Chapter 5
Charlotte
Taysom scowls. “If this isn’t a good time, we can come back or just…cancel?”
“No, no. It’s for a good cause,” Tracy says.
I sure wish I knew what this cause even was. “And Ron would especially appreciate the Center being in your documentary,” she adds. “It’s important.”
Natalie, the camerawoman, slings one of the heavy bags off her shoulder and Raj speaks to her in low tones.
“Well, I don’t know if today’s the best day…
” I trail off, hesitating. I don’t like to tell people no.
But this really is the worst possible time.
If they’re looking for a cute little sweep of the office, they’re going to be sorely disappointed.
We all have red-rimmed eyes, and our hearts have been carved out of our chests around here. Not a good look for the clinic.
“Today’s the last day of filming,” Natalie says. “We want some B footage to round things out, a couple more little interviews around the school. It’ll be fast, I promise.”
“Uh okay, I guess we have a few minutes,” I say. “You can’t film in here with our clients present because they’re minors, but if you just need to get some footage of the clinic for your…” I pause. “What’s this documentary about anyway?”
Taysom smiles and crosses his arms over his chest, causing the edges of his blazer to kick up.
The way his white shirt hugs the planes just above his hips is fascinating.
“I’m partnering with some programs on campus, so we wanted to do a short feature of some of the good things the university is doing currently. ”
“We’re calling it ‘Taysom Gives Back,’” Raj says. “And we got some good footage of him out on the football field and in his old locker room.”
“You got this?” Tracy stares at me, bunching up her mouth. “Just host them for a few minutes, give them whatever they need, okay?” She glances at Taysom and he nods. She smiles as she walks away. “You’re always so willing to help, Charlotte.”
I owe Tracy everything. She’s the one who told me I had potential when I did the internship here. She’s the one who hired me right after graduation. I’m not proud of this, but there’s a possibility I’d agree to smuggling illegal weapons if she asked me to.
And she’s right. I am always willing to help.
I’ve been asked to save a situation last minute before.
In fact, it seems to happen all the time.
Someone needs help with paperwork? Charlotte can step in.
Someone needs to sanitize the toys because everyone else has some pressing need to rush home to?
Charlotte’s got it. There’s a difficult client who won’t respond to the other clinicians?
Charlotte’s patient enough to take him or her on. Just ask Charlotte!
I nod rapidly. “Of course.”
I’ve given my whole heart and soul to this clinic, filling in for people when they couldn’t come in, giving up my holiday time. The last time I worked so much overtime, I was bull-dozed with a sinus infection.
Not ideal, of course, but all of it means I can help the kids. I can give them the advantages I didn’t have when I was little.
Well, I can for two more months.
“Great!” Taysom grins. “Sorry to hear about your director, but…I’m excited to work with you, Charlotte.” His eyes brighten.
If I were naive, like I was back when I was thirteen, I’d think he really meant it. I’d read into it and be putty in his hands.
Nope. A needle screeches across a record in my brain. It was what I like to call “Twinkie Road,” when he forgot all about you and your injury at the first sign of individually wrapped fried cakes.
I can’t go there again. Disasters happen when I do.
Still, I can’t be ungrateful that he’s here. This very busy, successful, and famous man is offering his time and money to put our tiny organization in his documentary? I’ll allow it.
Except.
“By work with me, you don’t mean I’ll be on film, do you?” I ask, regarding him carefully.
“Well, yeah. I want to interview you.”
I nibble at my bottom lip. “Me? Why?”
“Because you work here.” He looks around like he’s not sure what we even do here. “And I want to highlight it in the documentary. You know, a little publicity never hurt anything.”
“A little publicity? Like, how many viewers are we talking about?” My heart pounds against my ribcage…again. On the one hand, it would be great if he could spread the word about what we do here because maybe, if we got really lucky, we could get some donations out of it.
I hate that that’s my first thought, but try working for a place like this for five minutes without going there. Our need for money is about the same as our need for air. Omnipresent…part of the very fabric of our souls.
“It’ll be on ESPN,” Raj explains. “For Monday Night Football. They’ll show portions of it in segments throughout a Wolves game in September.
We’re not sure which one yet. And then the entire documentary can be viewed on ESPN Plus after that.
” He looks proud, as if he’s orchestrated this whole thing.
My head is spinning and I’m fighting the urge to run.
I’m in my “sweat” shirt from Hades. My cheap, ugly beige acetate blouse with my boring, brown trousers and sensible shoes which have been thrown up on a couple of times while in the line of duty.
I was rushed this morning and didn’t have time to even out my freckles with enough makeup.
I mean, I smeared some on after my sunscreen, but with the perspiration and the threatening tears, I’m sure it’s completely gone.
“Well, Willa would be much better to interview than me.”
Willa’s got smooth, straight black hair that reaches her waist, and she always has the best clothes.
My hair is…problematic, which is why I always keep it pulled back in a bun now. Besides being in the way for the kids to pull and mess with, it’s orange. Not red. Crunchy Cheetos orange.
It’s out of control—frizzy in some places, curly in others, and straight on top.
“No,” Taysom says, his eyes pleading. “You’ll be perfect. Please?”
I hesitate and, with my elbow smashed against my side to hopefully hide the sweat stains, I scrub the back of my head, releasing another strand of hair in the process. Dang it.
I have a small makeup bag in my desk. It’s the only sensible thing to do when you have the complexion tone I have. But am I really going to say, excuse me while I primp?
The clock is ticking, and they need this spot. It’s for the kids. Still, my fingers itch to open the desk drawer and smooth out some of the wreckage.
It’s as if Natalie can read my mind. Or maybe she just sees how much help I need.
“We don’t have a full crew here, obviously, but I have a little makeup kit, so we can touch everybody up.” She holds up her palms. “But only if you want. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, please.”
She gets out her kit and approaches me.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. “Sorry for all the…moisture. It’s been a day.”
She only smiles kindly, and I’m grateful she doesn’t seem too freaked out about the state I’m in.
Taysom’s studying something on his phone, but I interrupt him anyway. “So, what kinds of questions are you going to ask me?”
He blanches. “I’m sorry again about the miscommunication. But I’ve got the Center’s website pulled up now, which will give me a better feel for what you do here.”
I cringe as Willa, Tracy, and Skyler poke their heads out from their office or the treatment room at intermittent times. Like groundhogs on February second—a whole brood of groundhogs.
“But really, you won’t need to prep,” Taysom continues. “I’ll just ask you the basic questions. Like, what the purpose of the clinic is and how long it’s been running, stuff like that.”
I nod, but something in my eyes must give away my sheer terror.
He steps to me as Natalie dabs my face with a disposable cloth.
“It’ll be fine,” he says. “Just a couple minutes of film that will be reduced down in post-production. I should also say there’s a chance it won’t even be in the final version.
” His look is apologetic. “Who knows what direction the producers will end up going.” He turns to Natalie.
“Can you get some footage of the treatment rooms first?”
Does he sense I need another minute to quiet my pounding heart? I don’t do interviews, especially ones being shown on TV during an NFL game.
“So you said you’re partnering with some other programs on campus, and this documentary will promote them, too?”
I’m not going to go into this interview completely clueless. He owes me at least some information.
“Yeah, we’re super excited about it, especially with the building nearing completion.”
“The building?”
He tips his head to the left. “The Sports Medicine Institute. They’re opening it up for tours next week ahead of the grand opening in May. Exciting stuff.”
“Wait. You’re partnering with them?”
“Yeah, I mean, it fits my brand, don’t you think? Sports medicine is important.”
I still, forcing my breathing to come under control. He’s right, of course. Except it’s sports.
Before I can respond, Natalie returns, smiling. “Okay, I got a little footage in there. Those treatment rooms are cute. Are you guys ready?”
They are as cute as we could make them with the resources we had. It’s inviting for the kids because it’s important for them to feel comfortable. No OT work is effective if the clients aren’t comfortable.
Just like this interview won’t be effective because I’m the opposite of comfortable.
Taysom steps toward me as Natalie wields a big fluffy brush dipped in powder. She powders my face and studies me, frowning. She searches the bag before producing some lip gloss and a cotton swab.
“We’ll just add this and then we’ll be good to go!”
She’s being nice about it, but I know we’re not good to go. I’m a shaky mess.
Taysom stands next to me, in all his effortless glory. “Are you ready?” His eyes are shining like this is no big deal.
My former crush is here, without warning, and I look like this. In two months’ time, I’ll be jobless. With a slap of clarity, I realize I won’t get to be the one to help MJ after her surgery, which is a very big deal.
After my own surgery when I was little, my OT, Zara, saved me. She didn’t put up with my complaining, but somehow made me laugh, even through the pain of therapy.
I desperately want to be that for MJ—our rapport is great already. She’s mine and I’m invested and…now she’s going to have a different OT to help her through the agony of post-op.
Taysom glances at me, a question in his eyes. I nod, so he starts right in. “We’re here at the Early Childhood Center on campus with Charlotte Mercer, one of the occupational therapists. Charlotte, can you tell us a bit about the center?”
I smile briefly before licking my lips. “There’s a lot I could tell you.” I look at him, glance at the camera, and then back at him. I’m probably not supposed to look at the camera, huh? Willa would have known how to do this.
“Our clientele are kids ages zero to six who’ve been referred here because they need occupational therapy services for a variety of conditions. ”Taysom nods. “Yes, let’s hear about them.”
I breathe. “There’s so much to say about them. They have incredible stories. And they’re so strong. Their resilience and strength inspire me. We’ve helped improve the quality of life, mobility, and functionality of countless children.”
I take a deep breath. “There’s one child who is going to need major surgery to correct her condition, and I’m heartbroken I won’t be able to help her recover.”
Taysom’s frown is fleeting. “And why is that?”
“Well, because soon, this clinic is closing due to losing most of our funding.” At Taysom’s shocked expression, I nod. “We found out on our lunch break just now that we’re losing our jobs in June. Our directors will regroup and assess what to do moving forward.”
“Oh wow, I wasn’t aware of that.”
My gaze takes him in. “That means there will be hundreds of kids whose families will be forced to go somewhere else for the treatment they so desperately need. And all because the university reallocated our funds to something else. Our kids need this clinic. We don’t charge for our services, and our clientele relies on us to provide what they can’t afford. ”
“That’s really unfortunate. I’m sorry.”
“Let me ask you something, Taysom. Why is so much money going to a big, fancy, state-of-the-art sports med facility when centers like this are being forced to make huge cuts?”
Taysom’s mouth opens and closes. He blinks.
MJ’s dark eyes fill my mind. What’s going to happen to her? This isn’t fair to her, and I know that more than most. Her gait is problematic—I’ve memorized every part—and it haunts me.
“Sports gets money from so many sources,” I continue.
“I know the whole idea of kids in need of OT isn’t as exciting and newsworthy as elite athletes who need an ice bath once in a while.
But can you live with yourself knowing that kids won’t be getting the preventative screenings and treatment they need because you’re funding something that’s going to be just fine without your cash? ”
My OT, Zara, changed everything about my recovery after surgery.
The pain—unforgiving and white-hot—zigzags through me as I remember those days.
How I couldn’t run and play like the other kids.
How I was stared at and teased for my cast and the braces on my legs.
But Zara’s no-nonsense optimism gave me hope. It kept me going.
“Donors are lining up for the sports medicine institute,” I say, my cheeks growing hot. “But not for the Early Childhood Center, Taysom.” My voice breaks at his name, my lips trembling. “This is personal to me. I am these kids. The conditions that plague them? Well, it happened to me.”
Taysom’s mouth drops open and one of his perfectly thick eyebrows quirks in the air.
I’m standing in front of somebody who has the means to help, and there’s no way I’m going to stop advocating for these kids now. “Would you consider donating to our center instead?” I blurt it out before I even realize what I’m doing.
I step back.
What have I done?