Hindsight

By Diane A. Kramer

The year is 2020. The world is at war with a deadly pandemic. The nation is rife with political partisanship. The delineations between left and right, right and wrong, and true and false are blurred. Turmoil ensues.

Citizens of the nation quarrel amongst themselves, their hearts focused on division rather than unity, while Covid-19 is laser-focused on its attack, indiscriminately taking out its victims without regard to race, religion or political leanings. A relentless and ravaging enemy, it spreads across the planet in record time, killing tens of thousands daily.

Economies around the world implode as social distancing and mask mandates choke the life out of once thriving industries. Schools and businesses are forced to shut down creating mass joblessness and childcare chaos. All the while climate change continues to wreak havoc on the earth with raging fires and horrific storms that render more people homeless and desperate. Chaos abounds.

Hindsight is a compelling story about a family tumbling through the calamities of this perilous time. It is a story the focuses on the fragility of human life as well as the resilience of the human spirit to overcome despair with hope, loneliness with love, and chaos with clarity; for hindsight is always 20/20.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667838519

Book preview

ONE

THE HEADLIGHTS ON GRACE Patterson’s royal blue Honda Fit beamed across the glossy wet pavement as a nasty Midwestern ice storm swarmed about her. She hated driving in the freezing rain and she gripped the steering wheel in white-knuckle fear as she followed the narrow and twisting blacktop road leading to the fixer upper country charmer that her husband, Joel, had purchased on a whim ten years prior. It was dark, nearly seven p.m. on a miserable March evening, and thick clouds sucked the light out of the evening sky. The naked oaks bending over the country road created a dark tunnel with no sunset gleaming through them, and it made the hour seem much later than it actually was. She would have preferred a light flurry of snowflakes gently floating down and blanketing the earth in a dappled canvas of white and calm. Instead, thin sheets of ice collected on the windshield and obscured Grace’s view, forcing her to lean forward over the steering wheel and cuss at the useless wipers that only smeared the slush on the glass. She slowed to a snail’s pace and felt the tension gripping the muscles in her neck and shoulders as she maneuvered cautiously through the dismal twilight, hoping to avoid any patches of black ice that would spin her out into a ditch off the shoulder of the dark and desolate stretch of County Road 16.

Grace detested the commute back and forth into town to her private practice office and often longed to be back in the suburban townhome they had bought thirteen years back when they were newly married. She missed the community of neighbors, the impromptu backyard gatherings around a charcoal grill on the weekends, and the convenience to shopping that intown living provided. She yearned for the quick breaks in her work day where she used to run home, play with their golden retriever, Sport, grab a quick lunch, and bounce back to the office in just an hour’s time.

However, in-town living made Joel feel constrained and uneasy. He craved space and land and always complained about feeling claustrophobic. Then, too, Joel wasn’t much of a rule follower, and he often whined about his civil rights being curtailed when he was required to abide by simple laws, like wearing a seat belt. Even adhering to the most basic regulations, ranging from restricted smoking in restaurants and public buildings to picking up Sport’s poop during their daily run, rubbed him the wrong way. He grumbled about the slightest bit of traffic, had no patience for people in general, and too often acted like a caged animal living in suburbia. So when he came across the opportunity to purchase a run-down farmhouse on twenty acres fifteen miles outside the city limits, he jumped on it, putting down a hefty earnest deposit without even consulting Grace.

She was livid, at least for a while. Yet, as always, she capitulated when she saw how excited he was at the idea of turning the fixer upper into their dream home, a place to raise a family, and an opportunity to spread their wings and to grow organic food. It sounded so romantic to her at the time. Joel made promises to remodel the kitchen and baths, to open up walls and expand the footprint, and to build a wraparound porch to linger on while watching evening sunsets. He made lists of projects as long as her leg that could, if ever accomplished, make the house and property at the end of Evening Star Road a dream come true. However, ten years had come and gone and little had changed on the little farmhouse in the middle of God’s country.

Instead of diving into any serious renovations on the house, Joel spent much of his free time driving his three-wheeler around their expansive property like a crazed teenager, and setting up a rifle range where he and a couple of his gun-loving buddies placated their passion for firearms and target practice. Since moving out to the country, Joel had beefed up his collection of guns, much to Grace’s chagrin, and she let it be known that she wanted no part of his shenanigans in regards to this hobby of his.

Grace never did understand her husband’s penchant for guns and didn’t allow them to be stored in-house. In fact, she hated guns of any kind and didn’t see any use for them in the hands of ordinary citizens. Shotguns for hunting fowl she could accept, but that was it. As far as she was concerned, he could enjoy his boy-toys away from the house and out of her sight. Joel acquiesced by storing them locked up in his massive gun safe located in the large barn that now housed his welding business and where Grace rarely ventured. It was a topic of discussion she and Joel had long ago stopped having. They had agreed to disagree to preserve their marriage. Pushing these thoughts aside, Grace returned to the arduous task of just getting home safely.

The ashen evening had turned pitch black and Grace still had five miles of slippery roads to navigate before she would arrive home. Ice particles stubbornly rebuffed the frantic swishing of the windshield wipers as Grace ramped up the heat on the dashboard in an attempt to melt away enough of the freezing rain so she could see the outline of the road in front of her. Finally she recognized the split rail fence ahead that delineated their acreage from the road and she turned on to the gravel drive that would finally take her home in a quarter mile. She relaxed just a bit knowing that, at least now, she needn’t fear any oncoming traffic coming towards her and sliding out of control into a head-on collision.

Rumbling down the long gravel drive, Grace felt a sense of melancholy come over her for this would be her last commute to and from her office for the foreseeable future. The country had come under siege by a viral pandemic and states were beginning to shut down non-essential businesses, recommending that all who could work from home should do so. Until further notice, mask wearing and social distancing were the new norm, and so Grace had closed her office to in-person sessions just that afternoon. She would set up her telehealth practice at home now, meeting her clients’ needs over Zoom as best she could. She knew it would be less than optimal care, but she would strive to deliver her best therapy, comfort and guidance through the screen of her laptop.

TWO

GRACE PULLED INTO THE detached garage on the right side of the house and turned off the ignition. For a few moments she sat in the darkness, letting her frayed nerves settle from the drive home. She wondered if Joel had thought to salt the stone path between the garage and the house so she wouldn’t be traversing a sheet of ice beneath her as she hauled the banker box of client files and her laptop into their yet to be rehabbed dream home. More likely he wasn’t even aware that she had made it home safely. One thing was for certain, he wasn’t bounding out of the back door to greet her or to offer a hand.

Does he even know how treacherous the weather is outside? she mumbled under her breath. Had he even given her a second thought as she braved the perilous drive home on this miserable evening? Probably not, thought Grace.

More likely, Joel was nursing a beer and sitting on the couch listening to music or some podcast through his earphones that always rendered him oblivious to the world around him. If he was thinking about her at all, Grace surmised, it was probably only to wonder when she was going to walk in the door and start dinner. She could feel the frown forming on her face at the thought.

After banging on the back door and arousing no response from her husband, Grace shifted the box of office files and computer paraphernalia on her hip and clumsily opened the back door leading into a small mudroom area. Disgruntled, she set the box on the small bench beneath a rack of coat hooks, took off her gloves, hung up her coat and called out, Hey, I’m home! Is anyone here? Then, in a whisper under her breath, does anyone care? There was no answer back except for the bounding of their loyal canine, Sport, who greeted her with a wagging tail and a paw shake. Well hello my sweet boy. Have you been fed this evening? Where is Dad, huh?

Joel rounded the corner of the kitchen and stopped short in his tracks, surprised to see Grace kneeling down and scratching Sport’s belly. He took the earphones off his head, hung them around his neck, and practically bellowed, Where the hell have you been? Why are you so late? I’m starving, woman. What’s for dinner? Grace glared at him, and put both hands on her hips.

Excuse me! Are you kidding me? I just about had a stroke driving home in this nasty ice storm! Let’s see, you’ve been sitting on the couch drinking that beer since when? I should be asking you about dinner! In fact, you could have left the light on for me, salted the icy path, and answered the door after I pounded on it a zillion times with my hands full of office files and shit. And did you even think to call my cell to see if I was okay in this freezing rain? Did it even occur to you that I could have slid into a ditch on these godforsaken country roads? Grace could feel her ire rising and her face flushing as she spoke. Tired and annoyed, she pushed past her husband in a huff and headed for the bathroom for a time-out.

Wow, Joel whispered under his breath. Someone is in a mood, right, Sport? And now she’s moving her practice home. What do you think about that, ole boy? Crap, now we’re going to be together every friggin’ minute and all because everyone has lost their mind over a little virus. Shit. I ain’t letting no stupid flu bug change the way I live my life. Besides, it will pass just like they say. The warmer weather will kill it in its tracks and then everyone can stop being so goddamned paranoid. Jesus! While Joel commiserated with his canine companion, he filled two stainless steel bowls with food and water and set them in the mudroom for Sport to devour.

Ten minutes passed before Grace reappeared, having changed into cozy gray sweats and her favorite slipper socks. She had pulled her ginger-red hair up in a high ponytail and had discarded the underwire bra that consistently poked and prodded her throughout the day. She felt better already and plopped down on the worn leather sectional that practically swallowed up the living room at the front of the house. Joel had started a fire in the hearth and was rearranging the logs while Grace snuggled up with a chenille throw and a pillow.

Feeling better are we? Joel spoke sternly and gave Grace the side-eye like a parent might give a child who had just recovered from a tantrum. Grace hated the look. It made her feel less than a partner in the relationship and more like a scolded teenager who had been disrespectful and was being admonished for it. Lately, he managed to make her feel like she was always overreacting and that her aggravation was somehow a reflection of her own emotional issues and had nothing to do with his boyish behavior. This pissed her off.

She felt she had every right to expect more responsibility from Joel in their marriage. He could be more thoughtful, less lazy, and he could certainly put more effort into completing projects around the house that he had started and then left undone. Everything was always in a stage of transition and Grace was tired of transitioning. For years she had patiently waited for her dream home to materialize, but it seemed this had become a pipe dream. So she had been stuck and made to feel captive, living in a fixer-upper full of untapped potential for the past decade.

Neither was there a family growing on this country property, for Grace had suffered two mid-term miscarriages in the past five years. The pain and loss of these babies carried its own baggage full of disappointment and resentment that always reared its head when tempers flew. Grace was heartbroken every time the nursery, sadly the only finished room in the house, went unoccupied in the wake of each devastating loss. As for Joel, he wallowed in his grief by refusing to finish other rooms in the house because, as he would spout off, if there aren’t going to be any children in this house then what is the point?

Eventually the floodgates would open, tears and accusations of fault would tumble out, and they would find themselves in a heap and too emotionally drained to work through the heartache they both endured. Instead, they found it easier to retreat to the numbing comforts of a beer or a glass of wine, engage in make-up sex, and then sleep it off.

Grace knew better. She knew that their communication skills were pathetic and far from being sufficient to address the emotional issues that plagued their relationship. Frankly, she was embarrassed to be imparting her professional wisdom on mental health and human relationships to her clients while, at the same time, she was obviously inept at handling her own charade of a marriage. She was a rock star in her field, but she felt like a failure in her own life.

Joel fixed himself a grilled cheese sandwich and a can of Campbell’s tomato soup. Grace had lost her appetite for any kind of meal and preferred to curl up on the sofa, sip on a velvety merlot, and munch on a bowl of popcorn. She and Joel would distract themselves from any meaningful conversation by turning on the TV and allowing Sport to spread out between them on the couch. Eventually Grace would fall asleep to the sound of ice pellets tapping on the window panes mixed with the background noise of whatever Netflix movie Joel had chosen. With the fire ablaze and crackling in the hearth, the scene might have been fitting for a Hallmark holiday card, oozing with the suggestion of warmth and family togetherness. In reality, the picture-perfect portrait was rife with indifference.

THREE

OVERNIGHT THE FREEZING RAIN had turned into a powdery snow that covered the vast property with a soft white blanket. The bare tree branches, now laden with a sheath of ice, glistened in the morning sunshine and the azure blue sky made the cold feel more palpable to Grace. She liked the serene look of newly fallen snow, but she hated being out in it. She would never enjoy the cold weather, and she hated the way her teeth chattered uncontrollably when a biting wind would get a hold of her. But on this particular morning, looking out of the frosty window while buried beneath her down comforter, the scene was bucolic and Grace had to admit that there was a certain loveliness and restorative calm that came with living out in the country on acres of untouched land that you could call your own.

The house smelled of sausages and toast and Grace knew that Joel was cranking out a substantial Saturday morning breakfast. This was something he did well and Grace couldn’t deny his culinary skills. His ability to create a meal that was not only delicious but downright beautiful was one of the things that she found most attractive about him. Anxious to start the weekend, Grace wriggled out from under her bed covers, wrapped herself in a thick terry bathrobe and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

She loved watching him skillfully crack eggs with one hand, never getting bits of shell into the mix. Grace never could master the skill with any finesse. Unlike her, when Joel was cooking up breakfast he was in his element and Grace found him extremely sexy in the kitchen employing his favorite culinary tools. He was particularly enticing in his boxer briefs and a tight fitting t-shirt that accentuated the six-pack abs he still shamelessly flaunted. To this day, his aqua-blue eyes sparkling beneath his head of curly blond hair captivated Grace’s heart, and his dimples could always make her smile, even when she was angry. Thirteen years of marriage hadn’t changed Joel’s physical appearance much and he was still an extremely handsome man.

The physical chemistry between them was never a problem and it was still very present. But the past five years had taken an emotional toll on both of them and they were left with not much to say to each other. It felt as if they were walking on eggshells much of the time. As a consequence of his frustration, Joel had developed a quick temper and a biting tongue, and Grace had lost her will to contest it.

Good morning, Grace spoke softly as she grabbed a cup of coffee before taking a seat at the butcher block island across from Joel who was chopping onions and peppers. Looks like we got a dusting of snow last night and I am positive there is a sheet of ice underneath it all. Good weekend to stay in and organize an office space for me.

Huh? Oh, yeah, I suppose so, answered Joel without even looking up as he began whisking half a dozen eggs in a bowl.

Hey, could you grab the orange juice and the jam from the fridge? Breakfast will be ready in twenty. Hope you’re hungry. Grace hopped off the stool and dutifully set the table. This was their usual Saturday morning routine after a typical Friday night of what had come to include a Netflix feature, scheduled sex, and a good night’s sleep. But in the past few years the passion from the night before didn’t linger in the air like it used to, and the ‘morning after’ playfulness of their early years together had disappeared. Joel no longer teased her or touched her adoringly. Instead he seemed bored with her. Whatever magic they used to enjoy in their lovemaking seemed to dissipate as soon as they were spent and Grace was often left feeling empty, like a useful vessel for Joel’s immediate gratification, only to be tossed aside like a disposable wipe. There were times when Grace felt somewhat like a whore in bed with her own husband.

Hey, Grace, where’s the jam? I told you to get it out of the fridge. Geez, I ask one thing of you and you can’t even do that! Joel barked at her.

Oh, yeah, sorry, Grace replied as she slinked out of her chair and headed for the fridge. I guess I have a lot on my mind this morning. Joel gave her the side-eye, the ugly look of reprimand that somehow chipped away at her self-esteem, little by little. This looks delicious, hon. I’m starving. You went all out this morning and it smells wonderful. Grace had come to realize that complimenting her husband after ‘the look’ seemed to soften his demeanor quickly and she could usually count on a more pleasant exchange between them after that.

Breakfast was Joel’s specialty but he was a weekend-only cook, happy to leave all other meal prep to Grace. He also left all the clean-up to her, and he always seemed to use every pot and pan in the kitchen to produce his breakfast cuisine. It was exhausting for Grace, but it had been their routine throughout their married years and there seemed no way to alter it now. Some habits are nearly impossible to break and she blamed herself for always being there to clean up after him. He made the messes and she tidied up after him.

Perhaps that was why the house was still in disarray after all these years. She couldn’t clean up something that was still incomplete, and he never wanted her touching anything that he was still working on. So, the house was in shambles because he was always still working on it. How she longed to be able to walk through her home without tripping over tools and boxes of tiles yet to be laid in the bathrooms. Grace was beginning to think she would never be able to invite friends over for dinner because the place was in a constant state of chaos.

After cleaning up the breakfast dishes and wiping down the counters, Grace took a long hot shower and found herself daydreaming about their future and what was to come of them. Dreamily, she contemplated the idea of opening a bed and breakfast someday. They certainly had the property for it. Grace could envision converting one of the smaller outbuildings on their property into a charming little Bed & Breakfast. Joel could cook for the guests and she’d be in charge of the bookings and the general cleaning and upkeep of the place. It sounded to her like an equitable division of labor, and perhaps would be something they would actually enjoy doing together. Maybe it could reignite the passion she so desperately longed for in the marriage; the passion that had dwindled more and more in the grieving of two lost babies. Then again, maybe not Grace considered as she brushed her teeth and combed through her damp, tangled hair. She wondered if anything could repair the hurt they had hurled at each other in the past five years.

As she studied her reflection in the mirror, she saw a woman she barely recognized. She was still a beauty with her ginger locks and her deep hazel eyes. Her skin was fair and creamy and her features pleasing and feminine. She was a beauty of a redhead and, on a good day, she could still radiate a glow of confidence and vibrancy. But there was sadness in her eyes that seeped through the loveliness--a look of defeat, surrender, and exhaustion. Her life was not panning out as she had once imagined. And now, isolated and quarantined during a pandemic, out in the middle of nowhere with her husband who she struggled to even converse with, Grace experienced a rush of dread coursing through her veins.

FOUR

THEY FIRST MET IN the spring of 2005 on a blind date in a bar in Fayetteville, Arkansas, right after Grace had earned her Master’s Degree in Social Work from the University of Arkansas, home of the Razorbacks. Joel Patterson was in the computer technology field and a software guru in the healthcare industry when they were matched up by another couple. The attraction was mutual and the chemistry undeniable. Within six months they were engaged and they married in June of 2007, settling in the quaint little town of Valley Springs, thirty miles southeast of Fayetteville. Here Grace continued to accrue the clinical hours required to attain her LSCSW, earning her the license to be in private practice as a family therapist.

For the first three years of their marriage they lived in an efficient townhouse close to Grace’s private practice and a short commute to Joel’s office near the local hospital. However, after moving out to the country, Joel changed his career path from computer technologies to welding, a skill he had learned from his father growing up and an industry that better suited his personality. He transformed the largest of the three barns behind the house into a welding shop and he reveled in the prospect of managing his own company, hiring only a handful of artisan welders to help keep the business profitable.

Copper Creek Welding, named for the little township where they now lived, was Joel’s pride and joy and he was much happier tinkering about in his shop in the country than he had ever been cooped up in a cubicle amidst a ‘fishbowl’ of techies staring at a computer screen all day long. Within six months of settling into the farmhouse on Evening Star Road, Joel had his welding business up and running and Grace witnessed such a positive change in her husband’s demeanor that she was finally convinced that maybe they had made the right move.

But, on this particular snowy mid-March morning, Grace was feeling restless in their current residence located out in the boonies. She couldn’t imagine spending all her time sequestered in the old farmhouse that still didn’t feel like home to her. All of her friends were in town and she knew she would miss the sense of community she had enjoyed on weekdays in the little town of Valley Springs where she shared an office space with three other therapists. She loved the camaraderie of her colleagues, the bustling of the town, and the quaint little cafes that were always filled with loyal patrons. She felt alive and recognized in the charming suburb, and she enjoyed chatting with the locals when she wasn’t in session with one of her many clients.

However, the past month had changed all that. Small businesses were struggling to keep afloat, restaurants and bars were closing as a result of CDC protocol, and the streets were quiet. Any traffic was more attributed to cars lining up to accept food donations, than it was to people out and about living their normal lives. Nothing was normal. Everything had changed, and now Grace was challenged to figure out what the new norm for her growing practice would look like.

The one-hundred-year-old farmhouse had three bedrooms on the second floor: a master suite, and two others. Joel was using one as his home office for Copper Creek Welding and the other they had transformed into a nursery. For the past five years the darling room had remained unchanged, ready and waiting for a child that never came.

Grace stood in the doorway of the baby’s room and stared at the silver-gray Ikea crib and changing table that she and Joel had picked out when she was carrying their first child. They had decorated the room minimally, painting the walls with Morning Mist, a soft gray hue, and the trim and doors a bright white. Joel had insisted on giving the ceiling a coat of Midnight Blue and attaching glow-in-the-dark stars above the crib to mimic the starry nights that he and Grace often enjoyed out in the country, away from city lights. The glider in the corner was upholstered in a neutral linen fabric and a silvery crescent moon pillow was propped in the seat of it. They had wanted to keep the decor gender neutral and had settled on a simple moon and stars theme depicted in the mobile that hung above the crib. When the pale yellow felt moon, stitched with a smile and sleepy eyes, was pulled down, it played the tune "When You Wish Upon a Star."

After her second miscarriage, just one year before, they had kept the door to this room shut and Grace had almost forgotten what it looked like. Leaning against the door frame now, her throat tightened as a couple of tears escaped her misty eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

Her obstetrician had diagnosed her with an incompetent cervix the second time around and she and Joel were devastated. She was damaged goods, apparently. Her womb seemed insufficient for carrying a child. She had lost two children to prove it. Was she never to become a mom? Why had her body betrayed her twice? Was her marriage in the dumps because of two miscarriages? Or were two miscarriages symptoms of a marriage that seemed to be on the brink? Grace couldn’t discern between her guilt and her self-pity. It all seemed so unfair.

Joel had just turned forty and Grace was thirty-eight and it seemed that the window for having a family was closing in on them, especially now as the pandemic continued to spread and inflict havoc on everyone’s physical and mental health. Grace wondered if the world, in its present state, was one that she even wanted to bring a child into. The future looked bleak and full of strife. Would it even be fair to subject a child to such a place? Grace drew a deep cleansing breath as she pushed her negative thoughts aside, entered the room and began to dismantle the crib. This room would become her new office.

Joel helped her situate an old library table in front of the window that overlooked the backyard and the distant pond surrounded by cattails and tall grasses. It was a peaceful view and actually much more appealing than her intown office window that looked into the brick side of the building next door. They confiscated a barely used bookshelf from the living room for Grace’s textbooks, journals, and therapy binders and Joel consolidated his files into fewer cabinets, allowing Grace to have a small two-drawer one that tucked neatly beneath the table. The room was adequately lit with a new ceiling fixture and a floor lamp in the corner by the glider.

While she organized her space, Joel installed Zoom on her laptop and made sure that she had adequate internet access and bandwidth to conduct sessions with her clientele. By the time they were finished, the nursery items were dismantled and tucked away in the closet and a make-shift office for Grace was erected. This was not how she pictured her life five years ago. No, it was far from the dream they once had together. But it was 2020, and nothing seemed as it should be to anyone.

FIVE

WITHIN A WEEK GRACE’S therapy practice had morphed from greeting clients in the comfort of her quiet, softly lit cushy office in downtown Valley Springs, to awkward virtual exchanges during telehealth sessions. Her appointments were often interrupted by any number of distractions including squawking toddlers, unruly pets, and demanding spouses that only exacerbated the anxiety that merited the session in the first place. It seemed that her efforts to help her clients were constantly undermined by the very stressors that brought them to her. The lack of complete privacy and the absence of physical touch, a simple embrace or holding of a hand, made any efforts to help her clients all the more challenging, and yet, all the more important.

MANDY GREENE WAS DUE to log into Zoom in ten minutes and Grace was quickly reviewing her notes from her last session with her. She was looking forward to checking in with Mandy on this particular morning for it had been almost three weeks since she had spoken with her, the last time being in her Valley Springs office before she was forced to move her practice home.

Mandy was twenty-two, a single young mother of two small children, ages four and eighteen months, and she resided with her maternal grandmother in low-income housing at the edge of town. Her grandmother, affectionately known as G-ma, was sixty-seven and was Mandy’s sole child care provider for her two children while Mandy worked as a checker and curbside shopper for the local Piggly Wiggly. Like many of the nation’s brown communities, Mandy and her family had been hit hard by the fallout of the pandemic and she was struggling to keep her children and grandmother safe, fed, and sheltered on her meager paychecks.

Grace knew that Mandy’s connection might not be the most reliable, so she was anxious to see how effective these telehealth sessions would be. She also knew that Mandy was a resourceful and intelligent woman and so Grace was encouraged by the fact that she showed up on time and on-line; for these Zoom appointments would be a far cry from what Grace and her clients were used to.

Hi, Mandy, can you see me? I can see you. Yes, there you are. Ah, it seems that you are muted. Can you see the unmute button on the bottom left corner of your screen? Click on that icon there. Okay, there we are. Oh, it is good to see your face. It has been a while, hasn’t it? So, Mandy, how are things going for you?

Grace adjusted the distance and the tilt of her screen so she could lean back slightly in her chair and would appear more relaxed, even though she didn’t feel relaxed, and all this felt a bit awkward to her. Seeing her own face on her laptop, as well as that of her client, was distracting to Grace and a bit unnerving. She did her best to look at the camera rather than at the screen so as to maintain eye contact with Mandy. She wanted Mandy to know that she had her full attention. But Grace also gleaned a lot of information from her clients’ body language and facial expressions, and the only way to assess this was by looking at the screen directly. The logistics of this new kind of therapeutic tool would take some practice and getting used to, and Grace just hoped that Mandy was not picking up on her feelings of ineptitude.

Oh, I don’t know. I’m exhausted most of the time, Mandy responded. Sylvie is really bossy these days and she’s a bit of a handful for G-ma… I wish I could be home more, but I have all these bills piling up. I’m afraid they’ll cut off my electric bill and … I’m just not sure what else to do… And I’m so tired of wearing these masks every day, but I really get angry at the shoppers who refuse to wear a mask in the store… I want to slap them and tell them how selfish they are … I have to be so careful… What if G-ma gets sick? She’s got diabetes and arthritis and who knows what else… I can’t remember the last time she’s been to a doctor. If anything happens to her, I would just lie down and die because I can’t handle everything by myself.

Grace saw defeat in Mandy’s eyes. It reminded her of the same look she saw in her own reflection just a few weeks back. But Grace’s feelings of surrender and defeat paled in comparison to Mandy’s desperate cry for help reflecting off of Grace’s screen.

It sounds like you’re feeling really discouraged right now. I’m so sorry. Life is really hard for you these days. Let’s try to break it down a bit. What’s your biggest fear today? Grace watched Mandy as she rolled her head about her shoulders and closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and blowing it out between blubbering lips.

Everything… I’m always feeling scared… like everything is out of control and I can’t stop it. Grace waited for Mandy to come up with something more specific. She watched the emotion begin to well up in her like a volcano rumbling just below the surface. Tears gathered in Mandy’s eyes just before she spoke. Well, I know that I can’t pay my bills. If I pay the electric bill, we will have light and the stove and fridge will work, but then we’ll have no food… Isn’t that ironic? I work in a grocery store and I can’t even put enough food in the fridge. We can have food, but then we’ll have no way to store it or cook it… What kind of a choice is that?

Not much of a choice at all, Grace responded. Okay, Mandy, let’s tackle one thing at a time. Let’s see if we can keep your electricity on. It’s always better to advocate for yourself before you get behind in your bills, rather than waiting until you have become delinquent. Got your phone on you? Let’s call the power company and work out a reasonable plan. I’ll be right here while you talk to them, okay? Grace could see Mandy fishing for her electric bill and throwing her head back like this was a complete waste of time. She watched her punch in the number on her cell phone and waited. Suddenly Mandy sat up straighter and began to stumble through words.

"Yes… um, my name is Mandy Greene and I live at 144 Commons Street in Valley