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The next day, I left work before the “hottie wave”, with barely enough time to cash my check before the bank closed, and began my journey across the San Francisco Bay to Albany, California.
As the bus crossed the Oakland Bay Bridge, my gaze got lost in the azure depths of the waters shimmering golden under the sun, and just like it did every time, guilt began to eat at my insides. Memories I usually tried to repress, surfaced the closer we got to the other side. Weekends spent with my parents at Gray Whale Cove were the easiest to allow to inundate my mind.
Whale watching while the orange and blue sunset bathed the beautiful hills that formed the alcove, always took me to another place. The hills felt like a protective shield around me. It made my sickness seem insignificant compared to the magnificence of the world.
The sound of Mom’s laughter entered my mind, wrapping me like a hug as my father and I danced on the sand for her, building castles and moats filled by the waves lapping the shore. Mom loved his playful spirit—he was a goofball—and the truth was, my father would do anything to see her smile. He loved us more than anything in this world, and there was nothing he wouldn’t have done to protect us.
Lost in the sweet memories and trying to avoid the not so pleasant ones, it took me a moment to realize the bus had stopped and the people left aboard were filing out onto the sidewalk. That was my stop.
Picking up my backpack, I rushed out of the bus and crossed the street, reaching the doors of the classy, assisted living community.
“Good afternoon, welcome to—Oh, hi Braxton, how are you?” Maria, the receptionist, greeted, seeming to have just returned from her break.
“I’m good, thank you. Do you think I could see Mrs. Benson?”
She chuckled. “Well, it’s the end of the month. You know she’s expecting you. Go right ahead.” Motioning to the hallway behind her, which led to administrative offices, she picked up a call.
“Thanks, Maria.”
Following the hallway, I walked all the way to the end, stopping before a secretary’s desk beside the huge, carved double doors. A gold name plaque was placed on them, it read‘Mrs. Sarah Benson, Community Director.’
“Good afternoon, Veronica,” I addressed the older lady with a smile.
“Hi, Braxton. Give me just a moment, let me make sure she is not on a call.”
Nodding, I turned to the large windows that gave way to the lush gardens of the facility. Some of the residents lounged in the cabanas, others read by the picnic tables, while a few more sat in their wheelchairs with an assigned nurse next to them, enjoying the fresh air and perfect views of the bay.
“You may go in.”
The secretary’s voice made me turn around, and I lay a small knock on the door before opening it.
“Come in, Brax. Sit down,” Sarah waved me over from her desk, gesturing to the chair. A salad sat before her, and she took a small drink of water before fully swallowing.
I instantly felt like I was interrupting. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were having lunch. I can wait outside.”
“Nonsense. It’s just a snack, come in. The end of the month is always busy for me so I grab lunch whenever I can,” she excused, taking another sip of water and setting the salad aside.
Pulling a manila envelope out of my backpack, I placed it on the desk, sitting before her. “Here’s what I owed you from last month, and the payment for this one.” My hand pushed it closer to her and she took it with a smile.
“Okay, let’s see.” Taking the bills out, she began to count, and my gut tightened as she placed down the last hundred. “Hmm, this covers the three hundred you missed last month, but you are still short a hundred and fifty for this one.”
My stomach plummeted. I didn’t know what I’d been thinking, that she wasn’t going to notice? That she wouldn’t count correctly? Yep, I had totally been hoping she’d miscount.
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m going to have more for you next week from my tips at the coffee shop, I promise, and I just took on some extra shifts too. I swear, next month the payment will be in full. It’s just—”
“Who did you help this time?” she asked with a knowing look.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you are the‘protector of the people,’” she added, making air quotes. “Every time something happens, it is because you were helping someone else. So, who did you help?”
Deflated, I placed my forearms on her desk. “My landlord got fired yesterday, and she didn’t have enough money to buy food for the house. We all pitched in and bought it for her. But it was only a hundred dollars, I would have still been missing fifty bucks.” I shrugged and she lifted her brow.
“You are not exactly helping your case.”
“I know…” My face scrunched up.
