“Me too.”
“Although, I’d give my left boob to be sitting at that little café on Avenue de Suffren, watching all those hot French guys walk by.” She sighs dreamily, causing me to giggle at the expression on her face.
Bailey and I spent two years studying in Europe. We’d both become obsessed with the place after listening to Aunt Bree tell us stories from the time she spent traveling there before she married Uncle TJ. After a few years living and studying in London, we spent a year in Paris before returning home. A few weeks back in Savannah was enough for me, and I started applying for jobs as far away as I could. I hit the job jackpot fairly quickly and landed the job of my dreams here in California.
“Mmm, if I close my eyes and concentrate really hard, I can almost taste the fresh croissants.” I moan, making Bailey smile.
“Screw the pastries. Give me the hot guys,” she scoffs before her alarm sounds in the background. “Sorry, sissy. I have to go. I just wanted to wish you good luck on your first day. You're going to rock that job, and those kids are going to be obsessed with you!” Blowing me a kiss, she disconnects the call before I even have time to say goodbye.
A short while later, I have my Starbucks in hand, and I'm driving to my very first day at work, hoping like hell the caffeine kicks in fast.
Growing up, I used my love of art, painting, and drawing as a way to get out of the thing I struggled to verbalize. I was always the quiet one, and when I was stressed out or unsure of how to talk about my feelings, being able to get it out on paper was a lifeline. I always wanted to be able to give that to others too.
I had no luck finding any jobs on the East coast, but one of the companies I approached told me about an opening they had in California. I interviewed for a position with a company called Corporate Cares via Skype, and before I knew it I was packing up my SUV and driving across the country.
Every mile that passed made it a little easier to breathe. The weight of being back in Savannah, even for those few short weeks, melted away as I passed through state after state on my journey. I never experienced a sense of freedom like it before.
I’ll probably regret it when I arrive at work looking a mess, but I can’t resist opening my windows and letting the cool air whip through my hair. Turning the music up louder, slipping my aviators in place, I relish in that newfound freedom. I realize that I’m comfortable in my own skin. Out here, I’m just Bailey Nash, art therapist. I’m not someone’s daughter, sister, or cousin. Or ex-girlfriend. The thought pops into my mind out of nowhere, reminding me of something I’ve worked hard to forget.
Not something.
Someone.
Tucker Neal.
The reason I’ve spent years running away.
It might take me a while to get used to being on my own, but I know deep down this move was the best decision I could have made.
***
The weeks slip by at an alarmingly fast rate. I suppose it’s partly because of how well I’ve settled here. I’m in love with my job. The counselors who run the project I’m working on are amazing, but many of the children I work with have heartbreaking stories. It’s indescribable how satisfying it is to know that I can help them work through their issues in a way that isn’t the typical therapist/patient relationship. We do it in a way that can sometimes even be fun, which is something these kids haven’t always had a lot of in their lives. There are still plenty of hard days, but getting to see the smiles on their faces and knowing I’ve helped put it there makes it all worthwhile.
The setup here is unlike anything I’ve experienced in my career so far. Corporate Cares have set up a group home for boys who are no longer able to live at home for whatever reason. Some are orphaned and hoping to be adopted; for others it’s more a like long-term foster care. The group I'm working with today are always a lot of fun to work with. The group of boys range in age from six to thirteen. They don’t always have a lot of things to laugh at in their lives, so it feels good to be able to give them this.
“This looks like an ass!” Calvin, one of the older boys, laughs, pointing at the canvas he’s currently working on. His outburst has all the others breaking out in laughter too.
“We don’t use language like that in here,” I tell him, fighting back my own laughter. “And it does not look anything like someone’s backside,” I say, scrutinizing what is supposed to be a self-portrait.
Making my way around the studio, I stop at each workspace, talking through the things each boy has painted. I usually work one-on-one with patients, but because these boys all live together, they get a mix of solo and group activities. These sessions are not just therapy; they are also a way for all of them to bond together. Living with ten other kids and a team of live-in counselors can take a lot of adjusting, especially when they often come from severely dysfunctional families. Being introduced to any kind of normality can take a long time to accept.
“Time’s almost up, guys. I want you to take your canvas over to the drying racks, then start getting cleaned up,” I announce, getting a chorus of groans of complaint in return. I can't help but feel a small stab of pride that they don’t want to leave. I love that they feel comfortable here with me.
“Miss Brooke.” A small voice sounds
