By some divine intervention, or maybe a nudge from fate, no one came as I finished closing down the house. Once done, I hoped I would someday return to this home and tall tree. I would dig up the bag of money and collect the other hidden baggies. Then, I would take my Noma back to the East Coast so I could bury her with my grandpa. I swore to myself, if alive, that I would keep this promise no matter what happened.
By the time the social worker arrived, the sun was setting. Bags packed, I was sitting on the front steps, and waiting for her arrival with more than a little attitude.
Once she parked and opened her door, I stood. “You’re late.”
My Noma would have whooped my ass for greeting an adult like that, but I didn’t care. I sat for two hours. Too long with my thoughts and tears. Far too long to avoid being back to stewing in anger over my circumstances.
Still at her open car door, she rested her arms on the roof. “Hi, you must be Johnny.”
Well, duh. I was the only one here. I nodded.
“I’m Kristen. I apologize for the delay. I had an urgent case and had to retrieve a child from an unsafe environment.”
I wanted to scoff, but I couldn’t. Seemed like a reasonable excuse. “Okay.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “I don’t blame you for being angry.”
Right.
She stepped back, shut her door, then walked around the car to face me while leaning on it. “You’ve been dealt a shit hand.”
I didn’t expect my social worker to care about me, just to do her job. And to cuss? That was a welcome surprise.
She added, “I’ve done what I could to give you the best resource home possible.”
In warning, I slowly shook my head. “I don’t have her. That means I have no home.”
She dipped her chin. “Understood. How about… resource placement?”
Appreciating her efforts, I delivered a curt nod.
She texted something on her cellphone before sliding it into a front pocket of her dark blue slacks. “You’re going with good resource paren?—”
She was going to say parents but caught my upper lip curling in disgust. These new ‘caregivers’ were strangers. Not parents of mine, of any sort.
Eyeing me, she redirected, “Resource people.” When my lip relaxed in approval, she said, “I had to pull some strings to get you in, but I think you’ll be happy there.”
I simply couldn’t find a nice thing to say. “No offense, but that sounds like bullshit.”
She laughed, leaving the car behind and walking over and sitting beside me on the steps. “Yeah, sometimes it is. In your case, it’s not.”
Not wanting to trust her, and needing reasons not to, I took in her appearance, searching for horns or a split devil tongue. Instead, I saw blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. A white sweater. Makeup, but nothing heavy. She looked fresh out of college. How would she have a clue what I needed?
Only one person knew what was best for me. “You talked to my Noma,” I guessed.
“I did.”
Silence lingered. I couldn’t respond. My throat was restricted with emotions. Did this young woman know what kind of woman Noma was? That she was the best person in the world?
Was.
Still not convinced the young woman could help me, I gritted, “Why did you do what she wanted?”
“It’s a bit unconventional, but,” she paused and cleared her throat, “I couldn’t deny her request.” She actually grinned in thought. “She is, uh, a very determined woman.”
Forcing down a swallow, I looked away.
Kristen softly told me, “It’s okay to be scared.”
