Chapter 1
Hope Whitfield stared at the computer screen, the only words she had typed in two months mocking her. ‘Behavioral Abnormalities in Minors Subjected to Emotional Abuse versus Physical Abuse.’
“Dammit,” Hope hissed. How had two months passed and not a single thing been written? She had wanted to blame her part-time job at the local diner close to campus, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. She couldn’t just copy and paste her Honours paper, either, only elaborate on it. Had she been able to do that? No.
She groaned and rested her head in her hands, the threat of tears stinging her eyes. She jumped at the sudden alarm going off on her phone, big, bold letters, ‘WORK SHIFT’ lighting up the screen. Closing the laptop without shutting down, she stood up, stretched and grabbed her backpack next to her, always ready to go and squinted at the laptop.
“I will deal with you later.”
Hope slammed the door behind her and began walking to the diner, just 2 kilometres from her one-bedroom apartment. The dodgy water pressure and unreliable stove came for free.
As she entered the diner, she did a quick survey of the seating area to see what she was up against. It seemed the younger patrons always had somewhere to be and some diner that had better service. The elder customers were in no rush. They only wanted their simple breakfasts, the newspaper specially ordered just for them and crappy filter coffee. Today, she was lucky. She only saw two people, and one was a regular. She barely registered the second person as she walked towards the backroom.
“Mornin’, Hope,” she heard a gruff voice floating from the kitchen. Sal Saunders had been running the diner for uppers of thirty years. He had aged about fifty in the ten years she had known him. She had thought standing behind intense heat with oil splattering on his face and smoking two packs a day had something to do with it. Regardless, he had treated her well since she came stumbling into the diner, only eighteen years old and fresh out of the foster care system. He gave her a place to stay, her current apartment, and helped her secure a scholarship to study psychology through his brother, all in exchange for serving food from seven in the morning until five in the afternoon. She had later learned that he had lost his wife and daughter in a car crash when she was five. She was the closest thing he had to family now.
“Hey, Sal.” Hope put her bag down in the back room, grabbed her apron and went to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before starting her shift. “Any issues today?”
Issues as in difficult people. It helped prepare Hope and the other waitress, Hailey, for the worst.
“Nope, just the usual. Mr Longwood is trying the continental breakfast this morning. I think his wife must’ve kicked him out,” Sal sighed with exaggeration.
Hope scolded him while giggling and rushed out to the front, passing Hailey on the way.
“Good luck,” Hailey huffed, heavy bags under her eyes. Hope did not envy the night shift workers. She gave the middle-aged waitress a confused look and she huffed again. Any more of those and she would be the Big Bad Wolf. “There’s some guy, cute, but seemed off. Might give you shit.”
“Did he give you shit?”
“Nah, just doesn’t seem like he woke up on the right side of the bed this morning. Whatever, he’s missing out on all this,” she motioned to her body as she spoke. Hailey barked at her joke and walked out abruptly, swaying her narrow hips.
“Alright, then,” Hope muttered to herself and walked out, putting a bright smile on her face that almost hurt. She spotted the man in question sitting at the last table by the window, facing away from her. Approaching him, she had seen what seemed to be a textbook and papers strewn all over with illegible scribbles.
As she rounded to greet him she nearly fell over when she realized who he was.
“Dr Knight,” she breathed. Hope dropped her pen and it rolled under the table by his perfectly polished shoes.
“Oh, sorry, sir.” As she reached down to retrieve the pen, the doctor reached down, too, frightening her. She suddenly pulled her head up and knocked it on the table, making her head spin a little bit.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” Dr Knight stood up, helping Hope along the way who was swaying slightly on her feet. He held her steady, not letting go until she seemed to have regained her balance.
Hope reached for the rising lump on her head and winced.
“I think I’ll survive. Might have to claim injury compensation from my boss.”
Dr Knight let out a hearty chuckle. “I’ll be your witness should the need arise.” He handed the pen back to Hope and sat down.
Dr Knight couldn’t have been younger than forty. Dark mahogany hair streaked with grey covered his head in thick waves, barely touching the tips of his ears. Pictures hadn’t done him justice. He was surprisingly good-looking; despite the loafers which Hope had never thought to be attractive on anybody.
“What can I get you, sir? May I recommend our continental breakfast? It comes with a bottomless coffee, cream and sugar included,” she rambled, not certain how to contain the rising nerves she felt.
“You can tell me how you know my name.”
Hope’s eyes shot up, her heart rate rising. Was he creeped out? Maybe. If someone in a diner that’s seen better days with coffee stains all over her had said her name suddenly, Hope would also want to know how and why. She relaxed when she saw he was merely being curious.
“Oh. Well, I’m a psych major and I’ve always used your papers as references, I also just enjoy reading them, and I’m just a big… fan.” Hope squeezed her eyes shut and huffed in amusement. “God, I sound like a teenage girl meeting her favourite boyband.”
Dr Knight chuckled, too, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I see. Well, I appreciate it. I wasn’t sure anybody read those journals anymore.”
“Why not? I think they’re brilliant and insightful. I don’t think I would have been able to do my honours without them,” Hope gleamed at the doctor. A flash of pride went through him but his chronic case of self-doubt instantly beat it down.
“How are your honours going?”
“I’m done. Just started my masters, actually.” Hope rubbed the back of her leg with her other foot. “I’ve tried starting my masters.”
Dr Knight raised his head slightly. “Tried?”
Hope felt like she had been put on centre stage and the spotlight only shone on her. Her palms felt a bit sweaty and she moved her notepad from one hand to the other trying to relieve it.
“I seem to have hit a bit of a, uh, block of sorts. I have my topic. I’m just not sure how to go about doing the introduction. I think once I have that down, the rest of it will just flow out.” She paused, then, “I hope the rest will just flow out.”
The doctor gave her a thoughtful look, rubbing his chin with a big hand. He was bigger than Hope had thought he would be. It was difficult to tell how tall he was with him sitting down, but at five foot three, nearly everyone was bigger than her.
“What is your topic? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I want to go into research one day, like you. I’m hoping this paper will help with that. It’s about looking at behavioural abnormalities being the same in children who have been subjected to emotional abuse as opposed to physical abuse. It seems people are convinced, professionals included, that just because the damage can’t be seen, it isn’t there. But I don’t think that’s true.
In some cases, it could be even more dangerous, leading to worse outbursts and coping mechanisms because those kids haven’t been treated or taken seriously. I want to prove that both deserve to be treated equally and a child being emotionally abused needs to be taken out of their home and put somewhere safe. I’m hoping my research will also help discover unique therapy techniques that will be effective in helping those children to cope.” Hope scratched the back of her neck, suddenly embarrassed by the doctor’s intense stare. “Or something like that.”
She frowned, unsure where all that came from. She felt heat rising in her cheeks and peeked at Dr Knight through her lashes.
A kind smile spread across his face. “I believe you have your intro.”
Hope was still processing what had just happened when he continued.
“I’ll try that continental breakfast. Eggs medium and brown toast. I won’t say no to free coffee, cream and sugar included.” Dr Knight held up the menu for Hope to take, which she did by muscle memory. The doctor could see that her mind had wandered.
When Hope hadn’t moved, yet, or written down the order, the doctor prompted her, “Are you alright? Is your head still sore?”
Hope shook her head a little and blinked her eyes. “Yes. I mean no. I mean yes, I’m alright. My head doesn’t really hurt anymore. Thanks.” She repeated his order for him and went behind the counter to get his coffee ready in the meantime.
She watched Dr Knight discreetly. He seemed bothered. As if he was looking for life’s answers but wasn’t finding them in the chaos in front of him. Amid her thoughts, she felt a wet, burning sensation on her hand. Looking down she realized she had overfilled his mug and coffee was flowing off the counter and onto her shoes.
“Ah, crap,” she cursed. She grabbed the cloth out of her apron pocket and wiped furiously at it. Hope dumped the mug, grabbed a new one and filled it three-quarters full.
As she walked to the doctor’s table, she was overcome with a sudden realization.
“Oh my God!”
Dr Knight turned suddenly with wide eyes. “Did you forget to ask for brown toast?”
Hope placed his mug carefully to not damage any papers. “I just thought of something. This may seem crazy and sudden but I think it’s exactly what will help me get through my program.”
“What would that be?”
“You could help me. Be my mentor or supervisor. You’re still in the psychiatric department at the university, right?” Hope’s pitch was getting higher and higher, her green eyes lighting up with something the doctor hadn’t felt in years. Hope. He smiled softly to himself when he read her name badge. Fitting.
She calmed herself down, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry, that was very direct.”
Dr Knight waited a second before speaking again.
“I’m not with the university anymore, I’m afraid.”
She looked up, trying not to show the crushing feeling on her chest.
“Oh. But, you’re still in the research field, right? I mean you could help me if you wanted?”
“I could, it’s just that I don’t have a lot of time on my hands.” He shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry, Hope. I wish I could be of more help. I can recommend some other doctors to help you if you want?”
She had wondered how he knew her name but she quickly glanced at her name badge. Right.
“Uh, no, thank you. I’m sure I’ll come right. Maybe if I hit my head again, it will come to me,” she said dryly. Sal rang the bell, shouting that an order was ready.
“I think that’s your order, I should get it.” Hope walked away, disappointment clear in her posture.
The doctor felt guilty about lying to the waitress. He had plenty of time on his hands, he just didn’t want to waste hers.
He thanked Hope when she brought his breakfast and not another word was said between them.
She went to the backroom to gather her wits.
She felt stupid, incompetent, and utterly disappointed. How could she think that he, a well-respected doctor, would have time to help a waitress in a diner with her research? He may not have been with the university anymore, but he must’ve been swept up quickly by private facilities or something like that.
Hope went to the bathroom, splashed water on her face and plastered the smile back on, like how women would powder their noses in the movies.
“No more outbursts,” she willed her reflection in the mirror. With that, she headed out to apologise to the doctor but skidded to a stop when she saw that his seat was empty. She looked around the diner, but he was gone.
She went to clear up his table, with only an empty coffee cup, his half-eaten breakfast and a far too big a tip left behind. When she lifted the plate, a small piece of paper underneath floated towards her, written words catching her attention. “Please don’t hit your head for inspiration. You won’t be able to do much with two bumps. One should suffice.”
For some illogical reason, she had hoped he would have left his contact details for her, instead. Still, she couldn’t help smiling at his words.
However, she still sat with her dilemma. She needed a plan B.
The problem is, that she never had a plan A.
