Peggy, now in her late fifties, had only been pushing forty back then, about the same age Riley was now, but she hadn’t changed all that much. Her face was older, she wore reading glasses, and her naturally red hair was getting help from Clairol these days—a shade of auburn that popped the kaleidoscopic colors in those green eyes—but she still wore it in the same wavy, chin-length bob that gave her a free-spirited, artsy sort of look. And add sexy to that.
It was during her freshman year that Riley had first passed this office. She remembered feeling almost too awkward to stop in the doorway and say hello, but getting up the nerve to do so was the best thing she’d ever done. The connection she’d made with Peggy that day, some twenty years ago, would prove life-changing. Life-saving.
Professor Spencer, as Riley had addressed Peggy in those days, had responded with a surprised smile and waved her in. “Riley! Good morning. Please, come sit for a minute.”
Having been abandoned by her birth parents—whoever or whatever they were—then rejected by her adoptive parents and damned to hell by the entire Bell family, Riley hadn’t expected a welcome reception from anyone.
Professor Spencer rolled her office chair back a few feet and gestured at the empty seat beside her desk. “I just finished grading your paper. You’ll have it back in class today.” She pulled the hem of her skirt down and crossed her legs.
The only reason Riley could still remember Peggy crossing them was because she happened to have a great pair of legs. And considering the pretty face and ingratiating manner that accompanied those legs, Riley suspected she wasn’t the only student with a crush on Professor Spencer. But more than her physical attributes, her approachability, her friendliness and genuine warmth touched Riley in a place that was growing cold. She imagined that Professor Spencer would make a wonderful mother, the nurturing and affectionate type of parent who would love and guide and accept her kid no matter what—even if that kid was gay. Even if she was a werewolf.
“You’re an absolutely amazing student,” Professor Spencer said.
“I am?”
“You are. Your ideas are beautifully expressed, and your ability to integrate class material is on an advanced level. You actually make me stop and rethink things we’ve discussed in class.” She leaned back and rested her elbows on the arms of her chair. “What made you choose social work?”
“I didn’t. I mean, I haven’t decided on a major. It’s my first semester.”
“First semester? Really? Hmm…so what prompted you to take abnormal psychology? It’s not a usual course for freshmen.”
The question caught Riley off guard. Well, she wanted to blurt out, I registered for abnormal psychology because I myself am seriously abnormal. I’m a shape-shifter, a lycanthrope of sorts, and I thought your course might help me understand and control what goes wrong in my mind, my brain, to trigger the change. But instead, Riley just shrugged. “No reason. It just seemed like an interesting course.”
“I see.” Professor Spencer’s left eyebrow arched way up, as though she was suspicious of Riley’s answer. “Well, hopefully you’ll consider majoring. You’d be a tremendous asset to the profession.”
Riley pointed to the plaque on her desk. “What’s the DSW stand for?”
“Doctor of Social Work. I earned my doctorate because I wanted to work in academia, but most practice at the master’s level.”
Riley noticed the line of laminated diplomas, framed licenses on her wall. One had the word hypnosis in it. “So you teach. You don’t do any, um…you know…casework?”
Professor Spencer’s eyes looked like they might pop out of her head for a second, but then she rolled them and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, but it makes me nuts when people confuse social work with casework, so you need to know the difference right now.” She reached for a Styrofoam cup on her desk and sipped from it. “Can I offer you coffee, Riley?” She gestured at the coffeemaker by the window. “Go help yourself.”
The pot was almost full, and Riley really would have loved a cup before class, but she was too shy to make herself at home. “No. I’m good, but thanks.”
Professor Spencer nodded. “All that’s required of caseworkers is some college and on-the-job training—with Children Services, say. But becoming a clinical social worker is a fairly rigorous process. It’s one of the licensed professions. You’d need a graduate degree from an accredited program such as the one here at Smith, and then you’d have to pass a state exam. That would make you an LMSW, a Licensed Master of Social Work. To become a licensed clinical social worker, an LCSW, you’d need another three years of supervised post-graduate training in diagnosis, psychotherapy, and assessment-based treatment. After that comes another state exam, and then—well, you don’t need to know all this now, but if you do decide to major, I’d be happy to talk with you more.”
“So then social workers are more like psychiatrists and psychologists?”
“Not psychiatrists. They’re medical doctors, so obviously their specialty is treating people with medication. Clinical social workers are more like psychologists, except psychologists spend a lot of time with analytical testing, and historically, they concerned themselves solely with what went on inside a person, whereas social workers took a broader approach to solving emotional problems. We more or less invented family therapy in the belief that what goes on outside a person is just as important as what goes on inside. So, in addition to psychology, social workers incorporated theories from other fields, like sociology, economics, law, and ecology.”
“Ecology?” Riley was surprised. “Isn’t ecology more about nature…like food chains and how living things interact?”
“Yes. We call it systems theory. It’s always been a critical part of social work. Just as ecology studies the interdependent relationships between organisms and their environments, systems theory is an ecological approach to understanding the complexities of human environments. Think of it this way,” she’d said. “If I handed you a wild baby animal right now, a frightened orphan who’d lost its mother, and told you to take good care of it, what would you have to do to ensure its needs were met?”
Riley shrugged. “I…I’d have to know what to feed it…and something about its natural habitat. You know, what it likes, where it lives in the wild. Stuff like that.”
“Exactly. If it were a social but nocturnal and secretive species, and you kept it isolated in a brightly lit open space with nowhere to hide or feel secure, it would develop maladaptive behaviors, don’t you think? It might become fearful, withdrawn, depressed. Or it might become anxious, aggressive, and try to bite. By failing to meet its needs and provide the proper environment, you would cause that animal to suffer tremendous stress. It might survive, but it couldn’t possibly thrive.”
Riley felt as though she’d just been profiled. She perfectly fit the description of that hypothetical animal. The irony, of course, was that Professor Spencer had no idea that there really was an orphaned wild animal in her office right now: a depressed and anxious canine hiding inside the half-human student who politely sat before her.
“People are no different, Riley. They can’t be happy if their individual needs aren’t met. Social workers were the first to say, hey, maybe we don’t go crazy all by ourselves—maybe other people make us crazy!”
Riley laughed, and Professor Spencer smiled. “Genetics aside, lots of things affect our mental health, like the families who raise us, the presence or absence of support systems and opportunity…social injustices, cultural and economic institutions. All these things affect our coping skills, emotional stability, and ultimately our happiness.”
Everything she was saying held instant appeal, and Riley tried to absorb and store all this information for later consideration. She hadn’t given much thought to what she wanted to be. Her immediate goal, at eighteen, was figuring out not what to be, but how to be. Studying zoology had crossed her mind, but what good would it do? Studying canids—wolves, coyotes, fox—wouldn’t help her on a p
ersonal level. It wouldn’t teach her how to balance and control her dual nature, how to meet her human needs. But becoming a mental health professional might. It would give her the insight and expertise she needed to manipulate her own mind, integrate her two selves, navigate between human and animal environments—become adept at deception in order to manage a double life without risking exposure. It would give her not only a career, but the knowledge and emotional tools she’d need not just to survive, but to somehow thrive. If she didn’t find a way, it was only a matter of time before she called it quits. Heeding her father’s warning, she hid from people outside of school. And in the woods at night, animals hid from her. This increasing sense of isolation and alienation gnawed a hole in her heart, a painful void that expanded by the day.
The only thing that kept her holding on was thinking that Fiona would find her. It had been over a year since she’d seen her, and she hoped that one day soon Fiona would decide she still loved her, despite what Mrs. Bell had witnessed on the dock that fateful night. Fiona probably had her driver’s license by now. All she needed to do was call Riley’s parents. Surely the Dawsons would tell her Riley was attending college in Northampton, little more than an hour’s drive from the lake.
Day after day she waited, and in bed at night, when darkness weighed upon her, Riley pretended that Fiona was beside her, tucked safely beneath a cozy patchwork quilt, inside the gingerbread house Fiona had built for them.
But every morning she awoke alone and more depressed. It got so bad that sometimes, while running in fur through the empty lots and the state forest that bordered her rented cabin, she thought of running straight off a cliff. Fear always stopped her, though, and she’d stand there instead, tail tucked between her legs, staring down at the jagged rocks and contemplating the aftermath of such a fall. Would she change back into human form when she died—the way werewolves did in the movies—or would she stay in fur? She imagined hikers, like the ones who’d found her newborn in the woods, peering over the edge of a precipice one day to glimpse the broken body of a decaying coyote. A coyote who had died from shame and unbearable loneliness. A werecoyote who had failed to thrive.
Chapter Two
Peggy looked up when she heard a knock at the door and watched Riley saunter in wearing chinos and a polo shirt. She plopped in the chair opposite Peggy’s desk and grinned.
“Hey, kiddo. Got a haircut, huh?”
“Yep.” Riley smoothed her hand over the back of her head. “Too short?”
“Nah…your cute face can handle it. It looks darker though.”
“One day out on the lake, and it’ll turn blond again.”
Peggy turned away from her computer and took off her glasses. “It’s hard to believe summer classes are almost over. Would you consider teaching again?”
“Possibly. I sort of like being called professor.”
“Ha. I thought you would. Have you read the student reviews online?”
“Do I have any?”
“Several. It appears you’re a Generation X hit.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely. Check them out.” Peggy leaned back in her chair and smiled like a proud parent. Riley was the closest she’d ever come to having a child, and she was filled with satisfaction and admiration for the kid who had wandered into her abnormal-psychology class some twenty years ago.Peggy would never forget the first time she’d laid eyes on Riley. As was always the case the night before the fall semester began, Peggy had trouble falling asleep. She’d turned on the television, keeping the volume low so as not to disturb Barbara and the two chihuahuas who snored between them. Not that the little dogs needed their precious sleep. They didn’t have to wake up at six a.m. and rush off to work like she did.
Too tired to read, too wired to sleep, she’d channel-surfed and found the movie Fried Green Tomatoes. It was half over, but it didn’t matter; she’d seen it enough times that she could mindlessly follow the storyline until she dozed off. It was one of her favorites. And besides, what better women to lull one to sleep than Kathy Bates, Jessica Tandy, and especially the adorable Mary Stuart Masterson playing the part of Idgie.
That’s who popped into her head when Riley came strolling into her lecture hall the next morning. She bore an uncanny resemblance to Idgie, and Peggy couldn’t help but smile and stare. Riley’s shaggy sun-bleached hair, her tan, and her cute freckles suggested a summer spent outdoors, while her swagger hinted at a subtle androgyny that set off Peggy’s gaydar.
Riley smiled back. “Good morning, Professor,” she said as she took a front-row seat, withdrew a notebook and pen from her bag, and prepared for class. Her golden eyes twinkled with enthusiasm and a readiness to learn. Peggy liked her right away.
“Well, good morning to you! And you would be…?”
“Riley. Riley Dawson.”
Peggy eyed her roster and nodded. “Welcome, Riley.”
It wasn’t long before Riley impressed her in class. Her contributions and ability to grasp reading material were at a higher level than some of Peggy’s graduate students, and compared with the papers most students handed in—poorly written with poorly developed ideas—Riley’s were thought-provoking, always a pleasure to read.
It wasn’t until October that Riley stopped by her office one morning. They’d enjoyed a nice chat, and after that Riley made a point of poking her head in just to wave hello. She was always cheerful, always wore a smile, but Peggy sensed an underlying sadness. She couldn’t say what it was, but her clinical instincts told her something wasn’t right with Riley.
And then one day in November, Peggy spotted her off-campus at Bela’s on Main Street. It was a popular vegetarian café in Northampton. The place was small, always packed this time of day, and just as Peggy was about to ask for lunch to go, she noticed Riley eating at a table, the chair across from her empty. “Mind if I squeeze in and join you?”
Riley looked up from her sandwich. “Hi, Professor Spencer. Not at all.” She quickly closed an open book, making room for her at the tiny table.
“Peggy settled down and began to eat. “Do you live on-campus, Riley?”
“No. I rent a house. About a mile from here, right off Route 66.”
“That’s a bit of a walk, isn’t it?”
“I drive. My parents gave me a car for my high school graduation.”
“Nice! So where are you from?”
“Manhattan.”
“Ah, a city girl. I bet you’re looking forward to going home for Thanksgiving.”
Riley looked down at her food. “I’ll be staying here.”
“Oh. Your parents are driving up?”
“No,” was all she said.
Considering Riley had a new car and New York City was only three hours away, it struck Peggy as extremely odd that a young freshman, away from her parents for the first time, wouldn’t be driving home for the holiday. Riley seemed guarded, though, and Peggy didn’t pry. Still, she wondered what Riley was hiding. Maybe she was struggling with her sexuality. Or maybe it was her parents struggling with their daughter’s sexual orientation. It was a common enough scenario. Peggy had gone through it herself when she’d first come out.
Peggy had Riley in class only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She didn’t show up for class the Thursday before Thanksgiving, and that following Tuesday she was absent again. It wasn’t like her to miss class, and Peggy became concerned.
That night over dinner she brought the subject up with Barbara. “You know the student I told you about?”
“The baby dyke in your class. The one who reminds you of Idgie from Fried Green Tomatoes?”
Peggy gave a little laugh. “Yeah, her. At least I think she’s gay. She has nowhere to go for Thanksgiving…and she’s missed my last two classes. I can’t stop thinking that maybe she’s in crisis.”
“Has she said anything?”
“No. I’m just getting that vibe.”
The thing about a crisis was that people didn’t always know when they were in one.
While terrorist attacks, accidents, mass shootings, earthquakes, and wildfires could certainly lead to crisis, they were emergencies. Crises were often insidious. They had a way of quietly creeping up, developing over time—the unhappy home, a loveless marriage, significant losses, financial ruin, chronic illness. Sometimes they came from broken dreams that became nightmares from which an individual was unequipped to escape. And sometimes young people, unable to transition to adulthood, found themselves in crisis. Whatever the case, Peggy decided that beneath her pleasant and easy-going exterior, Riley was definitely in crisis.
“So invite her to Thanksgiving dinner,” Barbara said.
“I was thinking that. Would you mind?”
“The more the merrier. It won’t be the first time we’ve had stragglers here on holidays.”
This was true. On more than one occasion Barbara had invited displaced interns from her pharmacy. Barbara was half Chinese, but Peggy suspected it was her Italian half that had a need to gather and overfeed people.
The next morning Peggy looked up Riley’s contact information and tried calling several times throughout the day, but she didn’t pick up, and neither did an answering machine. Peggy began to think the worst. She copied down Riley’s address and decided to pass by on the way home.
It was dusk by the time she got there and saw a cabin at the end of a long dirt driveway. A car was parked in front, and a light should have been on inside by now, but the place was dark. She saw the curtains move, glimpsed what looked like the face of a big dog, but then it disappeared.
Peggy climbed the two wooden steps to the door and knocked, expecting to hear barking, but the house was quiet. “Riley?” she called out and knocked again.
A lamp came on then, and after another minute the door opened. There stood Riley, looking nervous and disheveled. She squinted at Peggy. “Professor Spencer?”
Coyote Blues Page 6
