"I'm sorry for canceling our last session, Mr. Wallace. I had an emergency to take care of. So, tell me, how have things been for you?"

Edward Wallace was eighteen, a client of Steve's for the past month or so, as he'd experienced issues with depression and alcohol abuse. "Well, I'm alive. But I'm not so sure I count that as a victory."

Steve was certainly no stranger to Edward's sullenness, but the comment did give him pause, as it could be a sign that his suicidal ideation was resurfacing. "Could you be more specific? Did anything happen this past week?"

"It's just my dad again. No big deal."

"Did he do something that upset you?"

"More like I upset him by ever being born since my mom left because of me."

"Mr. Wallace, I think we-"

"Why don't you just call me Edward? You said I could call you Steve."

"Okay, Edward. I think we should explore your relationship with your dad some more. You've told me about how he has periods of being kind, but others of being difficult."

"Is this the part where you ask how his behavior and shit makes me feel?"

Steve was unbothered by the curse word, instead focused on shifting their discussion back to a constructive path. "No. Because you've already told me. But I want to remind you that you aren't responsible for your dad's actions. You also are not responsible for whatever feelings he has regarding your mom's absence."

"Yeah. I've told myself that so many times." Edward sat back in the chair that was situated directly across from Steve's, the brightness the counselor was always sure to let into the small office having a minimal effect on his mood. "But it's hard to actually feel it."

Though Steve could only go so far in expressing empathy within this professional setting, he did his best to show he understood. "I know. That's one reason I'm reminding you. It's a message you need to keep hearing. The feeling of guilt won't go away overnight, and I want to be a voice that tells you the truth until it has the time and space to sink in."

Edward realized all of his emotions were brimming just below the surface of the tough exterior he so often attempted to maintain, even though he'd discovered more than once that this was a safe place to be real. "My dad always apologizes, you know. And he tells me he knows it's not my fault. He just loses control of himself and says things he doesn't mean. I don't know what to think when he's nice to me because it never lasts long."

"It is confusing when someone's behavior seems so contradictory. When things are rough between you and your dad, is there anywhere you go? Somebody else you can talk to?"

"Yeah. I've got a couple of buddies that are pretty decent. I'm working now too, so maybe I'll be able to get my own place soon."

"Good. I think that'll be the best step for you, Edward. And I'm not sure what sort of relationship you'll want with your dad going forward, but that distance may be able to give you some perspective."

Edward was always surprised by how comfortable he felt with Steve, even more taken aback by his own willingness to dive further into the topic at hand. "I'd like for him to still be in my life. But I don't know why half the time. I mean, he's been a jerk to me a lot, so I shouldn't want any kind of relationship with him at all, should I?"

"Most situations aren't that black and white, and I can't tell you what you should or shouldn't want. He's your dad, so of course you have an attachment to him. Yes, the relationship is troubled, but that doesn't make the love just go away."

"You think I love him, huh?"

Steve wished he could physically reach out to the young man in front of him as he saw the way his client looked down, as if ashamed. "I know you do. It's natural. Even if he's bad at being loving toward you."

"I'm nice to him. I try to be loving anyway, but it hurts a lot when that's not enough for him. It makes me want to drink again, and that's when I think about killing myself because I feel so damn helpless."

Feeling even more of a need to help Edward, Steve automatically began to cover his bases as far as asking the appropriate clinical questions. "We'll come back to that, but I have to ask, do you have a plan or a method for suicide?"

"No. Just these urges, like I told you about during our first session. I don't think I'd ever have the guts to actually go through with doing anything to myself. I'm too much of a coward."

"It takes a lot more courage to cope with those urges constructively than to give in to them. What kinds of things have you been doing to help?"

"Going out for fresh air, playing video games, lifting weights. The stuff we talked about before, basically."

"Okay. I'm always glad when you can tell me some healthy distractions and ways to burn energy that are working for you."

"Yeah. I guess it's sort of your job to make sure I don't off myself. Plus, you won't get any more money for seeing me if I'm dead."

Instead of launching into a lecture about the value of life and compassion, Steve went right where his young client had led him. "You're setting my standard much too low, Edward. I want to do a lot more than stop you from harming yourself. Keeping you alive is a bare minimum. My highest goal is to help you overcome your problems so that living does feel like a victory."

"Technically, you'll be my matron of honor since you're already married, but the title doesn't really matter."

Olivia had met Mallory at the salon just as she was finishing with work, and the friends were now walking to the movie theater for their usual Monday matinee. "No, but of course you had to point that out. Are you planning to wear a traditional dress? And what about colors and flowers?"

Mallory had yet to dive into any specific decisions about a wedding she sometimes feared would never happen, though Olivia being the matron of honor was definitely a given. "I don't know. Since Sodapop still hasn't actually asked me, I don't really see the point of getting into wedding planning until we're officially engaged."

"This from the woman who was on top of every little detail about my wedding from the moment she knew there would be one? I can't believe my ears."

"I don't know, Liv. I know Soda loves me and he was planning to propose soon, but I'm sure it's been on the back burner for him since Nicholas' heart attack. He's like a dad to him, so I understand. I'm just saying that I doubt our engagement is a top priority at this point. I'd be surprised if he even gets the ring this month."

Disclosing neither what she knew nor her role in it, Olivia linked her arm through Mallory's the way the two women had done in the halls of their old high school. "Well, you never know, so there's nothing wrong with getting a head start."

"Daddy, can I talk to you and Mommy?"

Samuel had just come home from work as Emily was watching TV, a song from Schoolhouse Rock playing in the living room. "Um, sure, did you do your homework yet?"

Emily gestured to the completed worksheets she'd left on the kitchen table. "Yep. All finished. Mommy's supposed to go over it with me later, but it's all stuff I'll learn in fourth grade."

Samuel spotted Vivian in the garden in their backyard as Elijah played in the sandbox. He then opened the door to speak to his wife. "Hi, honey, can you come inside? Emily says she wants to talk to both of us."

Emily turned off the TV, picking up her slinky as she sat back down on the couch. She watched the spring bounce back and forth in her hands as her parents talked with one another. She was still staring at it when she realized there was now an adult on either side of her, both sets of eyes steadily focused on the child they'd chosen. "I, um, Uncle Soda thought I should talk to you about something I told him yesterday. It's about Carrie and her brother."

Samuel watched Emily's hands as they fidgeted with the slinky, sensing a nervousness in his daughter that wasn't typical. "Okay. You mean Chris, right? Is anything going on with them?"

Emily could see Elijah, who remained in the sandbox, the slinky now still as she wished for him to always be safe from the bad people she now knew existed in the world. "Kind of. But it's not really going on right now. A long time ago, someone touch Chris in a private place. He told Carrie about it, so she told me too. She said Chris asks her questions and says that if it ever happens to her, she should tell a grown up. Uncle Soda said he's right and that it's okay for me to talk about this stuff, even though it feels wrong. Is that true?"

Vivian shared a look with Samuel as she brushed her fingers through Emily's hair. "Yes, it's very true. You can talk to us about anything, and Chris is right too. If Carrie ever experiences what he did, she'll need a grown up's help. If it feels wrong for you to talk about this, that doesn't mean you shouldn't share. It's just because it's unfamiliar to you and because discussing abuse is uncomfortable."

Emily looked down at her slinky, fingers combing the springs as she mulled over the new word. "Abuse? Is that what it's called when someone touches you in a way they're not supposed to?"

Samuel was reminded of conversations he'd been part of years ago, this situation feeling just as urgent, even though Emily wasn't a victim. "Yes. That is abuse. Sexual abuse. But it's not the only type. Other things that are hurtful can be too, especially when they're done on purpose. You said Chris asked Carrie questions. What kind of questions did you mean?"

Emily's expression changed as she looked at Samuel, seeing the curiosity in her dad's eyes that she mistook for suspicion. "Just, um, nothing bad. He asked her if anyone's ever touched her in a way she didn't want. But no one has. That's never happened to Carrie, and it's never happened to me either. I promise. I'd tell you if it did."

Samuel touched Emily's face with both hands, his thumbs stroking the skin near her brown eyes. "Everything is okay, Emily. You haven't done anything wrong. Neither has Carrie. The same for Chris. As much as I wish you didn't need to think about things like this, I'm glad to hear you'd tell me and your mom if anyone ever hurt you. The older you get, the more valuable it'll be for you to share with us. But there's also something I want you to keep in mind the next time you see Chris."

Emily could feel Vivian's hand on her back at the same time Samuel kissed her forehead. "What's that, Daddy?"

"It's perfectly okay for you to talk to us about anything you need or want to, regardless of the source, and I doubt Chris expects Carrie to keep their talks completely to herself." Samuel thought of Steve and how carefully he'd always guarded his privacy, only those closest to him aware of the darkest truths behind the abuse he'd experienced and even fewer able to raise the subject with him. "But, when you see Chris, I don't think you should mention what you know or ask questions. This must be very personal for him, and it's his story to tell or not. He didn't get to decide what happened to him, but he does get to choose how to heal."

"Hey, Stevie, you sure you ain't still livin' here? I see you so much, it's like you didn't move out."

Steve joined Soda in the apartment, taking his usual spot on the couch as his friend also handed him a glass of tea. "Hey, what can I say? I have a persistent presence. Also, I'm in desperate need of the best sweet tea in Tulsa."

Soda poured a glass for himself too before he took the spot beside Steve. "Glad to know I've got that title. So, how was your first day back at work?"

"Business as usual mostly. But one of my sessions... Damn, it hit me in some tough places. I wanted so much to do more for my client than I actually could. It was definitely a time I could identify a little bit too well."

Soda nudged Steve's knee with his own. "That's the story of your life, ain't it? I know you can't go into detail, but what sort of things got to you? What connections did you make to yourself?"

"The kind that still make me want a cigarette. I actually came here to check on you too, you know, not just have an impromptu counseling session for myself."

"Yeah, I guess I did spend the weekend addin' worries to your shoulders when you're already carryin' enough. I'm doin' fine now though, and I'm sorry about that."

"Don't apologize, buddy. It's just give and take. You scared me yesterday, but it's not like you had any control over it. I related to my client 'cause of their relationship with a parent and their feelings surrounding that. Plus, they've had a lot of suicidal ideation that sounds quite a bit like mine has been in the past. They talked about it in sort of the same way I have too, but that's probably pretty common. So are the roots and the triggers. But I have to keep those professional boundaries in place. I can never cross them. Not even when I feel like I could." Steve looked down at his glass, the ice cubes in it reminding him of the coldness that had once coursed through his body and encouraged him to end his own life. "I can't compromise my ethics here or sacrifice what I've worked for to give somebody one second of true humanity and empathy."

Soda had always imagined what it would be like to sit in on one of Steve's counseling sessions, certain that his friend provided the deepest levels of humanity and empathy despite the professional boundaries. "You're talking like you considered it. Did you?"

"No. Of course not." Though Steve had heard no judgment in Soda's voice, he was still hesitant, as he realized that what he had indeed been mulling over could never be an option. "That's ridiculous. Like I was saying, I can't cross those lines."

"Well, I know, but you still sounded-"

"I said no, okay? I didn't consider doing anything except my job. I wasn't tempted to tell my client about how my relationship with my dad used to be or about how I felt so much like killing myself that I tried. I didn't consider telling them about how I've been ashamed over my own emotions and have barely found my way out of it sometimes."

Soda saw Steve put his glass down on the nearby end table, his friend then holding his head in both hands as he touched his shoulder. "Okay. Whatever you did or didn't think about is fine. I ain't sayin' there's anything wrong with it. But I haven't seen you like this over your work since your first year as a counselor before you learned more about- What was it called? Somethin' to do with compartments?"

"Compartmentalizing. Separating my personal life and thoughts from the therapeutic relationship."

"Yeah. That. But I'm glad you're talkin' about it 'cause you need the outlet and that support. Especially this week."

Steve rubbed his temples, his fingers massaging them as he pushed his way past the initial reluctance. "You were right, Soda. I just don't like admitting it."

"I was right about what?"

"I did consider telling my client some things about myself. I thought about crossing those lines or at least making them a hell of a lot blurrier. 'Cause, sure, that'd be unethical in the professional world. But is it wrong morally? I think that depends."

"I think so too, but I guess there are set rules because it can be hard to tell if openin' up like that could make things better or worse for the person you need to counsel."

"Right. And it's important for the focus to be on that person. If a counselor shares too, we risk making the therapy about both of us." Steve thought back to his session with Edward Wallace, the young man who had been so unsure about sharing in the beginning but had allowed himself to discuss his struggles and fears regarding the fraught relationship with his father and the guilt over his mother's departure. As much as he had become acclimated to guiding others in exploring and processing their emotions, listening to someone talk about suicidal feelings always struck a chord in him, especially when shame entered the picture. "But I still really wanted to give my client today a big hug and tell them my story. Hearing about certain things still has an effect on me. Even more so when I see a person who doesn't have much of a support system. That's something I've always had in my life. It's taken on different forms, but it's been there the whole time."

Soda knew precisely what Steve meant, as he'd witnessed the way his friend's support system had shifted and changed through the toughest seasons, with his own role being the most consistent. "Yeah, you're right as rain. You've never been on your own."

"And now I know that, as concerned as Laura and Dr. Reynolds would get, they had reason to believe I'd always have whatever I needed, one way or another. Not a day went by that somebody didn't have my back."

"You can be that for this client too, Stevie. You can have their back without steppin' one toe out of line. In fact, I'm sure you are bein' the best support 'cause you couldn't talk the way you just were without also lettin' them see you care."

Steve felt some clarity come to him as Soda's steady reassurance brought him out of the stress he'd fallen into, an occupational hazard associated with working so closely to those in emotional pain that tended to mirror his own experience. "Yeah. Now you're right as rain, buddy. And I just have to remember that, while this job can sure make me feel drained, I also couldn't be more fulfilled."

It can't be, Samuel thought as he went over the restaurant's shift schedule for the remainder of the week, one particular employee's full name staring back at him: Christopher McBride. No, he reasoned. There are lots of Christophers in the world. Probably even others who have been sexually abused. It can't be the same child.

But why not? Samuel questioned, remembering how his own sister-in-law had been the one to cross paths with Clara, the connection discovered years later in what could only be described as divine timing. If that could happen, anything could. What if this Chris is Clara's child, who was also presumably her other known victim?

No, that's ridiculous, Samuel told himself. Besides, what can I do? Go to work and ask him if his mother abused him? Even if he is Clara's Christopher, what on earth would I do with such an unlikely coincidence?

"Of course I came today, Dad. Even brought Soda with me."

Nicholas welcomed the hug from Steve as he sat on the front porch swing, his energy more spent than he'd like it to be after a day of light activity. "Well, it's great to see you, Son. Time is going by so slowly right now. I can't believe it's only been three days since I got home."

Soda leaned down to hug Nicholas as well. "Hey, I'm sorry if I scared you or anything last night. I know I was kind of wrecked for a minute there."

Nicholas hugged Soda tight as he spoke right into his ear. "No apology needed, Sodapop. I was concerned about you, but I knew Steve would be able to help."

Steve watched his dad and best friend, a warmth growing within his chest as he sat down on the swing. He saw Soda pull back from Nicholas, the older man still gripping the younger as tenderly as he would with his own son. "I love how you two are so close now. It really makes me feel like my life is successful."

Soda took a seat on the rocking chair that was closest to the swing, a smile enveloping his face. "You've got the most successful life on the planet, Stevie. Nobody's done better than you have. Though I ain't sure what me and your dad bein' close has to do with it."

Nicholas spoke next, his arm wrapping around Steve at the same time. "He's right, Son. You did all the hard work to get where you are. That success is all yours."

Steve realized that he wasn't sure exactly where the words had come from either, as they had simply rolled off his tongue during a moment that felt particularly natural. "Yeah, but I guess it just makes me feel happy, you know? You're obviously the most important men in my life, and to see you close to each other too when you're not just coming together for my sake, that's no small thing. It's like a finishing touch that makes my life even better. Maybe it's even kind of like how Soda felt about me and Pony actually becoming friends."

Soda chuckled, though he knew Steve wasn't too far off the mark, given how he had once resented Nicholas. "Sure, but I don't think your dad ever saw me as an annoying tag-along kid."

Nicholas let out a loud laugh at that thought. "No. I definitely didn't. I've always liked you."

Steve felt the warmth which had filled his chest blossom even more as he listened to the camaraderie taking place on the porch, knowing that no matter how much their families grew and changed, this would always be home.