Left In Good Spirits

by Anne Pleydon

  “What about him?”

  "They think he's involved in that home invasion with the old lady."

  "Yeah, I heard that."

  "Another tick in the failure column."

  He laughs. "You don't honestly let that stuff bother you."

  "Everyone will be just writing him off, like he made the choice, he had the tools. It drives me crazy."

  "It was his choice. We did give him the tools."

  "Ugh."

  "Oh, because he worked with the great Dr. Halpin he was going to be saved or something?"

  "No, it's not like that. I had a soft spot for him, okay? Kind of like I had for Noah Farewell."

  “Farewell? No. He's a thug."

  "Well, who have you had a soft spot for?"

  "No one. I do my hours. Get the fuck out."

  "Right."

  "You can't be putting your heart and soul into these kids. It's just a job."

  "I know. But Christ, you can have hope without looking like a chump. Let me be disappointed for a second, geez."

  There is silence between them and then Baird says, "Are you gonna take your ball and go home now?"

  "Gee, thanks. Why do I even talk to you?"

  "Take it easy. We are not responsible for their choices."

  "I hate when people say that. I'm not saying I'm responsible. But I mean, you like to think you were at least a small part of their success, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "So, if we reflect on our part in their successes, then why don't we own a bit of their failures? Isn't this a time to process whether I could have done something differently? I'm not threatened by that. It's okay to ask that question."

  "You give them the tools. Your job's over. It's up to them if they decide to use them."

  She doesn’t say anything.

  Baird continues, “Repeat after me: I will neither accept credit for their successes, nor responsibility for their failures. I can take pride in their accomplishments, and express disappointment in their poor decisions."

  “Did you come up with that all on your own?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “I’m kidding. It’s good. I’ll live by it from now on, I swear. I’ll embroider it on a pillow.”

  "Most of these kids are fucked and there's nothing you could do differently. You'll get burnout if you get surprised when they re-offend. I could have told you that Garrett was going kill someone. That kid was missing half his brain with all the meth he was doing. He was a coward. Always will be. Would you be surprised if Cody set himself on fire?"

  She laughs in spite of herself. "Um, yeah, because he'll be rehabilitated after he works with me."

  "Christ! You need help."

  She stops laughing and sighs. "Whatever. Unlike you, I have feelings."

  "Well, you can stay there and cry about it. It’s almost time for my break."

  "Alright. Don't tell anyone about me."

  "Why would I do that?"

  "Because I'm so fascinating."

  "I already forgot what this conversation was about."

  "Nice."

  "I didn't know you were so sensitive."

  "Arrrgh, good-bye!" But Kenny’s smile fades within seconds after the call. There is a tightness in her chest. She stands up and with a shaking hand she grabs the plant off her desk. She whips it into her trash can. She hopes the pot will split into million pieces. The sound is so loud that Mara calls out down the hall, “What was that?” Kenny doesn’t answer and drops back into her chair. She bites a nail. Then, she reaches for Farewell’s file.

  Chapter 15

  BAIRD PULLS OUT OF the Merivale facility parking lot. His eyes settle on Kenny’s car then back to the front gate. The gate is always open. He’s never seen it closed. He drives in silence off the main highway and on to the back roads. He doesn’t feel like listening to music now.

  Baird pulls up to a ranch style home. Smoke rises from the chimney. He stares at the plumes and exhales slowly. He lets go of the steering wheel, opens the truck door, and lands heavily on the ground. The cool crisp fall air and smell of burning wood hit his nostrils. He zips up his dark blue denim jacket; the material somewhat darker than his more often washed uniform. He notices a candy bar wrapper on the lawn and scoops it and crumples it into his front coat pocket. He walks around the side of the house and surveys the leaves piled high beside two giant maple trees. He picks up the rake and pauses. His large hands coil around the handle. He considers breaking it in half, but props it up against the tree.

  Baird turns at the sound of the back door opening. A small dark haired woman with grey eyes and furrowed brow steps outside. She grabs a couple pieces of wood from a full cord piled neatly under a tarp next to the back door. She studies his face. “What are you doing here?”

  “Break. I see you already got wood.”

  “Yes. I told you I would.”

  “Looks like my Saturday’s free now.”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Where’s Liam?”

  “He’s in daycare.”

  “Then, why are you home?”

  “Appointment.”

  Baird stuffs his hands into his pockets. His eyes trace the smoke disappearing into the blue sky. He knows how much effort it takes to build the fire and how cautious she is around making sure it’s out before she leaves the house. She has to have been home for awhile and planning to stay. He looks through the back kitchen window then back at her face. He surveys two sets of tire tracks leading to the double car garage. His right hand wraps around the discarded wrapper in his pocket.

  She says, “You have mail, if you want it.”

  “No, I’ll get it on Sunday with Liam. You need to bag these leaves before the snow.”

  “I know. Liam was having fun jumping in them.”

  Baird never stops looking into her eyes. She raises the pieces of wood and says, “I’m going in. It’s getting cold.” He doesn’t answer and walks slowly back to his truck.

  Baird drives the long way back to the facility and doesn’t remember how he gets there. His spot is gone already and he parks farther back from the front door. He’s glad the boys at Front Control just wave him through without a word because he has no patience for conversation right now.

  Baird fobs his way to the Administration Unit and grimaces at Lana Clearwater’s closed door. He leans against the admin’s desk. Donna smiles. “Hello Mr. Baird, back again so soon?” He smells her perfume and thinks she looks good for a woman of nearing sixty. It’s the polished long nails he hates.

  “We’re doing this again. Someone forgot we were meeting.”

  “Oh, do you need the boardroom or is it in Lana’s office.”

  “No clue.” He traces a pattern on his left palm with his right index finger.

  At that moment, Lana opens the door. “We’re in here, Mr. Baird.”

  Baird feels the office is small as Lana closes the door behind him. He sits next to Dr. Mull. Dr. Mull leans back in his chair, his legs crossed. Baird studies Lana’s body as she takes her seat behind her desk. Physical fitness is important to him and does not like people who do not take care of their bodies. He sits erect in his chair and turns his dark eyes on to Dr. Mull. “Part two.”

  Dr. Mull nods. “Ah yes, my apologies I had the wrong time for this meeting. But we’re glad you can make yourself available.”

  Baird settles back into his chair. “What can I do for you?”

  Lana scoots close to her desk and clasps her hands in front of her. “As you recall, we met briefly in the Spring to discuss how the new structure was being received by staff. I certainly believe that since we’ve implemented case management roles we’ve seen tremendous improvements in how we do our work here.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t agree, Mr. Baird.”

  “I’m just here to listen.”

  “Well, I hope more than just listen
, because your insight would be extremely valuable. I know you used to be the Acting Unit Supervisor for 2 and before that you were Acting OIC for quite awhile. We split that duty when McDonough was off sick.”

  “Oh.” Dr. Mull clears his throat. “I didn’t realize that.”

  “Yes, well,” Lana continues. “It was a shame to lose you in that re-structure.”

  Baird lifts an eyebrow.

  Lana says, “Those were difficult times for everyone. The facility went through a lot. I’m sorry that our last experiences together a couple years ago were around us addressing some unfortunate behaviour of yours. But I’m confident that Dr. Mull and I can put that behind us so I hope you can, too.”

  Baird does not look at Dr. Mull. He wants to punch the psychiatrist in the throat.

  Lana continues, “I’m sure you know you were identified as one of our preferred candidates for the remaining Unit Supervisor positions and the new case management positions.”

  Baird again swirls the tip of his right index finger into his left hand. His neck reddens. “What position I have or had at this facility is between Ron and I.”

  “Well.” Lana dips her head. “That’s not necessarily true. I work very closely with Ron and Stevens and all of upper management in designing the re-structure. We think your talents are wasted in a frontline role.”

  “You make it sound like being frontline is a lowly job. The frontline staff run the facility. If anything, they’re at the top and everyone else is below.”

  “That is a commendable attitude, Mr. Baird,” Lana says. “However, management is required to make sure staff are all working in line with the mandates of the facility.”

  “Mr. Baird,” Dr. Mull says. “We’re here to discuss the future. Not the past. There are big changes on the horizon and we’re hoping you will be a part of it.”

  “Such as?”

  Lana continues. “The Ministry, for one.” Baird expels a loud sigh. “It is happening, Mr. Baird. And one part of this exciting new change will be the development of a specialized clinical unit. It will be the model unit. If it runs well, it could influence how the rest of the units ultimately run.”

  Baird looks between Lana and Dr. Mull.

  Dr. Mull says, “Mr. Baird, it’s very difficult to read you. Are you understanding this?”

  Baird laughs loudly. “Jesus.”

  “To be plain, we want to know if you’re in the position to return to more responsibility,” Lana says. She sits back as Baird’s face has fallen flat again. His unyielding stare is directed at her face. She continues, “I’m ready to see you in a position of responsibility, again.”

  Dr. Mull adds, “Maybe there was some personal business a couple years ago that precluded your ability to be fully focused ...”

  “I’ll stop you right there,” Baird says, turning to look at the psychiatrist. Dr. Mull turns away and looks at Lana.

  “Of course,” Lana says, touching her desk to re-direct Baird’s attention back to her. “And now you’re ready to get back to a position that is more challenging for you. We want you. We want you to run this unit and oversee the development of the other ones when it is time. That is to say, if you are ready. It’s important that it’s someone who can be a team player. We have a vision for Merivale, Mr. Baird, and we want you to be a part of it.”

  Baird cannot help to feel somewhat less defensive with her offer. “I would want to speak to Ron about this.”

  “Of course. Ron knows we’re speaking. But as you know, Ron is on his way out,” Lana says.

  “He’s still the Superintendent as far as I know,” Baird returns. He is reminded again of his distaste for mental health staff and managers who think they can run roughshod over frontline justice staff and their reporting structure.

  Lana looks at Dr. Mull. “Was there anything else?”

  Dr. Mull turns his body toward Baird. “Did you have any questions?”

  “No,” Baird says. “We’ll just have to see how this plays out.”

  “I’m not entirely convinced you understand what we’re asking of you,” Dr. Mull says, clasping his hands together. “I’m not sure we’ve been clear about the changes.”

  Baird’s mouth spreads into a tight smile. “I may be slow, but I’m not that slow.”

  “Fantastic,” Dr. Mull says. “This is good news. I am going fully on Lana’s recommendation here as we do not know each other very well. Aside from those meetings back then. And I really did not feel it was my place to be there anyway. It was probably just as uncomfortable for me as it was for you.”

  “I doubt that,” Baird says.

  “My point is that we don’t know each other.”

  “We’ve only worked at the same place for 5 years,” Baird says.

  “Yes, well,” Dr. Mull answers sinking back in his chair. “Lana?”

  Lana shakes her head. “I can’t think of anything else. We’re going to continue on here about policy. We meet regularly on Monday and Wednesday mornings with Ron and Stevens to do so. I’m thinking it might be good idea for you to join us at those meeting.”

  Baird’s shoulders relax for the first time in meeting. “Okay.”

  “I disagree,” Dr. Mull says, tapping the arm of Baird’s chair. “Don’t take this personally, Mr. Baird, but we’ll be speaking about some rather dry and specific legislation and policy. There will be a time and place for your contribution but I’m not sure this is the juncture.”

  Baird rises and his voice is louder than it means for it to be. “I’m just a lowly government employee.”

  Dr. Mull’s eyes narrow and he looks at Lana. Lana rises and she walks out from behind her desk to shake Baird’s hand. “You’re right. Thank you for coming in today, Mr. Baird. And please, watch for the position notices.” She closes the door behind him after he leaves.

  Baird looks instinctively to the Super’s office and sees Ron, with white hair and mustache, thin and stooped, standing there grinning. “Strength, Mr. Baird,” he calls. Baird raises a hand and in three strides he exits the Admin Unit.

  Chapter 16

  LAURA REFRESHES HER university email. The unit is silent except for Mara’s typing down the hall. She hears Kenny enter the unit and greet Mara. She waits for her supervisor to approach her now. Lately, it seems like Kenny stiffens up whenever Laura goes to her door. Like, she has to restrain herself from snapping at the student. Within seconds, Kenny enters the student office. The psychologist says, “So, I know you’ve only been here a couple weeks, but I have another book I want you to read. It’s awesome.” She throws down Yalom’s Gift of Therapy. “Don’t touch your clients. But the transparency, and sharing of the here-and-now experience is interesting. You won’t read this in grad school.”

  Laura touches the book and brings it closer. “Okay.”

  Kenny sits on the edge of Laura’s desk again. “Do you have any questions?” Laura sees fatigue in her supervisor’s eyes. Has Dr. Halpin been crying? Laura thinks her supervisor is gripping her coffee mug a little too tightly.

  “I was just wondering about denial,” Laura says.

  “Yes?”

  “What if they lie?”

  “They will lie. I had a colleague who had to mainly just take on assessment because he couldn’t bear the thought of his therapy clients lying to him. He could handle assessment because he thought they were all liars, but when you have to build a relationship with a kid, you have to get ready for all that transference and counter-transference crap. And he wasn’t.”

  “What if they lie about their offence?”

  “Oh.” Kenny sighs. “It’s actually irrelevant to risk. Some old school types are stuck on that, especially in assessment.” She stands and walks to the window to look at the inside ring courtyard formed by the Admin, Health, and Mental Health Units. Laura thinks that Kenny’s words are not coming as easily to her as they have during previous supervision times. “How do you get them to confess, ecetera. We all want confes
sions. Why did you do it? Why? But denial is not related to treatment amenability or risk management, or even risk assessment. It doesn’t matter how comprehensive their explanation of their behaviours or how scant, the explanation of why you do what you do is actually inconsequential.”

  “But how can that be?”

  “It’s about risk factors, which evidence-based risk factors were present in their lives the year prior to the offence. An explanation must give us some insight into what was going on in their lives at that time, but denial will not help us with assessing the likelihood that they will do it again.”

  “So, if a sex offender says he didn’t rape a kid then ...?”

  “But will he admit to thoughts and attitudes and sexual arousal to kids that increases the likelihood he will sexually offend? If he does, it’s enough.”

  Laura bites her lip.

  Kenny stands up and stretches her back. She says, “It’s true. It’s a start anyway. We work with what we can work with. We’re not really that great at predicting other people’s behaviour. We have a false sense of security about that. Also, we’re completely terrible at predicting and understanding our own behaviour. We’re not any better at it predicting what we will do than someone else predicting what we will do. So, why ask them?”

  “I guess.” Laura pauses. She cannot admit she is utterly confused and does not know what they are talking about anymore. “I’ve booked regular sessions with Helmcken for Tuesday mornings, is that going to continue to work?”

  Kenny nods. “Yes, just shoot me an email and remind me. Put it in Outlook so I can supervise.”