Chapter One
I broke a nail trying to unlock my office door. I already knew it was going to be one of those days. My coffee spilled as the door jarred open. Thankfully, it only hit my shoes and luckily, I hadn’t broken out my new Birkenstocks yet. The clock on the wall reminded me I was twenty minutes late, again.
The phone rang as I tossed my tattered, purple tote bag and shook the coffee off my foot. "Good morning, Lawrenceville Regional Hospital, social services department, this is Valerie Williamson. How may I help you?” I hated they made me say all that stuff. It took a full minute before I could even hear the other person speak.
“Val, it’s Jeanine, don’t you ever look at the caller ID to know who’s calling?” She let a heavy sigh escape. “I need to talk with you about something.”
“I’m sorry I was late…again. It’s just…”
"Save it, Val, you're not in trouble. Just get up here as soon as you can." The phone clicked down on the receiver before I had the chance to redeem myself. I had worked for Jeanine for five years, and going to her office only meant one thing… more work for me. I pulled out my teal compact and quickly looked at my teeth. I hadn't had enough time to brush them before running out the door.
I wasn’t sure what was going on with me, but I couldn’t leave my apartment on time if my life depended on it. I couldn’t sleep, either. There were too many thoughts racing through my head. Gabriel was the only one I talked to outside of work. He’s the only one I can trust.
It was hopeless, there was no way I was going to make myself presentable enough for Jeanine. She doesn’t understand me. No one does. I tucked my compact back into my tote bag, locked the door to my office and made my way to the stairs. Jeanine’s office was on the third floor, mine was in the basement. Four flights of stairs were better than taking the chance of sharing an elevator that long with someone else.
Everyone at work teased me. They called me the "anti-social social worker." They were not too far from the truth. My office, just two doors away from the morgue, is where I spend most of my time. They said I spent more time with the dead than the living. I liked it that way. Death was a big part of my job. Maybe, my favorite.
When I reached Jeanine's office, the smell of orange and lavender overpowered me. She said it was the perfect combination to bring peace and harmony and disinfect the air at the same time. It was a hospital, after all. God forbid we catch what our patients are in here for. When I knocked on Jeanine's door, I saw her round head poke up from behind the computer. Her tight, dark brown curls were moist with hair gel to make sure they didn't move. She had to be in control of everything, even her hair. The reflection from some website glared on her cat-eye glasses. She pushed up her tan cardigan sleeve and looked at her knock-off Rolex. “What took you so long? You took the stairs, didn’t you?”
I took that as my cue to go in. I shut the door behind me as I heard her mouse clicking. I pulled up a stiff, black, pleather chair and sat in front of her desk. I could feel her topaz brown eyes judging me as I sat across from her. Jeanine and I were nothing alike. Nothing.
She shook her mouse around on the mouse pad and sighed as she feverishly clicked. "Just a minute. It's here somewhere." She didn't take her eyes from the screen as she continued to look. "Oh… here it is." She pressed print and pointed to her printer across the room and nudged her head for me to go retrieve it.
I stood with my back to her and rolled my eyes as many times as I could while I waited for the paper to spit out of the machine. She’s so lazy. I picked up the paper and walked it back over to her. Still saying nothing. The longer I stayed quiet, the less of a chance she could talk me into doing something else. I already worked close to fifty hours a week and barely got paid for forty. A nonprofit hospital with no money for anything.
She pushed the paper back at me. “Take a look at what they are proposing.”
I took the papers and quickly scanned them. They were always looking for ways to get more grant funding. This time, they wanted to start a weekly trauma support group. “No.” There was no way I was getting roped into this. I cleared my throat. “This is not something in my scope of practice. I’m not comfortable with any of this.” I could feel the heat radiate off my face as I attempted to hand the papers back to her.
“Val.” Her voice softened as she went on. “You are more than capable of doing this. That’s why I’m asking you.”
I shook my head. "No, Jeanine. No, I'm not." The anxiety bounced around inside my stomach, reminding me I hadn't eaten breakfast yet. "You know I don't excel at public speaking. There is no way I can do this."
“I’m not asking you to give a speech. I’m asking, no, I’m telling you to start a support group. It probably won’t be many people anyway.”
"I'll do anything else you need." I stood up, ran my fingers through my messy, blonde hair, and fought back tears as I looked at her.
"I'm sorry, Val, there is no one else to ask. The hospital needs this funding. The group needs to be up and running by the end of the month.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s next week. This is cra...”
“Thanks, Val. I knew I could count on you.” Her eyes left mine and went back to her computer screen. “Please close the door on your way out.”
I took the papers with me and slammed her door behind me. I knew I should have started looking for a new job long ago, but there was something about Jeanine. I just couldn’t disappoint her. She made me furious, but she always won. She always got her way. I wish I could learn to stand up for myself.
I stopped by the cafeteria to grab something to bring back to my office so I could start researching trauma groups. There was no way I was going to be able to concentrate with an empty stomach. Vanilla yogurt, strawberries and granola. It was what I got when I forgot to have breakfast, which lately was every day.
I carried my tray back down the stairs, past the morgue to my office, and remembered I had locked the door before I went to Jeanine’s office. Frustration grew as I searched my sweater pocket and fished out the keys. I felt the tray start to slip out of my hands as I fumbled with the doorknob and key. When were they going to fix this thing? Every other door had keyless entry. But down here, in the hallway of death, no one ever stayed long enough to fix anything. That might have been my least favorite part of my job, until about ten minutes ago.
I sat at my desk and began to search for information about support groups. I had never run one before, I hadn’t even attended one. The more information I found, the more inadequate I felt. How was I going to lead a group, when I couldn’t even get myself to work on time?
Where would we have it? We couldn’t ask people to come down here. That in itself would be traumatic. I was the only one not creeped out by having an office down here. That's why I was given the job of Deceased Patient Coordinator.
The more I fought it, the more I knew I would hate it. I had to talk myself into this thing. There wouldn’t be any time to advertise it, so maybe no one would show up. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Chapter Two