“The thing that helps me so much at night is those chimes you gave me,” she said with a sniff, swiping at her eyes. I put my arm around her.
“Wind chimes are great for that. I have some at my house too. It’s just a sweet reminder of someone you miss, and at night when you’re awake is when you notice the sound.”
“That’s exactly what it does. And to have that music in the wind in memory of her.”
“Of Jade. It’s good to say her name, Claire. She was with you for a short time, but she mattered and always will,” I said.
“Thank you. Jade. My Jade Kathleen. You know what? Last week, I was reading a book that mentioned a child, and I realized I hadn’t been counting days and weeks. I couldn’t say immediately how old she’d be if she’d lived. I figured it out, but I think the not counting was a good sign.”
“It’s an incredibly good sign of progress. It doesn’t mean you love her less or miss her less. Just that you’re realizing you have permission to go on living. You don’t have to keep watch over the days,” I told her.
She hugged me, “I’ll see you Friday.”
She stepped out of my office into the hall. I took a long breath, so glad I’d been able to help her after her miscarriage. Sighing, I sat down to my computer and polished up my informational flyer. I printed one out and took it to Caroline, the receptionist.
“Hey, Layla. What’s up?” she said.
“I just finished off my flyer for the PTSD group. Will you copy it and post a few on the notice boards?”
“Be glad to. This is your passion project, right?” she said.
“Yeah, I’ve worked with survivors before. It’s hard, there’s a lot to untangle, but it’s really rewarding.”
“I’ve never be able to listen to their stories. I can’t even make it through Netflix documentaries, much less look somebody in the eyes who’s been through that.”
“That’s the most critical part to me, though. It’s not easy, but it’s saying, ‘I’ll be a witness for you to what happened to you, I’ll help carry that.’”
“Wow. That is powerful, but I couldn’t do it. I’d cry and they’d probably end up comforting me,” Caroline said.
“You’re a lot tougher than you think. You work on the front line here at the health department, and it’s not an easy crowd. Not the clients and not the workers either.”
“You’re right about that. Although sometimes they bring me donuts,” she said with a wink, “thanks for the jelly-filled this morning.”
“Anytime. You’re the best. I owe you a ton of donuts.”
“Not too many now,” she said, “I’ve got to get down to profile pic weight. I’m starting Tinder this weekend.”
“You’re fabulous the way you are,” I said, “what you need is a night out with friends and a good vibrator. I recommend Le Wand. It’s the OG.”
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that to me. Do I seem undersexed?”
“I hadn’t thought about it. But owning and using a good vibrator was a big step for me in taking control of my life instead of chasing after guys and hoping they found me attractive. It freed up a lot of time,” I said.
“I may have to check that out.”
“It’s up to you. I just like to fix other people’s problems,” I shrugged.
“Keeps your mind off your own?” she said.
“Maybe,” I said lightly.
I made a few copies of the flyer to post around town where I thought they’d get the most exposure. The gyms, the grocery stores, the bar. I even made a detour out to the vineyard. There was a lot of traffic out there from tours and wine tastings and the restaurant, but they also employed a ton of people. I was mainly interested in reaching their staff, because trauma came in all shapes and sizes, and a lot of people didn’t know the signs of what they struggled with, myself included.
I stopped in at the office to see Maggie, but she was down at the daycare center. Not that I don’t like kids, but a building full of preschoolers seemed like a loud and chaotic way to catch up with my friend. I’d just call her later. I left a flyer on her desk and took a walk down toward the expansion they were building. A few private cottages and more guest rooms for the inn were being built and new landscaping was being added thanks to Sarah Jo. There were loads of construction people on site as well as their regular staff to operate the vineyard, inn, restaurant, spa, and daycare. They had brought a lot of jobs to the area, and I felt like in that large population of employees, there were bound to be trauma survivors who needed counseling.
I headed to the construction office, a temporary storage building outfitted with a swamp cooler and a welcome mat outside. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I tried the knob but it was locked.