A Sister's Place

Chapter 12

The morning drive to the shelter was traffic-free.  The secret was to leave home before eight a.m., which was easy for me because I am a day person.  By 7p.m. I’m going downhill, but 5 a.m. is not a problem for me.  I drove out to I270, which is the longer way, but it allowed me to exit at New Florissant road and took me past the new shelter.  The trees hid the beginning of the tall black iron fence, but soon the fence was visible with only green ivy growing freely.  The end of the fence allowed me to see the gates.  One was closed, the other open.  I wanted to remember to get a quote today about the cost of installing a new electronic system, so we can open and close the gate by remote control.  An electronic gate!  It’s hard to believe, which is why I drive this way most mornings – just to look at that gate.  Occasionally there is a contractor’s truck parked on the driveway or a car I recognize belongs to an executive board member.  I’m so grateful, not just for the property, but also for how involved and excited the board has become with this project.

accident sometimes comes back to me in a flash.  I’ve been driving since 16 and never had an accident.  Maybe I dozed off, but it had not been a tense day, and I had slept well the night before.  Just, all of a sudden, there was this white blur, and I thought I had to make a sudden pull on my wheel, and then I was out of control.  Oh well.  Thank God I wasn’t killed.

My thoughts turned to Gracie as I neared Natural Bridge Road.  I had been so busy and so had she, with the evening classes. She has been so quiet.  I must make time today to talk to her - time other than staff meetings or discussions about our clients.  I feel a bit guilty, because I’ve been filling all my space, time and thoughts with Jeff.  Grace knows this, so I need to be sure she doesn’t feel pushed aside.  She was my rock when her dad died, and she continues to be my rock at A Sister’s Place.

I do a quick checklist as I get closer to the shelter. I have had a sense of dread all morning that I try to really shake as I pull into the drive way. I walked into a quiet house this morning.  I could hear Pat Mosby, the overnight advocate, on the phone and her tone was questioning while she tried not to be pushy.  Grace was talking to the Yellow Cab Company.  I could tell that by the code she was giving to the person on the other end.  The code allowed the cab company to bill us for transportation services.  Grace continued to talk, but raised her hand at me to wait.  Pat finished her call and got to me first.  One look at her face told me there was a problem. Normally a cheerful person, this morning her forehead was wrinkled and her mouth was definitely not smiling.

“We need to go over a couple of things with you,” Pat said, turning to go back into the room she had just exited. I waited a couple of minutes for her to return.

“Who are we? You and Grace?  Where is Rita,” I ask. Pat nods as Grace comes in and sits next to me on my love seat. She speaks first.

“Ms. Moody has a problem.  Her car was damaged last night.  All four tires are flat and the car has been keyed.  She went to call the police with plans to drive her other car. I had to remind her she had sold the other car.  Now she sounds a little confused and I don’t want her staying at home alone. I have a few things to do this morning, and then I will take her home, check out the car and call the police myself.  I have sent a cab to pick her up and bring her here.”

“Good decision,” I say to Grace. Something in her voice tells me it isn’t over. Pat and Grace are still too tense.

“Jamesetta didn’t return last night,” Pat says as her forehead gathers deeper wrinkles.

I look from Pat to Grace, who is looking down at her hands folded in her lap.  That’s a childhood position when she was worried.  I reached over and touched her hand. 

“Jamie was facing lots of changes, a new job and moving into transitional housing in a few weeks.  It isn’t unusual for clients to leave or sabotage their programs when faced with huge life changes.”

“Mother, Jamie did not just leave!  I worked too closely with her to believe she just backed away.  She was more than ready to leave and start a new life.  I can feel in my gut that something is wrong.  I hope you’ll trust me on this.”

Calling me “mother” was a sign that this was very serious.  “Mother” was for special, private and intimate occasions.  Grace has a real calling and ability for working with battered women and their children. I didn’t question her instincts, but there are many realities in this work we do that can be hurting and disappointing. Care must be given to not allow disappointments or unrealistic expectations for clients to create burnout.

“I spent many evenings with Jamie, and I know how happy she was to be moving forward.  She had started going to a little church on Wednesdays and she was at a good place in her life,” Pat said with a little smile.

“Okay, what have we done so far?” I asked, trying to give them the benefit of the doubt.  It wasn’t as if we had not had success stories.  We were surrounded by success stories. Three members of our staff had histories of abuse, including Pat.  I found it made them more sensitive to the plight of women coming into the shelter, and also more encouraging, because they understood the old counseling technique of knowing when to hug and when to shake.

Pat sat on the rolling chair at the desk.  “I called her job and she has not been there.  They were pleased with her work and disappointed that she has not come in.  I was told that she needs to call within three days or the job is gone.”

The main phone rang and Pat turned back to the desk.

I turned to Grace and impulsively gave her a hug.  “We have to make some time to talk.  So much going on, but we may be moving……..”

“Miss Irene, the cab company is outside Ms. Moody’s house, but there’s no answer.  They called her on the number we gave them and there is no answer,” Pat said, looking very concerned.

“What should we do?” I asked Grace.

“Let’s ride over there.  Pat and Rita are here to run the shelter.  Rita is in the kitchen taking a cooking class from Beth.”

I stood up, reached for my purse, and Grace did the same.  I sent Pat to the kitchen to tell Rita what has happened, assuming that this is going to spoil her cooking class.