“Fuck, why did I think you’d give that first shit about managing an issue with our kids?”
“Because this isn’t an issue with our kids,” I whispered my reply. “You have an issue at home with your wife.” That was a guess but with this ridiculous conversation, with the way I now knew my children were escaping that house and with what I knew of my ex-husband, it was a guess I suspected was correct. “You’re making this my issue because you can’t sort it yourself. I do not factor in your life, Conrad. I do not want to factor in your life. I will not be dragged into issues you have in your home with your wife. So do not ever call me when things are not going well for you unless that genuinely involves our children.”
“I’m assuming this is your way of telling me that even though you’ve at long last settled down and pulled yourself together, you don’t wish to participate in a team effort in the raising of our children.”
How could he take that from what I said?
“Am I speaking English?” I asked.
“Go fuck yourself, Amelia,” he retorted and hung up on me.
God, what a dick.
I stared at my phone now knowing things were not good with Conrad and Martine.
I didn’t give a crap about that.
I was worried about my kids.
Shit.
*
Later that morning, I pushed open the door to Dove House and my eyes went right to the reception area where I saw Ruth sitting.
“Hey,” I greeted.
I was surprised she was there. Ruth was still volunteering but sporadically, mostly because my three days a week, three hours a day had morphed into four days a week, four to five hours a day, and since I was there so often Dela didn’t really need another volunteer who may or may not be in it for the long haul (the last part was what she really didn’t need).
We always needed help, though, so Ruth filled in here and there, but it was no longer regular.
“Hey, Amelia,” she replied.
“Good to see you,” I said, shrugging off my jacket.
“You too,” she returned. “But, um…Dela wants to see you too. In her office.”
I focused more closely on her and saw her usual pretty, benevolent features were shadowed with something.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Dela wants to speak with you, hon,” she repeated.
I stared at her, nodded and went to the door that led to the administration wing. I didn’t have to punch in the code because Ruth buzzed me in.
I walked down the short hall to Dela’s office, jacket over my arm, purse over my shoulder, and stopped in her opened office door. I knocked on the jamb, and when her head came up and she looked at me, I said, “Hey, Dela. Ruth wanted me to check in with you?”
“Yes, Amelia, come in, would you? Have a seat.”
She swept an arm to the chairs in front of her messy desk, and cautiously, I moved to one, feeling funny.
I’d been working there a while. I knew the lay of the land. I knew my duties. I knew when to pitch in, where and how. I knew the chain of command. I took tough stuff and easy stuff. Unless they thought I was a Nazi, all the residents liked me. I thought I did a good job.
I could not imagine I’d done something wrong.
Studying Dela’s face as I sat and tucked my purse and jacket into my lap, I couldn’t get a read on if it was saying I was in trouble or something else.
I just knew whatever it was saying wasn’t good.
“What’s going on?” I asked once I’d settled.
“Amelia, honey, worst part of this job but I have bad news for you, girl.”
I tensed.
She gave it to me.
“Mrs. McMurphy passed away last night.”
My lips parted and my throat started burning.
“I’m sorry, Amelia,” she went on, sounding like she absolutely was. “You were real good with her and I know she liked you, even if she thought you were a Nazi. This is tough news to hear and I hate havin’ to give it to you.”
“But, she was okay yesterday,” my mouth said for me, my voice sounding far away in my head.
Dela shrugged, keeping kind eyes on me. “Happens. Sometimes outta the blue like that. One minute their accusin’ you of bein’ in cahoots with Hitler. The next minute, peace.” She got up, walked around her desk, sat in the chair next to me and leaned in to grab my hand. She held it between us and said softly, “First one’s always the hardest, girl. Gotta say, plain truth, second one isn’t a whole lot better. We know ’em. We care for ’em. We give ’em what we can to make their time with us as best as it can be. It isn’t easy for them to be in here. And one thing we give ’em that they don’t know they’re gettin’ is how hard it is to find it in us to be able to say good-bye.”
I heard her. She was saying the right things.
But I looked to the window, wondering how on earth I could spend my days at Dove House without Mrs. McMurphy.
It was raining outside, gray, cold and windy, but I didn’t see that.
I saw Mrs. McMurphy walking down the front walk in her coat with her umbrella on a sunny day.
It was no longer funny.
Right then, it pierced my heart and made it bleed.
I felt a tug at my hand and my eyes drifted to Dela.
“You with me?” she asked.
“They’ll all go.” My mouth was still speaking for me in that distant way.
“Eventually, we all go, honey.”
She was right.
Mrs. Osborn.
Mrs. Porter.
God. Mr. Dennison.
“Not many folk have gifts like you and me.”
I focused again on Dela at her words.
“We get it,” she said, still gentle, but also now firm. “We got the strength others don’t have not ever to show to them we know they’ll go but we’ll suffer the good-bye. We just keep on givin’ ’em the good. That’s our job. That’s our gift. You with me?”
Somewhere in my dazed brain I understood she was challenging me.
And somewhere in my dazed brain I wondered if she actually saw that strength in me or if she wanted me to reach for it, believe in me, grab hold and give that to the folks I helped look after.
Perhaps the Amelia Hathaway my parents raised wouldn’t actually have that gift Dela was talking about.
But the Amelia Hathaway I’d become in spite of that definitely had it.
So it wasn’t just my mouth that replied, “I’m with you, Dela.”
I saw relief flash in her eyes, knew then she thought this sad event, like it had probably with others, would have me leaving.
But truly, if I did, who would Mr. Dennison flirt with?
I tipped my head toward the wall. “Are they upset?” I asked.
Her hand clenched in mine before she let it go and sat back. “The ones who been around awhile, they’re dealing. The new ones, not so much.”
“I better get out there,” I told her.
“Yeah,” she replied.
“Thanks for being so kind in telling me.”
“Practice,” she murmured like she wished she didn’t have it.
I figured she didn’t want that practice (because who would?) as I gave her a smile that I hoped reassured her, got up and went to the door.
I turned in it to see she was up and rounding her desk.