Fall to Pieces - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,11
the kitchen for my instant liquid breakfast before rushing out the door, knowing I’ll be late if I take any longer.
Once I close myself inside my Jeep, I thrash my head back against the headrest. “All I have is this damn headache, Keegan. That’s it.”
I can’t even turn up the radio this morning. It’ll just make the throbbing pain in my head worse. The home I work at is about twenty minutes from my apartment, which is a lot further than it was a couple of years ago before we relocated. It was just two miles away from my apartment when I started there, but I’d follow those kids out of the state at this point.
I don’t love the new area, or the house, but we do what we can do with the state’s money. An old farmhouse with rickety floors and windows that invite drafts in on chilly nights is the place. The whole house could use a remodel, but I’m not sure the kids notice, considering where they came from before ending up here.
The driveway is large enough to fit four cars; mine, the childcare manager, an assistant, and a space for the occasional parent showing up for a visit.
As I unlock the front door, Leena’s voice bellows from down the hall. “Miss Taylor is back today!”
Miss Taylor is back from a week of bereavement leave, and we hope she’s stable enough to perform her job correctly. I’m sure that’s what Leena is thinking. My situation is too complicated to explain, but I put on a good act. I can be present and hide what’s going on inside my head.
“Can everyone say good morning to Miss Taylor?” Leena says as she continues rounding up the kiddos.
“Good morning, Miss Taylor,” they say in unison.
The youngest child here is Zooey. She just turned four and has little understanding of the rules here. It doesn’t bother me. However, Leena is determined to instill the house guidelines as she continues to grow. Despite my personal feelings, I must comply due to state regulations in a children’s group home. Zooey doesn’t understand the “no touching” rule, so she runs up to me each morning and wraps her little arms around my leg, shrieking, “Hi, Miss Auggie.”
This morning, after being gone for a week, Zooey doesn’t run up to me. She raises her hand and waves, bashfully. I wish I could tell her to break the rules because I need her tiny embrace this morning, but it would be wrong.
Leena smiles at the children with pride and places a hand on my back. “Boys and girls, Miss Willa is in the kitchen fixing your breakfast. Why don’t you all have a seat at the table, and I’ll be there in a minute? Wynne, could you make sure they all make it in there?”
Wynne is our oldest girl. She doesn’t speak often, but she’s very mature and responsible. With a quick agreeable nod, Wynne ushers the others into the kitchen.
“How are you doing?” Leena asks me, her lips arched to one corner, and her brows sewn together with concern. Leena doesn’t show much emotion, which is par for the course of this job, but I know she’s human inside and has a big heart. A person must have a big heart to do what we do.
“I’m fine,” I tell her, forcing my lips to curl upward in a forced smile.
“You’re lying. We’ve known each other for quite a while, and though we’re good at hiding our pain, I can see it in your eyes, August.”
I inhale through my nose and walk toward my office, a side-room adjacent to the living room. It’s the place where I meet privately with caseworkers, parents, and officials. It’s also where I have discussions with the kids, keeping track of their thoughts and feelings.
The last time I was in this office, my life was okay, or at least as fine as it could be. Now, everything is different.
“You knew it was coming, didn’t you?” she asks, closing us into my office.
“I knew it could happen someday, but no, I wasn’t aware that last week was his time.”
“Are you talking to someone?” Leena asks.
“You know I have to,” I remind her. In our positions with the state, our mental health must be up to a certain standard too, and I’m required to see someone so they can determine I’m well enough to do my job.
“I was just making sure,” Leena says. Her hair looks dull this morning, more so than usual,