“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” she said.
I froze.
“Since you’re over sixty, and I do believe you’re in danger, I have to report this to Adult Protective Services. I—I hope you understand.”
My lips trembled as I attempted to formulate a word, a phrase, a sentence in response.
Jennifer pointed to her on-screen manual. “It says that if a client shows signs of financial distress, isolation, or any signs of neglect, I am required to report the situation to the proper authorities for further assessment.” She looked up at me. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hicks, but these are the guidelines I must follow.”
“I don’t care what your screen says. Common sense ought to tell you that I only need help with these one-time repairs,” I managed to say. My shaky voice betrayed me, and I took a big gulp of air to steady my brain.
Jennifer’s face flushed. She bit her bottom lip for a second. “There’s no need to be alarmed.”
“Youhavealarmed me, Jennifer. Sincerely.”
“I understand. Someone will be in touch again soon. Just as a follow-up.”
“Don’t you send nobody to my house,” I all but threatened her in my native Southern drawl. After all these years, I still managed to sound just like Grandma Jewel when she got riled up and lost her religion.
Jennifer must’ve seen something in my eyes, because she recoiled slightly, probably thinking I was hiding the depths of my despair. She softly stated, “Ms. Hicks, if your home is unlivable, we can help you find another place to stay. From what you’ve shared, it sounds like things might be…spiraling.”
“I am not spiraling,” I said slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. “I am managing just fine.”
Jennifer’s expression didn’t shift. She was in full-on official mode now. “It’s important to take these things seriously. If you’ve felt overwhelmed or neglected basic needs—”
I threw up my hands, exasperated. “Neglected? Look, I’m not some charity case. You’ve got this all wrong.”
Jennifer typed something quickly, clearly making note of my reaction. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
The finality in her tone hit me like a boulder. It’s amazing how one person can decide something about you—a judge, a teacher, a social worker—and everything changes.
I stood and pivoted to leave her office, not waiting for her to walk me back to the reception area. The room seemed to spin for a moment, my legs unsteady as I forced myself to walk away from the desk. What a waste of time, effort, and gas money. Worse, now I was on the state’s radar as an old woman in distress. Broke, possibly duped, and noted as irrational. Just like my daughter and my ex-husband had said. Just as I had feared.
I’d gone there for help from SLAP. But SLAP slappedmeinstead.
Chapter 18
Thanks to my abbreviated visit to SLAP, I made it back in plenty of time to pick up Elijah from day camp. The light makeup I’d put on that morning had been all but swept away by my river of tears.
“Grandma, what’s wrong?” he asked as soon as we got in my car.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
The air between us swelled with anxiety, however, and I decided I’d better say something, because one thing I know about children: They often internalize things and wonder if they’re to blame whenever adults have problems.
A few blocks from the house, I concocted a suitable explanation for my reddened eyes and sniffles. “EJ, I’m dealing with some sadness, but it has nothing to do with you.”
“Wh-what are you sad about?”
“Grown-up stuff.Oldgrown-up stuff.” I snickered.
“Are you gonna be sad all day?” he pried.
“That’s a good question. I don’t know,” I answered.
“Okay. ’Cause I was just thinking, if you’re still sad after dinner, we should go get a huge snow cone.”
A laugh barreled up from my belly, full and light, taking a bit of my cares with it. “You make me happy, EJ. I’m so glad you’re here.” I reached over and tried to tickle his neck, but he clamped his chin down in defense.
