : Hey. I got paged by the county police department. I had to bail on the meet-up with Rayna and the buyers.
SORRY!
I jump into my new truck—a red Toyota Tacoma and try to bite back the stream of curses I want to shout. I begin to drive, trying to figure out my next move. It will take me about forty-five minutes to get back to my old house, but Rayna’s meeting with the buyers is in thirty minutes. I could speed all of the way there, risking my life and others on the rain-splattered road or I could get ahold of someone else for help.
The only solution is Kevin Deats.
As I stop at a red light, I dial his number and put him on speakerphone. The ringing fills the truck.
“Hello?” Kevin answers.
“Hey, Kevin, it’s Grace.”
“Hey, lady, how are you? Are you just getting out of class?”
“Yep,” I say. “Are you at home?”
“I am.”
“Could I ask for a favor?”
“Sure,” he says. I love that about him—he’s always willing to help even when he’s not sure what he’s helping with.
“Could you watch for Rayna, my real estate agent, for the next half hour or so until she gets to my old house?”
“No problem. That’s easy. Are you running late?”
“No…I had my boyfriend, Sam, waiting for her, but he had to leave for his job. This is just turning into such a hassle. I almost wish I could give the house away.”
“Well, just take a deep breath,” he says. “You have a lot on your plate right now. You should drop by after you’re done with your agent. I have a new dog I’d like you to meet and it sounds like you could use some doggy-love right now.”
“That sounds perfect. Thanks a lot, Kevin.”
“No problem. Drive safe.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”
“You better.”
I click end call . I put my foot on the brake as the cars in front of me slow down for a stop sign. The endless line of red
“I mean, what if you had a student that repressed childhood abuse? Wouldn’t it help them if you figured out about the abuse?”
“Ashley, right?” Professor Kingston asks. She nods. “Let’s pretend that you have a student with anger problems. You suspect that they were abused, but they don’t remember it. First off, it’s dangerous for anyone involved in counseling to try to get someone to recover memories—that’s why people talk about false memories. Second, how does that help the student? They still have anger problems. The cause is not important—the student could have been abused, he could have been bullied, he could just have the personality of an angry person. The effect is what’s important and those can be resolved through different therapies…which we will talk about on Monday. Good class, everybody. Read chapter eight of the textbook and answer the prep questions at the end. I want them typed in size twelve front and double-spaced. Two of your forgot to put your names on the top last time. Don’t do that again.”
As I gather up my books and shove them in my bag, I think about Francis Tate and Deke Cochrane, two young men I taught and was unable to help before they committed violence. Was I focused too much on finding the source of their pain rather than trying to treat it? Could their pain have been treated at all?
I walk out of the classroom and take out my cell phone, which had been set to silent during the class.
1 missed text
Sam : Hey. I got paged by the county police department. I had to bail on the meet-up with Rayna and the buyers.
SORRY!
I jump into my new truck—a red Toyota Tacoma and try to bite back the stream of curses I want to shout. I begin to drive, trying to figure out my next move. It will take me about forty-five minutes to get back to my old house, but Rayna’s meeting with the buyers is in thirty minutes. I could speed all of the way there, risking my life and others on the rain-splattered road or I could get ahold of someone else for help.
The only solution is Kevin Deats.
As I stop at a red light, I dial his number and put him on speakerphone. The ringing fills the truck.
“Hello?” Kevin answers.
“Hey, Kevin, it’s Grace.”
“Hey, lady, how are you? Are you just getting out of class?”
“Yep,” I say. “Are you at home?”
“I am.”
“Could I ask for a favor?”
“Sure,” he says. I love that about him—he’s always willing to help even when he’s not sure what he’s helping with.
“Could you watch for Rayna, my real estate agent, for the next half hour or so until she gets to my old house?”
“No problem. That’s easy. Are you running late?”
“No…I had my boyfriend, Sam, waiting for her, but he had to leave for his job. This is just turning into such a hassle. I almost wish I could give the house away.”
“Well, just take a deep breath,” he says. “You have a lot on your plate right now. You should drop by after you’re done with your agent. I have a new dog I’d like you to meet and it sounds like you could use some doggy-love right now.”
“That sounds perfect. Thanks a lot, Kevin.”
“No problem. Drive safe.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”
“You better.”
I click end call . I put my foot on the brake as the cars in front of me slow down for a stop sign. The endless line of red