Chapter
Fourteen
Sawyer
“Sawyer!”
I turned toward the person shouting across the parking lot. Inwardly, I cringed because it was Friday and I was scheduled off for the rest of the day. I’d already maxed out my hours due to a 3 a.m. emergency placement situation. Thankfully, I was able to contact a sweet family about thirty minutes away who had been fostering for a few years and had an available opening.
Greg, my least favorite coworker, came striding toward me. I knew he was going to ask me to do something for him before he even opened his mouth. If you searched for “slacker” in the dictionary, there would be a photo of Greg—most likely sitting in an office chair with his feet propped up, slacking. He tried to flirt sometimes, but I couldn’t think of anyone on the planet I was less interested in. He reminded me of a social worker from my childhood who was always doing the bare minimum. His hair was slicked back with gel similar to cringy used car salesmen on tv ads, and he gave off that same nauseating vibe. He always brought candy or donuts to the office so that no one was clued in on how little work he truly completed. He was nearly everyone’s favorite, except mine. Maybe he was too likable, if that was a thing, and it felt completely insincere. Either way, he wasn’t someone I enjoyed being around, and I tried to minimize interactions whenever possible.
“Can you take Brooke to the Bailey family for respite? I’m transporting Kenna to Hays.”
The Baileys were the same family that had done respite for Connor last week. I always enjoyed seeing them. Brooke was such a sweet kid that loved playing dress up, but this was the kind of thing that Greg tried to pull all the time. Most likely he was supposed to transport Brooke this morning and Kenna this afternoon, but somehow appeared to be busy all morning while Brooke waited.
“I’m off the clock. Is transport not available?” I asked. His unnatural blond hair reflected in the sunlight.
“No, everyone is booked, and it’ll be after 7 p.m. before anyone else can take her.”
Seven hours for a five-year-old to sit in an office after probably waiting all morning. I couldn’t let her do that. I didn’t have anything planned other than grocery shopping and trying a new strawberry streusel recipe, but groceries could wait because I always put my kids first.
“I can take her.”
The transportation and drop off for Brooke went smoothly, as expected. Mrs. Bailey had even shared a slice of freshly baked banana bread with me as she shared about her summer garden plans. Technically, I was off the clock after Brooke had arrived, but I stayed and chatted for a few minutes. Mrs. Bailey was one of the most inviting and kind people I’d ever met. She had a slight southern lilt to her voice that made it seem as though you were tucked into a homemade quilt, listening to a cozy audiobook.
Five-year-old Brooke was a round-faced brunette with an unshakable affinity for mermaids. She insisted on calling me Princess Mermaid Sawyer, which I indulged by talking to her as if I was underwater. She giggled uncontrollably, and I loved it.
After running around all week, I found that the drive in rural Rhodes County was relaxing. The Flint Hills rolled past, and the sky was a bright blue with white fluffy clouds. The weather was perfect. There was a gentle breeze, and the fresh air was invigorating. I wondered briefly what Soren was doing.
He’d tried meeting up with me twice, but I couldn’t. I mean, I could, but it was such a battle in my mind. I wanted to get to know him better, but getting to know people deeper than surface level was extremely difficult for me. I thrived on surface level conversations, even though I hated talking about things that didn’t really matter. There was something about him that made me think I couldn’t keep things surface-level with him—like he’d see through my carefully built walls. And that made me feel even more vulnerable than the things I had already shared with him.
I’d told him things I never told anyone, and I didn’t understand why. How did I explain that my fragmented childhood still affects me, even at twenty-six years old? How did I not freak the hell out when he touched me? How did he not see I wasn’t worth pursuing? I mean, that was what he was trying to do, right?
I wasn’t even sure. Talia would curse my train of thought while using her therapist's voice to remind me of my value.
I knew I had value for the work that I did, but sometimes I still questioned the value of me. Not the me who could be charming and calm down intense situations, but the me who became extremely overwhelmed. The me that sat in dark rooms because even the light was too loud. Was I worth knowing? And more importantly than that, if I was valuable, then why was I never wanted? Why was I never chosen? Why had no one ever stayed? Why couldn’t I have been one of those kids that someone cared enough about to adopt?
I had years where I could have been, and it never happened. They’d posted my photo on the adoption website, and no one had inquired to adopt me. I never met potential families, like many of my foster siblings had over the years. I imagined parents scrolling through the website like they were shopping for the perfect child, and somehow I was never what anyone wanted. It all made me sick to my stomach. I’d never had anyone truly choose me first. Sure, Talia was the best friend anyone could ever have, but she had Rob and Ava. I’d never had anyone that was mine. I wondered what it’d feel like to belong to someone. Belonging scared me, but the thought of somehow belonging to someone and then possibly losing them terrified me even more. Walls would keep me safe—they always had.
I once had a foster mom who was convinced something was wrong with me. She had me tested dozens of times when I lived with her. What I knew now was that most likely my trauma responses made her uncomfortable. I’d gotten better at hiding things with age, but, at the time, she had chalked them up to demons, muttering that I needed more prayer. Walking down the long aisle at her church with her clutching my wrist was mortifying, but I went to a happier place in my head and blocked it all out. When we got to the altar, she spilled all of my personal story to a complete stranger while they looked as horrified as I felt. I can still remember the bewildered compassion in their eyes, and that maybe they thought she was acting as peculiar as I did.
Teenage girls should be having crushes on boys, learning makeup, and dancing, but I had been the opposite of all of those things. I avoided men at all costs. I never dated. It wasn’t until I met Talia that she taught me the finer points of skillfully applied makeup. What I hadn’t learned from her, I’d learned online. And I wasn’t coordinated enough for dancing. I was me, and they were them. I didn’t have anything in common with the average woman. If anything depraved or evil could have been done to me, it had been. These were only a few of the reasons I couldn’t be friends with Soren. He was everything that was wholesome, and I was everything that was not.
I was simply a social worker trying to prevent children from experiencing the hell that was my childhood. Maybe if people had second lives, I’d try to get to know him better, but in this life, I was all wrong for a good man such as him. I didn’t particularly enjoy how he saw too much because when he saw all of me, he’d want to leave like everyone else had. Instead of giving him the choice to choose me or not, I made the decision for him. It was a harsh truth to accept that you weren’t worth staying for, but it was simply the fact of my existence. I didn’t have heightened emotions about it. I knew it with certainty like I knew that the sky was blue and the grass was green. It was just another fact of my life.
Without warning, I heard a loud pop and hiss. I hit the brakes, fearing the worst. My Jeep came to a sliding stop as the gravel skidded beneath the tires. Gravel dust flew in the air. Dang!