Swedenborg 19

As soon as she opened the door, Sharon Sweetwater was greeted by a wall of heat and humidity, laced with the smell of litter box.

And then the plaintive cry of the cat racing to greet her.

             She closed the door, locked it, tossed her bag onto the couch, and then picked up the cat and scratched it under the chin.

             "Did you miss me, Mathom?"

             The cat purred and pushed its head against her hand.

             "Sorry I'm late. Let's get you some food."

 She put Mathom down. The cat, an orange tabby stray that had adopted her shortly after she moved in, circled her legs, almost tripping her, and continued its purring. She scooped some cat food from the can onto a saucer, and put it down for the circling cat.

            "I can see you predator side coming out," she said, watching the cat pounce on the food. She poured herself some lemonade from the fridge, took a big gulp, and then went from room to room turning on the fans. The small air conditioner had broken days before, and the landlord was taking his time.

She flopped on the couch in the path of one of the fans. The air that hit her was warm.

It was going to be a rough night.

It had been a rough day.

A steady stream of patients, some of whom vented their anger and frustration at her and the rest of the staff at the clinic. And then there was that meeting.

It was supposed to be just a weekly meeting to keep the staff updated and in contact. But it had ended up in shouting matches as the staff vented their frustration and anger at each other and the administrators.

Too many patients. Too few supplies. Too little support. Too little security. Too little pay.

It ended up with a doctor and a nurse who had been the most consistent complainers quitting. The rest of the staff spent the rest of the meeting juggling schedules to cover. As one of the junior members, Sharon had little choice, and had lost the Friday day off she'd been hoping for. She wanted to get out of town, out of the valley, but now ...

Another weekend in hell, she thought.

She turned on the television, and flipped through a few channels. Bad news or bad sitcoms. She turned it off.

She listened to the noise from the street. Traffic. Yelling. Loud music.

And the hot humid air the fan was moving. It was going to be a long night.

She was startled by a knocking at the door. She approached it cautiously, peeking through the spy hole.

Mrs. Torres.

Sharon was tempted to pretend she'd fallen asleep or was in the shower . Not very neighborly. But Mrs. Torres had faced so many tragedies. Her son’s fiancée. Then the clinic shootings. And she had a need to talk about them, or just to cry.

             It’s like I never leave work, Sharon sighed.

            She opened the door.

            Mrs.  Torres’ eyes were red. She looked like she had been crying for a long time, and was about to burst into tears again.

            “I’m sorry … I’m sorry to bother you,” Mrs. Torres said.

            At least she was polite about it, Sharon thought.

           “No problem. Please, come in. Would you like something to drink?”

            Mrs. Torres sat on the couch. “No. No. I’m just worried. My Rafael is not home.”

            “It’s still early,” Sharon said, sitting in the rocking chair next to the couch.

            “Yes. But he knew I’ve been afraid. For him. So much violence out there. Maria. The … he’s a good boy.”

            Actually, based on her contact with Rafael, Sharon believed her. He was quiet. He didn’t come home drunk or stoned.  He had finished community college. He’d been accepted into the police academy.

            “I heard what happened at the clinic. How awful. Just after Maria. I don’t know what ot say. He’s got a lot on his mind.”

            “He is so upset. His Maria. Then, then . ., to kill. His own boss. At that place. He never should have worked there.”

            “From what I heard, he had to shoot. She was crazy. No one will hold that against him.”

            “He does not want to go back to that terrible place,” Mrs. Torres spat. She shook her head. “But maybe the police academy will not take him now. What are we going to do?”

            “I can understand why he doesn’t want to go back,” Sharon said softly. “But no one will hold that against him. I’m sure of that. And he’s already accepted into the academy. They won’t just kick him out now.”

            “He killed someone.”

            “Defending people,” Sharon responded. “That’s what police are supposed to do.”

            “If he does not go back, how will we get by?”

            “Maybe he could find another job for a while,” Sharon suggested. “He won’t be able to work full time while in the academy anyway.”

            “We got money saved. But if he don’t work now, we will use it up.” Then she burst into tears again, “Why did that lady have to go crazy?”

            Sharon moved over the couch and put her arm around the older woman. She handed her some tissues.

            “It’s okay,” Sharon said. “He’ll find something. He’s a good worker.”

            Mrs. Torres looked at her. “You are so good. I don’t know why I come to you.”

            “I’m just one of those people people like to talk to, I guess,” Sharon said. “Did Rafael go to the counselor I suggested?”

            “About Maria. Twice. I think. Now this. I don’t know if he has yet.”

            “It’s a lot for anyone. He should keep going.”

            “I will tell him.” She burst into tears again. “What are we going to do?”

            Sharon knew that when Mrs. Torres got into one of these moods, the tears could go on for hours. Not tonight, please.

            “Well,” Sharon said slowly, “maybe I have an idea.”

            Mrs. Torres looked at her expectantly.

            “People are worried about security at the health center I work at,” Sharon said. “Maybe there’s some money available.”

            “Oh, would you? You are a saint.”

            Far from it.

            Suddenly there was a knocking at the door.

            They both startled.

            Sharon went to the peep hole.

            Rafael. Thank God.

            She opened the door. Rafael smiled wearily, and looked in at his mother.

            “I thought she might be here. Sorry if she is bothering you.”

            “It’s fine.”

            “Mama, time to go home.”

            “Rafael, I was so worried.”

            “Sorry. An accident held up traffic. I had to go down some side streets.”

            “But this holy lady has a job for you.”

            Sharon blanched.

            “I had an idea, but it’s nothing definite.”

            “I know it will be okay,” Mrs’ Torres said. “God watches over her.”

            Rafael gave Sharon a knowing look.

            “Yes, mama,” he said. “Now let’s go home and let her alone.”

            Mrs. Rafael gave Sharon a hug at the door. “You are a saint.”

            Sharon closed the door. She flopped back on the couch in the hot air from the fan. Mathom, who had hidden when Mr. Torres came in, reappeard, and jumped on her lap.

            Sharon scratched the cat’s head.

            Okay God, she thought, if I’m a saint, how about a few miracles?

Pax et bonum