When her eyes land on me, I give her my warmest smile. Her gaze glosses right over me, though, and she clears her throat, her friendly expression turning serious.
“You guys have just been through a long intake session about the rules and expectations here,” she says. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I find it best to go over my own expectations on the first day, too.”
I put on a mask of serious concern, trying to convey that if she wants me to share my feelings and weep into tissues, I’m here for it.
“Don’t bullshit me,” Graysen says firmly. “I’m twenty-nine years old, but I’ve been doing this type of work for a while. Emotions can run high in our sessions, but all I ask is that you’re honest and not openly rude to anyone, including me. If you came here thinking this place is a comfortable retreat, think again. Yes, we have amenities here. But the work that will go on in this room is anything but comfortable. We’re going to work on why you’re addicts. Pain and shame will be shared. If you’re going to bullshit your way through this program and not put in the work, please get up and walk out the door right now, because it’s not worth my time or your time. We have a long waiting list and I’ll give your spot to someone more deserving.”
All four of us are staring at her, the room silent. I wasn’t expecting this from her and the others probably weren’t, either.
“I decide if and when you graduate from your program,” she continues. “And I’ve got the lowest graduate rate of anyone at Beckett. I don’t pride myself on that. I want you to succeed. But you have to put in the effort.” She looks around our circle of chairs. “So before we get started, any questions?”
“Can we switch to another counselor if we want?” the dark-haired vixen asks.
“No.” Graysen’s answer is succinct.
Damn. I’m gonna have to work harder than I thought to charm this one. But I’ll find a way.
Graysen looks down at the clipboard in her lap. “Let’s introduce ourselves. Tell us who you are and why you’re here. We’ll start with Joe.”
“Hey, I’m Joe.” He gives a half-hearted wave. “I’m here because…” He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “…my wife gave me an ultimatum. She told me I had to get sober or she’s leaving me and taking our kids with her. So…here I am.”
Graysen’s expression thaws. She nods at Joe in understanding and looks at the older woman sitting next to him in the circle.
“I’m Melinda Morrow. I’m a wife, a mom of three, and a grandma of seven. This isn’t my first time at Beckett.” Her shoulders sink, her expression forlorn. “I completed the program nine years ago and stayed sober for seven years after that. Then I convinced myself I could handle a glass of wine before bed. Then that became two. Eventually, I was hiding bottles from my husband again.”
She turns to face a blank wall, the look in her eyes more defeated than I’ve ever seen on anyone. After several seconds of heavy silence, she continues. “A couple months ago I was driving home from dinner and drinks with friends and I…hit someone. I killed a nineteen-year-old boy. I was drunk at the time. That’s why I’m here.”
I keep my expression as neutral as I can, but inside, I’m stunned. I can feel Melinda’s crushing grief, but there are no words. What do you say to that?
“Thank you, Melinda,” Graysen says softly. “We don’t judge you.”
“You should,” Melinda’s voice chokes with emotion. “I deserve to be dead instead of him.”
Graysen’s eyes soften. “No one deserves that. Let’s take this one step at a time, okay? You’re here. You’re ready to face what happened. We’ll start there.”
Melinda just looks down at her lap, clutching a used tissue.
“Giana?” Graysen asks.
“It’s Gia,” the leather-clad woman says. She waves at us all and smirks. “Hey, I’m Gia and I’m an alcoholic; is that what I’m supposed to say?”
“Say whatever you feel,” Graysen tells her.
Gia shrugs. “I like to party. I’m a trust fund baby; my grandfather founded Trenton Pharmaceuticals. All his grandkids get their inheritance when they turn twenty-five, which is next month for me. He says I won’t get my money unless I finish this program. So here I am.”
Graysen ignores her and looks at me.
“Hey, I’m Alexei Petrov. I’m a hockey player. I’m here because I had a little too much to drink one night and I hit a barn. My new team owner wanted me to come here.”
Graysen nudges her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose, looking around the group.
“Before we get started, I need you all to answer this question. This program doesn’t work without your full participation. So tell me, do you want to be here? Raise your hand if the answer is yes.”