The next teaser from my latest book, "Into Each Life ..."

   The overnight clouds which had dropped a dusting of snow on the ground had cleared out and given way to clear skies on Jamie's second Saturday morning at the Home. Temperatures rising toward a forecasted high of forty five, the lack of a breeze, and the warming rays of the sun were the perfect recipe for a rousing day of touch football.
   After breakfast and chores were completed, Richard instructed everyone to put on a sweater and meet on the front lawn. They combined with the two cottages next to them and had enough for a game of seven-on-seven.
   Everyone was a little chilly to start, blowing on their hands and holding them in their underarms, but after a few plays they all were warm and sweating. Jamie couldn't stop grinning. He'd never had such fun in all his life.
   When the motorcycle rumbled up the street, everyone stopped playing. Jamie's smile turned to a stoic stare at the rider who stopped in front of the lawn and parked his bike. Michael ran up to the man on the motorcycle. The rider removed his helmet. He looked to be about fifty years old. He had a full beard and salt-and-pepper hair. He wore leathers from his neck to his boots.
   “Hi, Sonny,” Michael said, grinning from ear to ear, eagerly waiting for Sonny to acknowledge him and give him the attention he craved.
   “Hey, Michael. How are you today?” Sonny said.
   “Fine.” Michael happily sprinted back to the field of play.
   Richard approached Jamie. “Jamie, come with me. I need to introduce you to our Program Manager.”
   Jamie followed him reluctantly.
   “Sonny, this is Jamie Myles. He moved in last week,” Richard said.
   “Jamie, nice to meet you, young man,” Sonny said as he held out his hand.
   Jamie looked at the ground as he shook Sonny's hand.
   “Jamie, you need to look an adult in the eye and return a greeting when you're addressed,” Sonny said sternly. “Since you're new, I'm going to let it slide this time. Just don't mistake my kindness for weakness.”
   “Yes, sir,” Jamie said. “Nice to meet you.” He looked at him briefly and then looked down again.
   “Don't let it happen again.” Sonny turned to Richard with a scowl on his face. “You need to work with him.”
   “I will, Sonny,” Richard said.
   Sonny put his helmet back on, fired up his motorcycle, and drove off.









[Sonny – Program Manager at Nachala Home for Boys]

The next teaser from my latest book, "Into Each Life ..."

   After obtaining his doctorate and counseling license, Doc had spent five years working with inner city runaways in Minneapolis. At the same time, he held a counseling position at a juvenile detention center. From there he moved on to a suburban family counseling practice with an emphasis on teenagers. When he landed at Nachala he had a well-rounded resume dealing with youth from every imaginable background.
   Most psychiatrists decorate their office according to their tastes or their expectations of what adults might expect. Doc understood that the business he was involved in was making his clients, which were young people, as comfortable as possible. His office looked like an amalgam of a teenager's home bedroom, a college dorm, and the first bachelor pad of young adult male. Posters of the latest hip bands and singers adorned the walls. A few pieces of simple furniture with pine framing and bland-colored fabric dotted the space. A coffee table and a couple of end tables made of black metal and glass rounded out the look. The finishing touches were a used college dorm desk he'd picked up at a yard sale and a mini college-boy fridge.
   In violation of the Home's strict policy, but keeping with the college theme, he kept a few beers in the fridge at all times. A padlock kept his secret safe, especially from the boys. He kept a hoodie in his desk drawer that he threw on the floor in a heap before the start of each counseling session.




[Doctor Ben Droessler - “Doc.” The on-campus psychiatrist of Nachala Home for Boys]

The next teaser from my latest book, "Into Each Life ..."

   “You need to be aware that this could manifest itself in strange behaviors.”
   “What are you saying? That we shouldn't use the system on him this weekend?” Christine said.
   “No I'm not saying that. You should still use the system. He needs to learn that he's accountable for his actions, even if he's homesick. Just use a little wisdom and be prepared to de-escalate situations.”      Doc made a note to himself on his little pad of paper.
   “What are you writing?” Christine said.
   “Um, honey, don't you think that's a little nosy. Not everything is about you,” Richard said.
   “It's okay,” Doc said. “It is about her, about how difficult she's being.”
   Christine's eyes grew wide with anxiety.
   Doc smiled mischievously. “Christine, you're so easy.”
   She slapped him on the arm and laughed in relief.
   “Seriously, I made a note to myself. I'm going to put Jamie on an antidepressant.”
   “Is that necessary?” Richard said.
   “Hey, who's the doctor here?” Doc said, smiling.

[Christine, the female houseparent in the cottage where Jamie is placed, and a surrogate mother-figure]