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“Problems?”
    â€œNothing out of the ordinary.”
    â€œGood, ’cause I need your help.”
    â€œUh-oh. Your group again?”
    â€œYeah. I have this seminar to give tonight, and if I don’t spend some time preparing, I’m going to make an ass of myself.”
    Caroline could believe that. Peter was wonderful with individual clients, even group-therapy sessions, but he tended to clutch when it came to formal deliveries. It didn’t surprise her that he’d waited until the last minute to prepare. It was a phenomenon called push-it-out-of-your-mind-until-you’re-up-against-the-wall.
    â€œI’ll take the group,” she said. She’d done it before. She never minded filling in for one of her partners, if only for the solace it gave her that they’d do the favor in return. Not that she’d ever had to ask. But someday she might. “It’s at two?”
    â€œYou’re free. I checked.”
    She made a note for herself, then eyed Peter without raising her head. “You’re really nervous?”
    â€œYou could say that.”
    Propping her elbows on the desk, she smiled. “You’ll do fine, Pete. Just sit down and plot out what you want to say. Make notes for yourself. You’ll do fine.”
    â€œI’m supposed to speak for forty-five minutes, then open the floor for questions. Knowing my luck, there won’t be any.”
    â€œMake a list of your own questions. If they’re tongue-tied, you can get them going.”
    â€œI think I should take a course in public speaking.”
    He was probably right, but it was a little late for that now. “Just blot out the crowd and pretend that you’re speaking with a small, cozy group.”
    â€œEasier said than done.”
    â€œIt’s mind over matter.”
    He shot her a crooked smile. “Where have I heard that before?”
    They both thought of the cubby of a kitchen down the hall. Weeks ago, someone had taped that very message on the small refrigerator. Caroline guessed that it had been Maren, who was forever fighting the battle of the bulge. Then again, it could have been Norman, who was trying to cut down on canned sodas. Or Peter himself, who had an ice-cream habit he was trying to break. For that matter, she mused, the others could suspect her. Beside her supply of yogurt was a bag of bite-sized Almond Joys; choosing between the two was often a trial.
    â€œY’know,” Caroline said, “it was probably Jason who put up that sign.” Jason was a part-timer, their work-study secretary, and he teased them all mercilessly about their weaknesses. More than once she’d caught him with an Almond Joy, so she’d been able to tease him back. “Think he snitches your ice cream?”
    â€œLet’s just say that I found a paper cup with mocha remains in his wastebasket last week.”
    â€œYou’re into scavenging?”
    That coaxed a chuckle from him. “Looking for the notes that I’ve never written for this speech.” He drew himself up to his full five foot eight and headed for the door. “I’d better get to it. Thanks for this afternoon, Caroline. I appreciate it.”
    â€œNo problem,” she said sincerely. She’d simply write up her reports later.
    With a glance at the small digital clock on her desk, she lifted the phone and punched out the number her mother had given her. As she’d suspected, neither of the doctors was available. She left a message and hung up the phone, then had just enough time to finish her yogurt and freshen up in the ladies’ room before her one-o’clock appointment arrived.
    That meeting went well, as did the group session at two. She’d conducted it before and knew the eight teenagers, all of whom were plagued by social insecurity. They accepted her as part of the therapy team, and after the first predictably slow fifteen minutes, things picked up.
    She was