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“What part of the chair made you want to be a social worker?”
“Every experience I had growing up, Hazel. Long story, but suffice it to say that I had a lot of interactions with social workers. Some good, some not so good. I wanted to be one of the good ones who got things done for kids who needed help, and for the disadvantaged who put their trust in me to help them at the lowest point of their lives.”
“Did you deal with the social workers because of your accident?” I asked the question in an unassuming way because if there was one thing Irving avoided like the plague, it was talking about what put him in the chair.
He tipped the wine glass up to his lips and finished it off, twirling it back and forth between his fingers as he stared into the empty depths of it. “That would be an understatement.”
I bit my tongue rather than jump in and carry the conversation. I sensed that he was looking for a way to talk about it and I didn’t want to interrupt his concentration. Instead, I sipped my wine while I tucked my feet up under me.
“I lied; you know.” I raised a brow and he tipped his empty glass toward the door. “To everyone when I first came to town. You weren’t here then, but Mayor Tottle introduced me at the tree lighting ceremony. I told everyone I was in a wheelchair from an unfortunate accident when I was four.” He shrugged and lowered the glass to the couch. “Not so much a lie, I guess, as an oversimplification.”
“I don’t think Mayor Tottle expected you to tell them your life story that night, Irving.”
“True, but since then, when people ask what the unfortunate accident was, I tell a boldfaced lie every time.”
“If that makes it easier for you, then I see no problem with it. It’s no one’s business but yours anyway.”
He laughed and it brought a smile to my lips, even though the room was filled with uncomfortable energy. “Ironic that I’ve had no less than three other social workers tell me the same thing.”
“Must be a thing then,” I said with a wink. “You have the right to protect yourself in your physical and emotional space, Irving. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Logically, as someone in the business, I know that, but as a human, I still feel bad every time the lie rolls off my tongue. I do it for them, though. Most people can’t handle the truth of what really happened.”
“Which means glossing over it keeps the look of pity off their faces and avoids uncomfortable situations in the future?”
He pointed at me with the glass. “In a nutshell. Especially when you factor in what I do in the community. I need to hold that neutral space with everyone.”
“I totally agree,” I said with a nod. “There’s no other way to play it.”
“You do?” he asked, his fingers no longer spinning the glass. “I figured you’d say there was a lesson to be learned in sharing the truth.”
“I would venture to guess you already learned that lesson by the track of this conversation.”
“Huh,” he said more in a puff of air than in words. “I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. The lesson learned was, not to sound like Jack Nicholson, but people can’t handle the truth.”
I gave him a head nod in agreement then stood and grabbed the wine bottle, refilling his glass in hopes the wine would relax him and take the edge off before we talked business.
He took another sip and shrugged. “The truth is, I was shot by my father during a domestic incident.”
I forced myself not to react and to keep my expression neutral. Irving trusted me with the story, and I didn’t want him to see pity or think I would treat him differently because of the truth. “You were young?”
“Barely three,” he agreed. “Young enough that the incident itself is hazy and I don’t remember anything but life in the chair.”
“That can be a blessing and a curse, though at three I’m going to say blessing.”
“With age and maturity, I agree. I don’t remember my parents, at least my biological ones. From what they tell me, I got caught in the crossfire. My father started shooting at the car as Mom drove away with me in the backseat. She was killed and ran the car into a tree. A bullet came through the car and hit me in the back. Apparently, there was quite the manhunt for my father. They eventually found him and locked him up but his big mouth got him in trouble in prison too and he died by way of a head bashing in the shower. Good riddance. Not that I ever knew him, but you get back the same energy you put out into the world, you know?”
“I can agree with that while still hating what happened to you and your mom.”
“From what my aunt tells me, my mom’s sister, Mom was leaving him to make a better life for us. He was supposed to be at work but came home early to find her moving out. I don’t remember her much. I’m thankful that she tried to give me a better life since he clearly wasn’t going to provide it. In a way she did. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t with her.”
“That is sad, but she would be proud of who you are now, Irving. I know that for sure.”
“That’s what my aunt says. My aunt and uncle ended up raising me with their boys. They weren’t wealthy, but we got by. When it came time for college, I got a full scholarship,” he glanced up with a smile, “but not for football.”
I couldn’t help but laugh while I shook my head. “Soccer, right?”
He winked and finished his wine. “Track and field, actually.”
