“I, uh, might have had a little chat with one of the nurses, and theymighthave given me not only Inez’s infusion schedule, but a little more information about her.”
Ellen chuckled. “You always were my charmer.”
Vincent didn’t disagree.
“Inez is six years old, and lost her parents three years ago. Scuttlebutt has it, it was a murder/suicide thing.”
“Oh my,” Ellen exclaimed, her hands going to her cheeks. “The poor child.”
“Yeah. And apparently Inez witnessed it, and has some trauma from the event that the nurses are hoping is being addressed.”
Yes.He’d used all the charisma he could muster with the empathetic nurses, amazed that they’d had so much to impart. But apparently the social worker who dropped Inez off wasn’t exactly circumspect, and very chatty.
That seemed like a huge breach of confidentiality to Vincent, but the lapse in protocolhadhelped him gain enough intel that it had cemented his course of action.
“Can kids her age experience PTSD?” his mother asked.
Right.Here was something with which he was very familiar.
“They can. I’ve been reading up. Witnessing traumatic events at ages as early as one, can lead to not only nightmares, but thumb-sucking, bed-wetting, violent play…”
It had been a lot to take in, but it hadn’t discouraged Vincent.
Not that he’d talked about it much with his parents, but they knew he’d been dealing with some shit of his ownafter a particularly gnarly operation overseas had labeled him “unreliable”. He’d had to explain it to them a bit—not in detail—when they’d noticed his lifelong sense of humor wasn’t what it once was.
They, of course, had supported him one hundred percent. And after keeping things inside since he’d parted ways with the Navy it had felt good to let a little of it out.Andhe was considering therapy as a civilian; if just to get back his joie de vivre.
“So you feel a connection to her,” his mother put in, astutely.
“I do. And… I know this might sound crazy, but I’ve been looking into becoming a foster parent. I’ve, um, actually put in an application.”
His mother beamed, clapping her hands together.
“That’s wonderful Vincent.” She eyed him astutely. “What are the chances that you can take Inez in if you’re approved?”
Again, Vince held up a hand. “Nope. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, the powers that be have to run a background check on me.”
“Which will come back perfect,” his mother interjected with a scoff.
“True. But after that, I’ll have to take thirty hours’ worth of courses, and have a home inspection.”
“A home inspection? Here?” Ellen’s face lit up again.
Vincent could see his mother’s wheels turning, and he attempted to let her down gently. “Well, Ihavethought about looking for a place of my own.”
Thoughtswere exactly as far as he’d progressed.
Vincent continued. “I, uh, only had the briefest of notions that it might not be a bad idea to base myself here where everyone knows you and Pop as salt-of-the-earth citizens.”
His mother tsked, giving a crooked smile. “But you decided against it. As much as I’d like to have a little girl in thehouse,andyou, of course, long term, itwillbe better for you to establish your own, permanent residence. I don’t know how social services would view a grown man still living with his parents, anyway.”
“Exactly.” Vincent hadn’t wanted to disappoint his mother, but he knew she’d come around to the same conclusion he had.
Still, he could include her in his plans in other ways that would be extremely beneficial to his cause.
“Which means I need to enlist your help immediately, looking at local, viable real estate,” he proposed.
Property perusal and analysis wasn’t something he felt confident doing by himself. Having always lived on Uncle Sam’s dime in base housing, he knew very little about owning a home.