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Whoa, I wanted to say. Slow down.
Cassie spoke. “You say ‘ongoing advocate.’ How long does this process usually take?”
“It depends on how quickly the government resources respond. But we’re pretty good about it in San Antonio. A month at best.”
A month? Would I even need in-home help by then?
“Oh. We’ll be in Austin,” Cassie said. “Is that a problem?”
Fern looked at Yarvis. “Not at all. I’ll print off a list of organizations in Austin.”
Fern went across the hall to the small bank of computers and printers available for patient use. I took a deep breath, and gave Cassie a look that I hoped was reassuring. She pressed her lips into a small smile in return. Maybe Fern was overestimating the time it all took, just to be safe. Maybe all of this would be quick and easy. Fern returned with a big smile, holding a few papers before saying her good-byes.
“I’ll be in my office until I have a home visit at two,” Yarvis said. “Holler when you need me, and I’ll help you—you know—navigate.”
He stood, took another sip of coffee, and limped away.
Cassie pulled the list of options toward her, and then, after a moment, slid them toward me. I noticed she had painted her nails a vivid red, and they looked longer. Except for the thumbnail. It was still bitten down to a stub and the damage looked recent. Made sense.
“A month. And until then we just... deal?”
I shrugged.
“Well?” she said, gesturing to the stack.
I began to read:
A Million Thanks
Able Forces—Executive Level Jobs
African American Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Association
After Deployment
Aggie Veterans—Texas A & M University
Air Compassion for Veterans
Air Force Sergeants Association South Central Divisions
Airlift Hope
I scanned the Bs, the Cs, all the way through the end of the list.
“Most of these don’t even apply to me,” I said.
Cassie sighed.
“Wha—” I began, and stopped. I was about to ask, What should we do? but I looked at Cassie’s eyes, reading the list with confusion, her leg twitching under the table. When we’d agreed to this arrangement, she hadn’t signed up for playing nurse, or providing transportation to and from a hospital in Austin where I could do PT. “What do you think I should do?”
She shrugged, biting her thumbnail. “You’re the veteran in question.”
“Yeah, but it’s your house.”
“Apartment,” she corrected.
“Right.” God, I hoped there was enough room for a wheelchair to move around. I wanted to ask her, but it wouldn’t make a difference either way. We’d still be living there.
