Chapter
Thirty-Six
Sawyer
Today wasn’t my day again . Greg had eaten my lunch again. Sharon had conveniently overscheduled herself, and I was picking up the slack again.
The “agains” were beginning to add up. I was hungry and tired. I had hit forty hours this morning. Regardless of how much we told upper management we needed two more social workers to make this doable, we got the same response every time.
“We have the jobs listed on multiple employment websites.”
That was all well and good, but what ended up happening was those of us that were here for the children picked up the slack for those that assumed this would be a normal nine-to-five job. Social work, especially in the foster care system, was everything but a nine-to-five. It was more of a six in the morning to midnight and then sometimes there was a two in the morning call. We had staff for late nights and emergency calls, but the kids weren’t bonded to these employees. They didn’t know them and I couldn’t say no.
I was angry. Talia and Soren were right. I had a problem saying no. They’d both gently said as much in the last few weeks and months, and they thought I was overdoing it. However, I related too profoundly to the children in my care, and I wanted things to go as smoothly as possible. I wanted to fix everything and I couldn’t. I didn’t possess that power and it made me sad and angry. I knew what it was to be scared and angry and sick and tired of being shuffled around.
Sometimes I wondered if doing this job was good for my mental health, but I’d always push away that voice because it felt selfish . . . and maybe too honest. I shoved those thoughts under the rug along with everything else. Afterward I’d go home and obsessively organize my pantry, dust my floorboards, and not be able to sleep anywhere other than my nest of blankets in my cozy chair. When I was stressed, all of those things escalated in intensity.
Currently, I was sitting outside a grocery store waiting for a foster mom to come pick up the child I was transporting because Sharon had said I would.
“Ms. Sawyer. Do you know the Brooks?” Nichole asked, clutching her favorite stuffed animal she carried everywhere. I turned toward the seven-year-old.
“Yep, they have two little girls around your age.” I smiled hoping to reassure her.
“Do you think they’ll like me?” Her concern was etched into her forehead. This I could answer confidently. I knew Matilda and Mandy fairly well. They were giggling balls of sunshiny friendliness and maybe a tad too much brutal honesty. I smiled thinking of the time Matilda told me twenty-six was “super old.”
“You bet! They have a pet turtle named John Wayne and two fainting goats.” I smiled.
“Fainting goats?” Excitement lit her face as I scanned the parking lot for the car that was meeting us.
“Yep. Oh look, there they are. You’ll have to ask them about their goats, Tom and Jerry!”
Nichole loaded up with the Brooks family and her nerves had dissipated. She smiled and waved bye at me as they drove away. I got back in my SUV and took a deep breath. Part of me wanted to rage at the foster care system in general because of the dumpster fire it was most days. Simultaneously, the other part reminded me that there was always a way to be light and light always mattered, regardless of how dark it was. I wanted to make a bigger difference, to see the changes happen faster than they were. I didn’t want to meet up with people to exchange children as if it were some black market deal at a grocery store. I was tired and hungry and wanted to punch something. Soren came to mind because I’d heard him talking about boxing before, and I did something I never do. I impulsively texted him first. I was done for the day after dropping off Nichole, and being wrapped in one of his warm hugs felt like it would make everything better.
Sawyer:
Do you have anything I can punch?
Soren:
Rough day?
Sawyer:
Yeah . . . maybe I’m just hangry.
Soren:
Can you meet me here?
A pin drop of a location came through. I didn’t expect that response but I input the address.
Sawyer:
It’s forty-five minutes from here. Leaving now.
“Extend your arm all the way.”
Soren demonstrated throwing a punch and hitting the bag in slow motion. I didn’t know what Soren had in mind when I showed up to a mostly empty gym. He gave me a tight hug before feeding me the best bierock I’d ever eaten. After I ate, he showed me the correct form to throw a punch. I tried again, but something was off.
“Here, let me stand behind you.”
Soren walked behind me, his warm, solid body against my back. His hands gripped my hips, adjusting them slightly before he grasped my wrists. Fire ignited in the places he touched and spread throughout my whole body. His breath on my neck made the wisps of hair there flutter. He guided my arm through the motion three times before stepping back, and I immediately missed his touch.
“Okay, try again. Since you’re wearing gloves, it won’t hurt your hand to throw your weight into it.” I punched, mimicking his instruction.
“That’s my girl!” Soren beamed.
“Run through it a few more times and then I’ll show you what I brought for dessert.”
“You have dessert?!” I punched again, hitting the bag with a thud.
“Not just any dessert, but Ronnie hooked me up with some of Mrs. Blake’s fresh chocolate chip cookies with caramel chips.” His brilliant hazel eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and I never wanted to look away.
“That sounds amazing!” I threw a few more punches, making sure I was hitting with enough force, and extended my body the way he taught me.
“Alright, Muhammad Ali. You can be done for today,” Soren quipped.
“Thanks for showing me how to do that.” I struggled to undo the Velcro on the gloves since my other hand was also covered in a glove. I bit my lip. I couldn’t grasp the elastic strap.
“Here, let me help you.”
Soren reached for my glove, which made me feel engulfed in him when he was this close. His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, and my breath caught before he moved to my other hand. He appeared unaffected by our nearness, but there was something in me that was slightly lightheaded around him. I remembered when my attraction to him made me want to run, but now I wondered what it’d be like to stay.