“My pride? Seriously? You think you’re going to get any help talking to people like this?” Tracey demanded.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I sincerely apologize,” I told her through clenched teeth.
“Humph. Well, I think you have a lot to learn about being a social worker, Imogen.”
Don’t tell her what you really think of her, Imogen. Play nice.
“Do you have funds to put Yoss in a hotel perhaps? What about transitional housing?” I changed the subject. I wanted to help Yoss, but I wouldn’t be her whipping boy either.
“Our funds are depleted for the year. As for transitional housing, there are no openings in the program currently,” Tracey responded shortly.
“There has to be an option—”
“There is. The shelter. I’m afraid that’s it. So perhaps instead of wasting my time, you should be discussing the benefits of the shelter program with Mr. Frazier. Because that’s all I can offer him at the moment.”
I knew funds were tight, but I wondered if her resistance to helping Yoss had more to do with me than anything else.
Whatever the reason, Tracey Higgins wasn’t going to help.
“Okay. Well thank you for all of your time,” I said a little sarcastically.
“Let me know if he plans to come. Goodbye.” Tracey hung up before I could say anything else.
I slammed the phone down and covered my face with my hands.
I became angry. Infuriated. And finally despondent.
Yoss was dying.
His options were few.
And there was very little I could do for him.
“He’s agreed to stay. For now,” I told Dr. Howell later that day.
“Is he still adamant about not going to a shelter?”
“Yes. I’m trying to find somewhere else for him to go, but I’m not getting a whole lot of help in that department,” I explained, feeling like a failure. Feeling like nothing I was doing would ever be enough.
“He’s lucky to have you on his side, Imogen,” Dr. Howell said and I felt my eyes sting. His words were meant to be a compliment. Why did it feel like a lie?
“Don’t leave. Not yet,” I said to him before I left that evening.
This time Yoss didn’t respond.
“Promise, Yoss,” I pleaded.
My only answer was the beating of an aching heart.
It seemed we were always ending before we had a chance to begin.
My house felt empty. I stood inside the front foyer, not bothering to turn on the lights.
This doesn’t feel right.
I jingled my keys in my hand and couldn’t make myself take another step.
“I can’t stay here. I’m crawling out of my skin.”
