Jade set down the watering can and picked up her coffee, strong and black, the way she’d learned to drink it in the field. Saturday morning stretched ahead of her, but not the lazy kind. Chief Marten had asked her to attend Spring Safety Day at Riverside Park for community outreach and makingherself available to officers and their families outside the clinical setting.
Not her favorite kind of work. She preferred the one-on-one connections, the quiet space where people could be honest about their struggles without performing for an audience. But she understood the necessity. Trust wasn’t built only in therapy rooms. Sometimes it started with a wellness pamphlet and a smile at a park booth.
She finished her coffee, rinsed the mug, and checked the clock. Eight-thirty, plenty of time to get ready and make it to the precinct before heading to the park.
In the bathroom, Jade pulled her hair into a practical ponytail and assessed herself in the mirror. She looked professional but approachable, the kind of presence that said she was there to help without demanding attention. She’d learned that balance in the Army—how to be competent without being intimidating and how to offer support without hovering.
Back in the living room, she gathered the wellness materials she’d prepared: pamphlets on stress management, resource cards for the department’s mental health support line, and a sign-up sheet for the optional group sessions she was planning to start up in a few months. She packed it all into a canvas tote along with a water bottle and sunscreen. Spring in Phoenix Ridge was unpredictable, but today’s forecast promised actual sun.
The drive to the precinct took fifteen minutes, the route familiar now. The harbor district gave way to the heart of downtown, and the police department’s brick facade stood sentinel against the brightening sky. Jade parked in the visitor lot and headed inside, nodding to the officer at the front desk.
“Morning, Dr. Kessler.”
“Morning, Officer Brennan.”
It was the small things—remembering names and exchanging pleasantries—that built the foundation. Jade stopped by her office, still the converted conference room, to grab the folding table she’d use for the booth. The wellness committee had approved the setup last week. Nothing flashy, just information and availability. She’d let people come to her if they wanted.
She loaded the table into her car, then headed to Riverside Park. The drive only took ten minutes, winding through residential neighborhoods where families were already out enjoying the rare spring sunshine. The park sprawled along the river’s edge, green and open, with brightly colored playground equipment at one end and a large, open field perfect for demonstrations at the other.
Jade found parking near the community center and surveyed the setup. Officers were already arriving, K-9 units pulled into designated spaces, and patrol vehicles were arranged for safety demonstrations. Families filtered in with excited kids and parents carrying lawn chairs and coolers. The energy was cheerful and relaxed.
She hauled her materials to the spot the committee had assigned her: under a large oak tree with a good view of the demonstration area, close enough to be accessible but not right in the center of the action. Perfect.
Jade set up the table, arranged the pamphlets, and clipped the sign-up sheet to a clipboard that had a pen dangling from it. She positioned her chair at an angle that would let her observe the event while still being available if anyone approached.
The park filled gradually. Children ran toward the playground, parents trailing behind. Officers greeted each other with the easy camaraderie of people who worked together but didn’t see each other enough outside the job. Jade recognized a few faces: Officer Brennan from the front desk, Captain Scottcoordinating the setup, Detective Walsh talking to a group of families near the patrol vehicles.
And then Riley Thorne arrived with Sarge, her K-9 partner.
Jade had met Riley exactly one, briefly, in the hallway at the precinct. Riley had been friendly in that careful way officers were with counselors, precise but measuring, deciding whether Jade was someone worth trusting or just another civilian who didn’t understand the work.
Riley spotted Jade and altered course, Sarge following at her heel in perfect synchronicity. The Belgian Malinois was all controlled power, focused entirely on his handler.
“Dr. Kessler.” Riley stopped a respectful distance away, giving Sarge space. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Chief Marten thought it’d be good for visibility,” Jade said. “I’m just here with information if anyone wants it.”
Riley’s expression shifted, something almost like approval reflecting in her features. “Smart. Better than forcing it.”
“That’s the idea.”
Sarge sniffed the air, alert but calm. Riley glanced toward the field where more K-9 units were gathering.
“Maddox is doing a demonstration later in the eleven o’clock slot. She’s good with the public, even if she never admits it,” Riley divulged.
Jade kept her expression neutral. “I’ll make sure to watch. It’s helpful to see officers outside the clinical setting.”
Riley’s smile was dry and knowing. “You mean it’s helpful to observe Maddox when she’s not actively resisting therapy.”
“That too.” Jade quirked a smile.
A beat of silence filled the space, more companionable than awkward. Riley shifted her weight, and Sarge mirrored the movement without being directed. “For what it’s worth, she showed up for the second session. That’s more than some of them do.”
Jade nodded. She’d noticed. Maddox had arrived exactly on time, sat in the same chair, and maintained her rigid posture. But she showed up, and that counted for something.
“Anyway,” Riley said, “I should get Sarge ready. We’re in the first demo slot. Should be entertaining. Half these kids have never seen a working dog up close.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
