Desert Heat Page 2

  “Really Sam, it’s all on the up and up.” I promised.

  “Yeah, well I still think it’s lame you won’t go check it out.” She said with a half shrug.

  “Well I think it’s lame you haven’t introduced me to Anthony.” I threw back at her.

  She and Anthony had been engaged for over a month now and I still haven’t met the guy.

  “Maybe if you would show up when I invite you out for once you would finally get to meet him.” She threw back just as easily.

  Though she had a smile set on her face I could see the sadness in her eyes.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll try better next time.” I promised, meaning it.

  “Whatever, we have to get to work.” Sam held her watch up to emphasize her point.

  She was right. We had just ten minutes to get to the office. Thankfully, the coffee shop was just a short walk from the office where we could grab a cup of life’s source before the day began.

  -

  The hustle around the office was nothing new. Every morning started off with a meeting in which we gave updates on our clients, sharing our achievements, addressing concerns, and sharing our goals.

  Sam and I had made it to the office with just enough time to grab our files from our desk and rush to the conference room. I had several announcements of my own that I was excited to share. A family I had been working with had finally been approved for Easter Seals. I also had a family that had completed their fostering classes and would be able to take in children starting at the end of the month.

  It was a small victory but one that would carry on for many years. This would hopefully help a lot of children along the way.

  “Sasha, what do you have?” The director, Elizabeth Shields, asked pulling me from my happy thoughts.

  “The Briers have finished their classes and have been approved to foster. They will be able to start accepting children at the end of the month. The Forbs have been approved for Easter Seals to help with their Autistic grandmother.” I smiled brightly proud of my announcements.

  “How are things on the Davidson front?” Elizabeth asked.

  My mouth took a downward turn. The Davidson’s have proven to be a difficult case. The father was an abusive alcoholic. The mother had left several times taking the children with her, only to return later; her love for her husband blinding her until the abuse starts back up.

  “Mrs. Davidson is back with her husband along with the three children.” I swallowed hard around the lump in my throat.

  It was a case I hated to discuss but I knew it was necessary. All a part of the job I reminded myself.

  With an understanding nod, Elizabeth continued on getting updates from everyone in the room.

  With the meeting over, I gathered the files I would need to make my family wellness checks. It was probably one of the hardest parts of the job, going into family’s homes to do assessments and check on their wellness. The fear radiating off the families while I was in their homes was thick, nearly stifling. After the home check I would do my rounds at the hospital and the inpatient rehab facility followed by the jail.

  It was rare to have a caseload drag me to so many places at once but sometimes it happened. My wellness checks were every Wednesday which meant the entire day would be spent on the road unless there was an emergency. Emergencies were never a good thing. Every minute of every day I dreaded the phone ringing, afraid of what I would come up against.

  “I have to go to the jail this morning, wanna come with?” Sam asked striding up beside me.

  “I have to hit St. Mary’s rehab and Century hospital this morning along with the jail. Have anything there?” I asked hoping for some company.

  Sam sighed. “Sorry, just the jail for me this week.” Her lower lip protruded in an over exaggerated pout.

  “Bummer.” I gave her hip a check.

  “I’ll see ya when I get back.” I tossed a casual wave over my shoulder as I walked out the door to my car.

  I had just about finished all of my home checks on a high note with great reports. The Meyer’s had finally found a suitable sitter for their grade school children. Child protective service had been called when neighbors witnessed the small children coming home from school to an empty house until the young parents arrived home from work many hours later.

  The Sanders were doing well with their ailing grandfather. The grandfather had called us to report that his family had been denying him food. When I arrived, I had discovered that Mr. Sander’s had a case of dementia and had been placed on a strict diet by his doctors. Even though the family had been acting on doctors’ orders and nothing was found amiss, I still had to do wellness check for three months by law.

  I only had one home visit left, the Davidsons. This one I had saved for last. I couldn’t get the last visit to the Davidsons out of my head. I had come for our scheduled home visit only to find Mrs. Davidson lying unconscious on the front deck, a deep gash across her head.

  I had dialed 9-1-1, taking the children into my care until their father came to collect them. As reluctant as I was to release the children to him, I had no choice, especially after Mrs. Davidson proclaimed to the police at the hospital that she had “slipped and fallen.” It was a common lie we heard from victims, but until we could prove otherwise or unless the children were at risk, we would have to take their word for it.

  My stomach pooled with dread as I sat staring at the brick home with a wide white wrap-around porch. The car idled softly as I studied the exterior of the home. To a passer-by the house looked like the perfect home to start a family in. It sat in a newer section of a middle-class housing development, lush emerald green grass wrapped around the home. White shutters hugged the large windows; the home reminded me of my own home I grew up in. Though my home growing up had been filled with love, I knew that was not the case in this home, at least not by Mr. Davidson.

  Reluctantly I climbed from the car, my feet feeling like they were encased in lead as I trudged up the concrete walkway to the house. As my foot struck the first step to the wrap-around porch Mrs. Davidson opened the front door. Her fiery red hair pulled back into a messy bun, a bright white smile gracing her face. The gash on her head had healed, leaving no visible reminders in its wake.

  “Come on in Sasha.” She called excitedly, waving me in past the spot where I had found her lying only a week before.

  I returned the smile, the dread lifting from my stomach as I took in the genuine lift of her lips. Emily Davidson was wearing a white apron over her long floral dress. She reminded me of June Cleaver as she led me to the kitchen where she was prepping for dinner. I took an offered seat at the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room.

  “How have you been Sasha?” She asked over her shoulder as she pulled a pan of freshly baked cookies from the oven.

  “I’ve been well, thank you for asking. Tell me, how have things been since you came home?” I asked eager to not only hear her answer but also watch her body language.

  People often said more with their body language than they did with their words.

  Mrs. Davidson spun around to face me, her smile splitting her face. “Things have been so much better.” She gushed out striding toward the counter that separated us.

  Though she smiled and pretended to be a happy housewife I could see the traces of worry at the corner of her eyes. Yes, her words say that she is happy but her eyes, her eyes tell me everything I need to know. She is happy as long as her husband is out of the house, she’s happy to be back in her home and away from the shelter, but she knows that the happiness is built on a shaky ground.

  “Bob has really been great. Really understanding, ya know.” I watched as she wrung a limp dishrag in her hands, her smile never wavering.

  “How long have you been home?”

  “Oh, about two days now. We came home on Monday. Yeah. It was Monday.” She turned to the stove giving me her back as she gently placed the thoroughly wrung rag on the counter, switching to the
pancake turner resting beside the stove.

  I watched as she removed the cookies from the pan, placing them on a cooling rack. Her body moved stiffly with each movement, beguiling her smooth easy voice.

  “How are the children adjusting?” I asked, taking notes as I went.

  “Oh, they are happy to be home. Glad to be back in their old rooms and away from that shelter.” I could hear the strain in her voice as she struggled to maintain her façade, her smile pasted onto her face.

  As much as it broke my heart, I knew there was nothing I could do for Emily if she wasn’t willing to walk away for the sake of herself and her children. I could only help her as much as she was willing to let me. The only saving grace was that the husband had never touched the children; instead, all of his anger had been directed at Emily.

  “Emily, is there anything I should know? Anything I can do to help you?” I asked, giving her the opportunity to come open up.

  “Oh, you have done so much for us Sasha.” She brushed away my offer with her words.

  It was a common excuse I had heard from people afraid to reach out and from Emily more times than I could count.

  “Emily, you know I’m always here for you and the children. You just need to tell me what I can do to help you.”

  Emily turned to face me; I could see the unshed tears in her eyes threatening to spill over. Straightening her spine, I watched as she transformed back into character, her face a mask of happiness.

  “Bob loves us, he loves me. Things have just been hard since he left the Marines but he’ll adjust.” She gave me a wide flat smile.

  I had to choke back my laughter at the absurdity. Robert ‘Bob’ Davidson had flunked out of boot camp his first week, calling him a Marine was a stretch if ever there was one, but it wasn’t my place to tell that to Emily. My job was to act as a support system, to ensure that she and the children were safe and secure.

  Judging by her actions I could see that she was in distress, frightened, and clearly uncomfortable with her current situation, yet unable to display her true emotions. I was only granted access to her true emotions when they became too much for her to contain and her mask slipped.

  “Emily, you know I can’t tell you what to do. I can only offer guidance and support. I’m here to make sure you feel safe and secure. I’m here to assist you any way you need me to.” I spoke calmly as I reassured her of my purpose.

  Emily’s eyes darted across the room toward the pantry, the action so swift I nearly missed it. It was then that I began to understand, Emily was not alone. She was putting on a charade for whoever was hiding in the pantry. My best guess would be her husband Bob.

  Anger began to boil in my veins. My anger was not directed at Emily but at the situation, perhaps a little of it at Emily. I couldn’t understand how someone could continue on in an abusive relationship. Through all of the schooling and psychology classes I had taken, I still could not understand it, perhaps I never would.

  As if sensing my emotional turmoil, Emily crossed the room wrapping me in a firm embrace, holding me close to her.

  “He said he will change and I believe him.” She spoke loudly, clearly, as she put on a show for Bob who was hiding away, probably watching through the cracks.

  I hugged her back fiercely. “If for any moment you need help, you call me immediately and I’ll be here. I promise you.” I whispered into her ear.

  “If you’re happy, I’m happy.” I spoke out loud which calmed her.

  “Do you have any other questions for me before I start cleaning up the kitchen?” She asked eager for our visit to end.

  I began to gather my things off the counter. “None that I can think of, as long as you and the kids feel safe and secure here at home.” I emphasized the word safe watching as Emily’s body froze.

  “We are all happy to be home.” She repeated her earlier statement, never missing a beat.

  As we walked to the door I slipped a burner phone from my bag, nudging it into Emily’s hand. I covered her as she hid the phone into the pocket of her apron.

  “If you need anything, give me a call.” Emily gave me another hug at the door, her slender arms squeezing me tightly.

  “Have a good day Sasha.” She called out as she shut the door firmly behind me.

  I walked away from the house feeling worse than before. I hated the situation. I hated feeling helpless, but there was nothing I could do unless I felt that Emily or the children were in direct harm.

  This was one of the worst parts of the job, the inability to help, to be forced to the sidelines until I was called, which meant until something bad happened. The thought churned my stomach.

  I finished out my day stopping by the jail, rehab facility and finally the hospital. I had saved the hospital for last knowing that this visit would be the one to either make or break my day.

  As I walked down the brightly lit hallway the stench of antiseptic assaulted my nostrils, forcing me to breathe through my mouth. I plastered a pleasant smile on my face as I approached the nurse’s station to sign in.

  “Hey Sasha.” Evelyn the duty nurse sang, brightly flashing me a dazzling white smile.

  “Evelyn, how have you been?” I asked, returning the smile.

  Evelyn was a beautiful petite Asian woman who headed the geriatric ward of the hospital. Our paths crossed at least once a month as my caseload often brought me to the hospital. We had formed an easy friendship over the past three years since I had become a social worker. Her bright smile and cheery disposition put me at ease, making the air of the hospital easier to breathe.

  “How is Mrs. Edwards today?” I asked, hoping her insight would prepare me for what I would find at the end of the hallway in Mrs. Edwards room.

  “I think you should check for yourself.” Evelyn winked giving me a sly smile.

  Taking her smile as a good sign I made my way to Mrs. Edwards’ room.

  Mrs. Edwards was a widow who had become unable to care for herself. We were called in when the neighbors had begun to complain of foul odors coming from her home. Fear that she may have passed away brought their attention to the matter. When the police had entered the home, they had found Mrs. Edwards sitting in a home full of filth, her inability to care for herself had left her in a weakened state wallowing around in her own excrement.

  It was a sad pitiful sight. She had been brought to the hospital with an infection stemming from the incident, along with a myriad of ailments that plagued her. I was assigned to her until she was placed in a home or her family came to take care of her. So far, we had been hitting dead ends trying to reach her grown children.

  I paused at the door of Mrs. Edwards’s hospital room, my hand resting on the door handle, the sound of murmuring voices drifting through the crack in the door.

  “Go on in.” Evelyn said, appearing out of thin air by my side.

  “Geeze woman.” I hissed clutching my chest. “You scared the life out of me.”

  Evelyn chuckled, pushing the door open and making her way past me as she entered the room.

  “Hello Mrs. Edwards, Mr. Edwards.” Evelyn’s cheery voice bounced along the walls.

  Intrigued I followed her into the room. A tall man with dark brown salt and pepper hair stood holding Mrs. Edwards hand. He was smartly dressed in what appeared to be an expensive suit, a gold Rolex peeked from the cuff of his shirt. The man screamed money. I felt a hint of disdain creep up the back of my neck. It was rare for well off family members to care for their own ailing parents. I anticipated hearing such coming from his mouth.

  “Mr. Edwards, I would like you to meet Sasha Gaines, she’s the case worker that has been assigned to your mother.” Evelyn quickly made the introductions.

  I greeted both Mrs. and Mr. Edwards warmly. Mrs. Edwards’ bright smile warmed my heart. It was clear she was happy to see her son. Her eyes seldom left him.

  Mr. Edwards’ thick hand quickly engulfed mine as he pumped it up and down. Though he screamed money his demeanor was nothing like I
would have expected. I quickly chastised myself for stereotyping the man.

  “Thank you so much for tending to my mother and for contacting us.” His eyes clouded over with tears as he gave a watery smile.

  “I am so glad we were able to contact you.” I replied, unsure of how the man was contacted.

  We had tried desperately to contact her family, always running into dead ends. I had begun to wonder if she even had any children.

  “My ex-wife called me after speaking to you. She admitted to telling me that you had the wrong number. She said that after she thought about it for a while she felt it was only fair that she inform me.” He said answering my unasked question as though reading my mind.

  “I’m so happy that she did.” I replied in all honesty giving him a warm smile.

  “Tell me, what is your plan of care?” I asked, hoping that I hadn’t assumed that by him being there that he would indeed be taking over the care of his mother.

  “My partner and I have arranged with Doctor Gibbs for my mother to remain in his care. She will be coming home with me with round-the-clock nursing. We have already arranged with Doctor Gibbs for in-home visits from him twice a week as to not disturb her healing.” His smile was genuine making me want to believe him.

  “May I speak with you in the hall?” I asked giving him a reassuring smile.

  Mrs. Edwards lay watching us as we spoke a smile fixed to her face.

  “Yes, of course.” He replied.

  Before leading him out of the room I reassured Mrs. Edwards of our return before walking out of the room.

  “Mr. Edwards, were you aware of your mother's condition?” I asked once I had him alone.

  I watched as the smile slipped from his lips. “No, Ms. Gaines, I’m afraid I was not.” Guilt consumed his face.

  “May I ask why you and your mother were estranged?”

  Mr. Edwards shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable with my line of questioning.

  “You see Ms. Gaines, I have always loved my mother. But there was a time when I fell from her grace. We had a close relationship until I became entangled with my partner James.” Through the hesitation of his words I could hear the pain in his voice, realization hitting me like a bolt of lightning.