Unwanted Fate (8 page)

T
he feeling of when you know something is going to happen, but you don’t know what it is so you have no way to stop it, comes over me as soon as I sit down at my desk. Dread fills my stomach.

Yesterday was a fantastic day, because the bank called and confirmed the deposit of the grant from CUGC, which allowed us to move forward with our plans for the money. Last week the board approved our ideal allocation of the funds. While a majority of the funds will stay in the community center and help with programs, sports, meals, and the kids, the remaining money is going to community outreach, stocking the food pantry, electric assistance, rent assistance, or anything else that might come up.

I try to my best to help anyone that comes through my door that actually needs help. I’ve had a few people try to slide into here and get free food or assistance, but I quickly caught on to their game. I find it so upsetting that people lie to receive free help. Anything to get something for free.

However, the icky feeling is still there. I look up and see it’s close to lunch time. Instead of sitting here worrying about what might go wrong, I kick off my heels and grab my tennis shoes. The kids will be in the gym playing basketball and I think a game of basketball will do my soul good.

Hollers and giggles of the children reach my ears as I get closer to the heavy gray metal doors of the gymnasium. I open the doors with a loud squeak and everyone looks to me, and a few of the children wave. I look around and see Victor talking with a few of the older boys on the other side of the gym, and I head in their direction.

Victor looks up as I’m half way to where he’s standing and his caramel colored eyes watch every step I make, with a grin on his face. He’s very attractive and looks good in gym shorts and a T-shirt, but I made it a rule of mine to not get involved with someone from work, especially after I dated my AmeriCorps team leader. That didn’t end so well.

“Hey, guys. How’s it going?” I ask, trying to avoid Victor’s stare.

“Good, Ms. E.,” a few of the boy’s reply.

“What brings you to the gym,” Victor asks.

“I was feeling a little restless and thought I would shoot some hoops,” I say in my best macho male accent, making everyone laugh.

“Here’s a ball, have at it,” Victor bounces the ball to me and I catch it.

“Thanks!” I reply with a little too much enthusiasm.

The dimpled ball feels good in my hands as I bounce it around the half court. I pull up and shoot a jump shot, swoosh. A round of hoots ring out behind me and I turn see Victor and the boys are watching me.

I shake my head and let my body sync with the rhythmic sound of the ball hitting the gym floor. Basketball has always been relaxing to me. Nate and I both played in high school and we would often practice together. Being on the court makes me feel closer to him.

I bounce the ball a few more times and shoot again, this time hitting it off the rim. I jog to retrieve the wild ball and grab it before it goes under the bleachers. I dribble to the goal and opt for a lay-up this time, and the ball kisses the backboard right in the middle of the box and goes straight in.

More hoots and hollers ring out and I feel better.

“Thank you, thank you,” I bow in front of them, making them laugh even harder.

“Ms. Emily, can you teach me to play basketball?” Tasha, a fifth grader, runs up to me and asks.

“Of course. First, you need to learn to dribble, okay? You do it like this,” I dribble the ball with my fingertips. Her eyes are wide with excitement. “Try to use your fingers,” I wiggle my fingers at her, “when you dribble. Your turn.”

She takes the ball and slaps at it. I gently grasp her hand within mine and gently push the ball down to the floor. “There you go. You got it.” I move my hand and she is bouncing the ball by herself.

She laughs in delight.

“Keep working on that and the next time I’ll teach you how to shoot, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you, Ms. Emily. See you later,” she says as she rushes off to her friends on the side of the court.

“You’re really good with kids,” Victor says from behind me, a little closer than I’d like, especially being around the kids.

“Thanks,” I say uncomfortably turning around, taking a step backwards.

“You should think about working with the kid’s full time instead of the office with all that paperwork.” He winks at me.

“If I didn’t enjoy my position so much, I would give it thought, but I really like working with everyone in the community, not just the kids,” I answer him truthfully

“I thought I would try. It would be nice to see you more,” he says as he reaches out and places his hand on my arm.

“Um. Thanks. I, um, need to get going, lunch time and all. See you later.” I try not to run from the gym, but my feet want to sprint.

I hope I read that wrong, but I’m sure he was coming on to me. No way, mister. As soon as I’m through the gym doors, my pace slows down. I walk into the main office and head straight to our restroom—I need to freshen up before I go pick up lunch. The sense of doom has left my gut and hunger has taken its place. I think I’ll ask the ladies if they want me to pick up their lunch too.

After picking up Chinese for everyone from the restaurant fifteen minutes away, I’m able to sit down and eat before my one thirty appointment arrives. The mail arrived while I was gone and I sort through it in between bites of my sesame chicken.

When I reach the bottom of the pile of the mail, there’s a letter I’ve been waiting for, or check I should say. A local masonic lodge donates to us yearly and their grant feeds fifty families a month. I take a few more bites of chicken before I push the container off to the side.

I rip the end off the envelope and pull out the inside, and I open the tri-folded sheet of paper and there isn’t a check inside. I read the letter included. “No no no. This can’t be happening,” I say out loud.

I knew I shouldn’t have planned to receive the grant, but it was a done deal or at least I thought it was. Even though I have CUGC’s grant, without the additional grant, I won’t be able to help as many families. There has to be a solution.

I drum my fingers on my desk and that’s when I my eyes catch a glimpse of a business card. Patrick. I was supposed to call his assistant to schedule a meeting to discuss the veteran’s project, but it completely escaped my mind until now.

I pick up the card and run my fingers along the numbers; would he be able to help me? Or am I chasing the impossible? I guess there’s only one way to find out.

T
his day can go to hell. If one more thing happens, I’m going to punch something. The projected numbers are fucked up, again. Someone is going to lose their job, beginning with Neil. Kristin told me she heard rumors he’s looking for a new position elsewhere, but she couldn’t confirm if they were true or not. I guess I could help him out by firing him. One more strike and he won’t have to worry about having a job here.

I quickly send an email to Kane, letting him know about the problems that I’m having with Neil. I want to make sure that they everything is documented to cover my ass in case he tries to pull something if I have to fire him.

After sending out the emails, I’m going over the numbers again. I employ people to do this. Why are they even working here if this can’t get this done correctly?

“Patrick, line one,” Kristin’s voice calls out from my office door.

I look up from the stack of papers that surround me and see she’s popped her head in my office. “Thank you, Kristin.”

I pick up the phone, wondering who the nameless caller is.

“Patrick Matheson.”

“Patrick…”

“Did something happen, Addison?”

“Dad had another stroke, and it caused irreversible damage this time. They want to transport him to hospice to live out his final days there. I…I can’t make these decisions by myself.”

“Do you know if he has a will?” Probably not, I cradle the phone between my shoulder and ear and rub my temples. My headache is going to be a migraine by the end of this call.

“I think he does. If he does, it will be in his office.”

I take a deep breath…she can’t do all of this on her own.

“Tell them to keep him there for at least another forty-eight hours. If it’s a problem with insurance, I’ll cover it.”

“What? Why? Especially after all he said,” she asks, baffled.

“I’m not doing it for him, remember? I’m doing it for you. Tomorrow, meet me at the house and I’ll help you go through his office. Hopefully we can find a will or something stating what he wants.”

“Thank you, Patrick.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, love you.”

“I love you too,” I say, hanging up the phone.

“Argh,” I scream out, throwing my water bottle that was sitting on my desk at the door.

There’s a knock at the door and Kristin walks into my office. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. No. I don’t know. I have a lot of things to sort out. That was Addison, and our father is pretty much brain dead. We have to figure out how he wants to live out his final days.”

“Oh, Patrick. I’m so sorry. I know your father and you aren’t on good terms…”

“Thanks, Kristin. I’ll get it worked out.”

“I’m going to lunch. Do you want me to pick you up anything?”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Call if you change your mind.”

“Will do.”

She closes the door quietly behind her.

The silence of the room is almost deafening. The guilt of how I treated my father the last time I saw him consumes me, darkening my mood. My jaw clenches as the pain he’d inflicted on me causes my temperature to rise, making me sweat. I take a shuddering breath, trying break the rage that has a hold on me. Eyeing the liquor on the sideboard, I start to stand up, but I don’t.

Taking a deep breath in, I hold it, and let it out. Deep breath in… As I soothe my temper, I realize I shouldn’t feel guilt for my actions. My father treated me like shit. He hit me; he screamed at me; he called me names. He wasn’t a father. He wasn’t even a friend. He definitely wasn’t a man. Even if he apologized for everything he has done to me, I don’t think I’d ever forgive him.

Why should I?

You’re worthless, Patrick. Worthless.

Why did he treat me like he did? Why did he have to take out all of his frustration out on me, his son, his child? I tried to be the best I could, and did everything I could to make him proud. Everything I did never felt good enough for him. I always had to prove myself, my worth.