“Twenty-one. You’re a goddamned baby,” Carla mutters. “I would say you can’t help anyone, because you’re too green, but that would be cruel and untrue. I won’t be a bully. Let’s get to it then. I have a dream list of shit I’d love to have in place for this city.”
Getting as comfortable as I can despite my back, I listen to what she has to say. We discuss what we can offer at the outreach center, what would be best suited for the shelter, and how to help individuals get back on their feet if they want that.
Dr. Walsh comes in to check on us, and then stays to listen to the conversations happening.
“I heard there is a place in Minneapolis called Omega’s Haven that offers free therapy and law services. Is that a possibility?” Carla asks.
“I can wrangle pro bono services,” Lyle says, unmuting himself. “I’ll reach out to the bar association here in Savannah.”
“Thank you, Lyle,” I reply. “Yes, we can work out law services, Carla. I need to see about?—”
“I can help with a list of possible therapists, Rosa,” Dr. Walsh says, stepping further into the room. “You all have your hands full, and I feel lazy with a patient who insists on working despite her injuries.”
“How many people are with you? I thought you were laid up in bed,”Carla says, confused.
“I’m her physician, and I moved in to take care of her,” Dr. Walsh says drolly.
“My pack is with me making calls, and I’m on a video call with some friends that are helping us. Just because I’m in bed, doesn’t mean I can’t be productive,” I mumble. “I need something to do, so here I am.”
“I still don’t understand,” she sighs. “I have been homeless off and on for years. When I’m doing well, I help others. I do best outside. I can’t work indoors if that’s what you’re wanting.”
“We should have an outreach team to go where people will need us the most. Word of mouth is the best way to help. Verona, my alpha, mentioned she met people while she was homeless that helped her find food. Being newly homeless and alone is scary even for an alpha,” I say easily. “We’ll work out a plan for paying you all. I’m just the girl making the calls.”
“That’s actually really smart,”she mutters.
Dr. Walsh rolls his eyes and pulls out a recording device to place next to me. That’s probably a good idea. If I’m going to be spitballing ideas, I want to make sure I remember what I said. My heart may be in the right place, but my memory is shit.
The doctor makes sure the device is recording before retreating so he won’t say anything else. They’re all very protective of me, but I can handle this.
The next few hours fly by, and we find ourselves with a group of people willing to start pulling together a decent staff. I have a million ideas, some of which will be able to be implemented quickly, and others that need time to build.
I’m aware that none of this is going to be easy. I don’t have the background to know how to properly bring this to life, but at least the ball is rolling.
Around six in the afternoon, I am peopled out from the calls, and I fall asleep as everyone around me begins to wrap things up.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, but even they had to lay the first bricks down, and that’s what we managed to do today.
* * *
Two months later
January
My fingers tug at my linen pants as I walk through the house to find my purse. I have my gun at the small of my back, good walking shoes on my feet, and a dozen other things that don’t fucking matter.
I’m stalling. I’ve taken walks in the backyard, helped my pack plant flowers and create the perfect hideaway for ourselves. The house is still a work in progress, but it’s coming along nicely.
For some reason, being in the backyard feels safe, but I won’t even look out the windows on the second floor at the front of the house.
I’ve been working with a physical therapist going up and down stairs, going for laps around the house, and in the backyard. To most people, I appear to be progressing well, but I know that’s not true. There are still roadblocks in my mind.
Dr. Walsh decided to give up his apartment and move in with family that live nearby. He said that I may not need him as much, but he still finds a way to come by once a week to chat.
Every day is filled with my pack, status calls to check in with the project manager at the shelter to see what else they need, and find new ways to heal. The nightmares are finally making their appearance, and I sleep in my nest, hidden behind the secret door with my pack.
It’s maddening that I have survived so much, only for the devils in my mind to decide this was the perfect time to torture me.
Avery is still lost in the wind, and life continues. How the fuck am I supposed to pretend that doesn’t scare me?