Angel

4 - Noreen

Pushing the door open with my back, I walked into the office with coffee in one hand and a bag of Timbits in the other. The bag had two boxes of the deep fried bits of doughy hell. I had no idea why my colleagues craved them, but they did and today was definitely a day to get on their good side.

"Girl, what have you got for us?"

I tried not to just stare at her. That was definitely one thing I wouldn't miss. Kennedy always sounded as if she was part of a sitcom. A bad sitcom. And I knew for a fact that her birth name wasn't Kennedy. Sighing, I plopped the bag down on the desk.

"Brought in some Timbits. Enough for everyone. Can you tell Misha I need to grab her for about an hour today? Any time is fine."

"You know I will."

Shaking my head, I made my way to my office. I couldn't deal with Kennedy.

Putting my coffee down, I opened the laptop and looked around, taking an inventory and making snap judgements about what I'd take and what I'd leave. Diving into some spreadsheets, I started doing everything I'd been pushing off until the end of the month. I wasn't just keeping busy. I wasn't avoiding the file next to my coffee. Things legit needed to get done.

I worked for an hour before reaching for the coffee. It was tepid, which was fitting. Putting it down again, I glanced at the folder. Ignoring it wouldn't make it go away. Neatly written along the side was her name, date of birth, and gender. Carli Clarance was my last client. I know, client sounds so impersonal. They needed a better term, but what are you going to do? It didn't slip by me that I'd already started thinking of the foundation as 'they' instead of 'we'.

Pushing the laptop away, I grabbed the folder and indulged in some pain shopping. The top sheet was a checklist. We had a protocol when a client passes. Send one of our custom condolence cards. Send a fruit basket. Reach out to the designated family member with a list of resources. Note date of services. Arrange for representation at services. Note status of any ongoing projects. Start memorial package if appropriate.

It was all way too much. All of it was too much. The fucking office was too much.

"You will not believe what Misha is wearing today. That girl clearly shops—"

Looking up, I saw Kennedy at the door to my office. "Close the door."

She stepped in.

"With you on the outside, Kennedy."

"Look, if you don't want me here, just say so."

"I just did. Close the fucking door."

She stood there with her mouth open like that stupid singing trout people hung on their wall.

"Close. The. Door."

She did. I flipped to the next page of the file and saw a picture of me holding Carli's hand at the premier of an animated movie. Leaning back in the chair, I stared at the ceiling and hated the choked-off noise I made as my closed eyes refused to hold back the tears.

I couldn't go through this again. It was killing me and I just had nothing left.

Time was as thick and turgid as syrup in winter, and every minute took weeks to pass. Pulling myself together, I closed the file and got back to work on the spreadsheets. I usually had one client that I handled directly, several others that I oversaw, and I took care of training and everything needed by volunteers.

Double checking sizes, I put in an order for long sleeve t-shirts with our logo. My phone rang when I was about to move on to the next project on my checklist. It was Misha.

"I heard we need to talk. Want to grab lunch?"

"Sure. Give me ten minutes?"

"Fine. I'll meet you out front."

Hitting the bathroom, I dropped in some Visine, touched up my makeup and headed out. We took Misha's car.

"I heard a crazy story about some lunatic yelling at Kennedy this morning."

"Subtle, Misha. Very subtle. Yeah, I wasn't in a place to deal with Kennedy and everything she brings to the table."

"Problems at home?"

"Actually, no. Let's wait 'till we have some food."

We went to Mucho Burrito and both got a burrito salad bowl.

"Okay, Noreen. Spill. What's going on?"

I paused, searching for words. "You know how much I love the job and everyone at the office and I appreciate the opportunity... Um, so... I need to move on. I'm... Look, this is hard. Explaining it, I mean. I just can't do it anymore. It's destroying me. I have to get out while there's still some of me left. Am I making any sense? I put in my time. It's just too much."

She was quiet and took a sip of her lemonade. "What about some time off? I know that Carli... Well, everything was difficult. You were more involved and we've been giving you too many of the rough cases for the past year. That wasn't fair to you. Why don't you take a couple of weeks off? We have a new case, a little boy. Get the ball rolling on that and then take some time for yourself."

Sighing, I looked down while shaking my head. "I'm sorry. This wasn't a negotiation or even a conversation. I'll have my resignation on your desk by four. I'm proud of what we've done, what you've taught me and the families we've helped, but it's changing who I am. Seven kids in four years. Seven funerals, Misha. I'm done."

She nodded sadly and raised her eyebrows. "So, what do I have? The traditional two-week notice? Can you stretch it to three? One week to bring someone in, two weeks to train them?"

I didn't have the heart to tell her I'd been hoping that I'd be gone by five that evening. "Let's call it two, but I'll see if I can stretch it a few days."

"Thanks. I'll get you the info on that little boy and we'll get the ball rolling. Michael can pick up the slack on the other stuff on your agenda. I'll take the wrap-up with Carli's family myself."

Letting out a slow breath, I felt lighter and free somehow. "Thanks. And I am sorry, really."

On the way out, I got another salad bowl for Kennedy. She was a little annoying, but she cared and was a hard worker. Getting back into the car, I thought about what I'd need to prep for the new child.

"Tell me about the little boy. How old is he? What does he like?"

"Seven, and he loves pirates. It's not... He's not terminal. He's going through chemo, but there's really only the father and son. The mother's side of the family is out of the picture and aside from the dad, there's only the boy's paternal grandparents. We're just basic support and putting a smile on his face. Maybe some toys, find something he'd love to do or experience, make it happen and we're out."

I smiled. "Okay, you can stop the hard-sell. Two weeks, maybe a little more."