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“I like it. I might have a space you can use. The old Flanagan building is almost done with renovations,” Jonah offered.

Most people didn’t know it, but Jonah had a business sense that was awe-inspiring. After serving six years as a Marine, he started flipping real estate until he had amassed more properties than anyone in our small town even knew about. Most people simply thought of him as the guy in town that owned the gym, but there was a lot more to Jonah Gaines than met the eye. He used the money he made off his properties to buy more properties and to take care of Landry and Hope while Landry finished her college degree as a single mom.

“Both things sound solid to me. If you decided to add a small food pantry, I could donate fresh beef and volunteer time in my slower seasons. And of course I’d back it with Abel’s foundation. Maybe we could use the building for weekly AA meetings, too. The Flanagan building is only two blocks from school, so kids could walk down after class. The library is next door. Maybe they could provide a tutor,” I suggested.

We talked out the logistics. Lane had a plan to move forward, and we decided we’d meet tomorrow to walk through the Flanagan building and see if the current floor plan would work.

Chapter

Thirty-Six

Sawyer

Today wasn’t my day again. Greg had eaten my lunch again. Sharon had conveniently overscheduled herself, and I was picking up the slack again.

The “agains” were beginning to add up. I was hungry and tired. I had hit forty hours this morning. Regardless of how much we told upper management we needed two more social workers to make this doable, we got the same response every time.

“We have the jobs listed on multiple employment websites.”

That was all well and good, but what ended up happening was those of us that were here for the children picked up the slack for those that assumed this would be a normal nine-to-five job. Social work, especially in the foster care system, was everything but a nine-to-five. It was more of a six in the morning to midnight and then sometimes there was a two in the morning call. We had staff for late nights and emergency calls, but the kids weren’t bonded to these employees. They didn’t know them and I couldn’t say no.

I was angry. Talia and Soren were right. I had a problem saying no. They’d both gently said as much in the last few weeks and months, and they thought I was overdoing it. However, I related too profoundly to the children in my care, and I wanted things to go as smoothly as possible. I wanted to fix everything and I couldn’t. I didn’t possess that power and it made me sad and angry. I knew what it was to be scared and angry and sick and tired of being shuffled around.

Sometimes I wondered if doing this job was good for my mental health, but I’d always push away that voice because it felt selfish . . . and maybe too honest. I shoved those thoughts under the rug along with everything else. Afterward I’d go home and obsessively organize my pantry, dust my floorboards, and not be able to sleep anywhere other than my nest of blankets in my cozy chair. When I was stressed, all of those things escalated in intensity.

Currently, I was sitting outside a grocery store waiting for a foster mom to come pick up the child I was transporting because Sharon had said I would.

“Ms. Sawyer. Do you know the Brooks?” Nichole asked, clutching her favorite stuffed animal she carried everywhere. I turned toward the seven-year-old.

“Yep, they have two little girls around your age.” I smiled hoping to reassure her.

“Do you think they’ll like me?” Her concern was etched into her forehead. This I could answer confidently. I knew Matilda and Mandy fairly well. They were giggling balls of sunshiny friendliness and maybe a tad too much brutal honesty. I smiled thinking of the time Matilda told me twenty-six was “super old.”

“You bet! They have a pet turtle named John Wayne and two fainting goats.” I smiled.

“Fainting goats?” Excitement lit her face as I scanned the parking lot for the car that was meeting us.

“Yep. Oh look, there they are. You’ll have to ask them about their goats, Tom and Jerry!”

Nichole loaded up with the Brooks family and her nerves had dissipated. She smiled and waved bye at me as they drove away. I got back in my SUV and took a deep breath. Part of me wanted to rage at the foster care system in general because of the dumpster fire it was most days. Simultaneously, the other part reminded me that there was always a way to be light and light always mattered, regardless of how dark it was. I wanted to make a bigger difference, to see the changes happen faster than they were. I didn’t want to meet up with people to exchange children as if it were some black market deal at a grocery store. I was tired and hungry and wanted to punch something. Soren came to mind because I’d heard him talking about boxing before, and I did something I never do. I impulsively texted him first. I was done for the day after dropping off Nichole, and being wrapped in one of his warm hugs felt like it would make everything better.

Sawyer:

Do you have anything I can punch?

Soren:

Rough day?

Sawyer:

Yeah . . . maybe I’m just hangry.

Soren:

Can you meet me here?

A pin drop of a location came through. I didn’t expect that response but I input the address.