Scratch the Surface

I didn’t love it, could only imagine what the rent was—tried not to hyperventilate when I did imagine—and listened when he described how close it was to school.

“If you get the job you’re going to interview for, you’ll be so close to everything.”

The interview wasn’t happening until Wednesday—he’d wanted to give me longer to mend, and I needed to nail down my schedule with Betty—and was for an in-house life skills counselor position at an IT company that operated 24/7 and kept bigger companies up and running. Helping other businesses’ in-house personnel with their networks, clouds, security, all the moving parts of a digital infrastructure, was, as expected, stressful, and the employees burned out on a regular basis.

The company, Fortress Technologies, based in California, had implemented a program where team members who were stressed, for whatever reason, now had access to a counselor on-site. The program, that fell under the umbrella of human resources, first implemented in Silicon Valley, had been wildly successful in contributing to employee retention. People were coming back at the end of their lunch breaks now, instead of disappearing, since they knew they could vent their frustration to someone who would listen and make recommendations to promote their self-care. Similar results had been validated in Los Angeles, and were being rolled out to every city where Fortress had an office.

The expansion of the program meant they needed counselors who were willing to work second shift, which narrowed the candidate pool. Not as many qualified applicants wanted to work nights, but it would be ideal for me, so when Cameron had reached out to his contact at the office in Sacramento, she was—his words—nearly rabid to meet me.

“But what if they have a bigger issue than I can handle?” It was a valid concern I raised as we drove to look at the third apartment.

“From what Jennifer said, if something is so bad as to be beyond your scope, or if it’s a personal conflict between two employees or if an employee needs a leave of absence, for example, you would involve human resources. You’d also have a database of licensed therapists, psychologists, and even psychiatrists at your disposal, who are available for them to see by appointment.”

“So if I think someone needs intensive help, I can make that happen.”

“Yes, and I suspect far quicker than you’d be able to do in the public sector.”

“That’s kind of great,” I murmured.

“But really, the only thing you need your master’s for is so that you can offer psychotherapy and do clinical interventions.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that,” I assured him.

“I’m sure there is, but what I mean to say is that you’re more than qualified to be a life skills counselor with your bachelor’s. It’s not a position you need to be licensed for.”

“Understood.”

“It sounds like something you’d be good at, even though I know you think adults might think you’re too young.”

I shrugged. “Maybe if I’m dressed like a grown-up too, that might help.”

When he turned to look at me, I noted the smile. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“Try not to be a huge wiseass, all right?”

“I make no promises,” he assured me, turning onto the 1600 block of 11th Street.

“Oh, this is awesome.” I already loved the front of the building. It was covered in a mural of sea life and appeared to be an homage to Wyland and his Whaling Walls.

“Wait, this can’t be it.” Cameron sounded somewhat horrified, looking left and then right, when a woman suddenly appeared in the driver’s side window, smiling wide.

“Roll down your window; you’re being rude,” I directed him.

“No, no, no.” He was muttering under his breath, but smiled wide as the window lowered. “Hello, are you Agatha?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, beaming at him. “You must be Cameron, and this, then, is Jeremiah.” She was practically cooing as she brushed curly red hair away from her freckled face. From her deep dimples and belted bohemian blouse, down to her long, flowing rainbow-hued skirt and wooden clogs, she had me ready to move in today. “I promise not to nickname you Bullfrog,” she chirped, and then chuckled at her own joke.

“I wouldn’t mind,” I promised her back.

“Oh-so charming” was the reply before she turned to Cameron and ordered him to open the back door so she could slide right in and direct us.

He almost whined as she used the clicker in her hand to open the gate. Once she was in the seat behind him, the patchouli and jasmine wafting off her filled the car.

I snorted, I couldn’t help it, and watched as he pressed his lips together tight.

“You’re going to go straight, over those cobblestones”—she pointed—“and all the way to the back on the left. It’s a corner unit, so you have a lovely back patio that’s a bit overgrown at the moment, I’ll admit, but there’s a very primordial feel to it, if you know what I mean.”