“linda, we really need to get some more paper cups,” Tempest complained, throwing away yet another one that had sprung a leak the moment she tried to pour some milk into it. “Half of these have holes in them.”
“I’m trying, Temp,” Linda replied, putting ginger snaps and apple slices on the small paper plates. “Mr. Saunders down at the corner store said he would donate some cups last week, and I haven’t seen him since.”
The two of them were in the kitchen of the center preparing for snack time. They always fed the young women a little something before each counseling session.
Tempest hated it when Linda called her Temp but never bothered to take issue with it. They had been working together at the teen pregnancy center for more than five years, and Tempest saw no reason to fall out over a nickname. Tempest knew Linda had grown up privileged in an all-white suburb of D.C. Linda wanted to save the world, but most of the young girls down at the center gave her a hard time. They couldn’t fathom how a blond, blue-eyed Valley girl could relate to their problems in the hood. Yet and still, Linda hung in there through thick and thin. Tempest genuinely admired that.
“Mr. Saunders is always promising donations and backing down,” Tempest said, adding her two cents. “It’s such a shame that all of these merchants make a bunch of money off the community and refuse to give anything back.”
“What can I say, Temp? Today’s society is messed up like that.”
“True!”
“By the way, how was the wedding you went to a couple of weeks ago?” Linda inquired.
“It was wild. I’ll have to fill you in on the festivities after the session. Maybe we can go out and have a cup of coffee. It’s been a long time since we actually sat down and had a one-on-one.”
“Tell me about it.” Linda chuckled, pushing her long blond hair behind her ear so it would stop falling in her face while she worked diligently on preparing the snacks. “There’s never a dull moment around here. That’s for sure.”
As if to pay homage to that very statement, a loud scream sounded out down the corridor. Tempest and Linda practically bumped heads trying to get out of the kitchen at the same time. When they ran around the corner in the direction of the screams, a group of girls were gathered around the doorway of one of the center’s rest rooms.
“What’s going on here? What’s wrong?” Tempest yelled out, pushing her way through the group of girls with Linda right on her tail.
“It’s Brenda!” a young, curly-haired girl named Taneeka exclaimed. “I think she killed herself! She’s not moving!”
As soon as Tempest got a good look in the rest room, she shouted out in panic. “Linda, call nine-one-one! Hurry!”
• • •
“Are you here with Brenda Watson?” an older female doctor with an Irish accent asked Tempest some three hours later in the waiting room of Children’s Hospital.
“Yes, I am,” Tempest replied, jumping up after being startled awake by the woman’s voice. After the ambulance ride and filling out a bunch of forms, she must have dozed off on the couch. “Is Brenda going to be all right?”
“She lost a lot of blood when she slit her wrists, but she’s going to be fine.”
Tempest let out a loud sigh of relief. After walking into the bathroom and seeing what looked like a gallon of blood on the white linoleum floor, she’d thought Brenda might not make it. Her pulse had been extremely weak when Tempest felt for it while the ambulance was on the way to the center.
“We gave her a transfusion, and she’s resting comfortably,” the doctor continued. “You can see her in a little while.”
“Thanks, doctor.” Suddenly Tempest’s heart started racing again when she remembered the reason behind the suicide attempt. Her mind had been drawing a blank up until that point. Probably from emotional burnout. “What about the baby? Is the baby okay?”
The doctor diverted her eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry. The fetus didn’t survive.”
Tempest collapsed back down on the waiting room couch, stunned beyond belief.
“We did everything we could,” the doctor added. “Are you a relative?”
“No,” Tempest quickly responded. “I am, at least I was, her counselor at a teenage pregnancy crisis center.”
“What about the child’s mother and father?”
“No father,” Tempest replied, an edge of disdain in her voice. “Her mother leaves for weeks at a time to go stay with her boyfriend in New York City. I’ll have to try to track her down.”
“So when she’s released, she’ll be home by herself?” the doctor asked, obviously concerned about a repeat suicide attempt.
“She has a grandmother over in Northeast. I’ll see if she can go stay with her for a while.”
“Good idea. Meanwhile, she’s going to need more intense counseling. Attempting to take one’s own life is a very serious matter. We have a great support group here.”