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“He died in Kuwait during the Gulf War. I had just turned five.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Is that why you became a soldier?”
“Maybe… who knows, but it’s probably one of the reasons.” He walked back into the kitchen. “It’s almost nine thirty. I think you should call that counselor and get an appointment set up.”
I moaned. The thought of some hippie therapist telling me to think positive thoughts and be grateful for what I have made my hackles rise.
“You might as well get it over with,” he pressured. “Coffee?”
“I don’t like coffee.”
Gabriel knitted his brows together. “How can you live in Seattle and not like coffee?” he asked.
“I like the smell, but not the taste,” I explained.
“Here… use my phone and make the call.” He handed me his cell phone, and I found the business card Michael Young had given me in my pocket.
To my delight, I only got voice mail.
“Hey, I got your number from my lawyer… who says I need some counseling to avoid jail, so if you could call me back on this number, I would like… ehhm… appreciate that.”
Blahh…I hate to talk to voice mail, I always sound like a complete idiot.
“What do you want for breakfast?” Gabriel asked and moved around the small kitchen as if he was looking for something. “I have cornflakes and bagels.”
“Don’t worry about it. I still have the cinnamon bun from yesterday,” I said. “But would you mind if I take a quick shower?”
“No, of course not. If you want, you can wash your clothes too. There’s a washer and dryer in the bathroom.”
“It’s okay… I just need a quick shower,” I said and retreated to the bathroom.
I didn’t find a comb in Gabriel’s bathroom but luckily I don’t have any curls, so my hair was fairly easy to finger comb after the shower and when I got out of the bathroom, Gabriel was waiting for me in the living room, looking excited.
“The therapist called back,” he said. “I spoke to him.”
“And what did he say?”
“That they are willing to take you right away.”
“All right,” I said, drawn out.
“But he wants to do a screening of you first.”
I sat down on a high chair in the kitchen. “What does that mean?”
“Well, he wants to speak to you and determine if you’re the right fit for his camp.”
“His wha – what? Did you say camp?”
“Yes, they have a place down in the Quinault Rain Forest about three hours from here and offer some intensive therapy programs.”
I closed my eyes. An hour in an office I could survive, but a fucking camp in a forest with twenty-four/seven structure… it sounded horrible.
“Hang on, I’ll call him up on Facetime and then you can talk to him; he seemed really nice.”
Gabriel was already pushing buttons on his phone, and I heard a ringing sound.
“This is Bruce,” a male voice answered.
