Hope Over Fear (Over #1)

by J. A. Derouen

  “Well, I hate to throw my girl under the bus, but speaking of not getting laid on the regular … care to defend yourself, Sara?” Alex gives me a sideways glance and clucks her tongue.

  “What? I’ve had a really shitty year—the kind that definitely warrants a little man hiatus.” I’m doing my best to defend myself, but I don’t like the looks that are being thrown my way.

  “A bad year? A whole 365 days since you’ve had sex? Baby girl, I believe you may be the only twenty-something-year-old woman I know with cobwebs in her vagina. That’s a damn shame!” Anna is shaking her finger furiously back and forth, and I feel the urge to slump down into my chair.

  Ebony snaps her fingers to get my attention and picks up where Anna left off. “Battery-operated devices will only get you so far, Sara. You need a real man—a real man’s hand, a real man’s equipment, and definitely a real man’s tongue—”

  “Oh no, don’t talk to Sara about a real man’s tongue. That’s not her deal.” Alex has a big smirk on her face while I plot her untimely death.

  “Oh, you better not fall asleep tonight, my loose-lipped friend …” I threaten as I shoot evil eyes at Alex.

  “Hold on a minute! What are trying to say, Alex? Sara doesn’t like for her man to go downtown?” Marie has an incredulous look on her face, like Alex just said I was part alien.

  “No downtown!”

  “That can’t be. Every woman likes for her man to go downtown. I mean … it’s downtown!” Jessie is now standing up, as if this topic is too important to remain seated.

  “It just feels way too up close and personal to me. I don’t know why, but I always get the feeling of ‘whoa, back up, buddy’ when they go down there. It feels almost clinical to me … like I’m getting some kind of weird exam.”

  Ebony starts nodding with a knowing look on her face. “Oh, okay, I see what the problem is …”

  “There’s no problem!” I huff.

  “Oh, baby girl, there is definitely a problem. And I’m going to tell you what it is. Your men just didn’t know how to knock.”

  “That’s it!”

  “You are so right, Ebony!”

  Marie, Jessie, Anna, and Ebony are giving each other high fives, Alex is giggling quietly, and I’m sporting a look of utter confusion.

  “Okay, I give up. What do you mean, ‘They don’t know how to knock’?”

  “Those boys, and I call them boys because that’s what they’re acting like, are just swinging your door open with no warning … all unannounced! Of course you want to tell them to back off. They need to be knocking beforehand. Knocking can be done with kisses, touches, sexy words—hell, even a look can count for something. If a man is good at knocking, he doesn’t even have to open the door. If he’s really good, you’ll grab him by the hair and throw his ass through the door. Am I right, ladies, or am I right?”

  “So right!”

  “Sing it, sister!”

  I can’t help but laugh out loud at these lively women. I’ve only known them for a couple of hours, but they’ve managed to get the down and dirty details about my love life (or lack thereof). I should be embarrassed, but I find that I don’t care at all. I love their sisterly, and downright hilarious, advice, and I’m again grateful that Alex brought me home with her this weekend.

  We continue to play Go Fish, I continue to lose my ass, and Alex’s friends continue to hound us about our sex lives. Leave it to Alex to produce a laid back and entertaining night in the stuffiest place in Louisiana. As I survey the room and take a good look at all these beautiful women, I feel sure that I have found the source of Alex’s unending wisdom.

  “Bruises” by Train/Ashley Monroe

  “HEY, MOM. HOW’S it going?” I ask tentatively. It’s Monday evening, and I’ve run out of excuses. I love my mom, but I’ve been dreading this conversation. That’s why I’ve strategically timed it while I’m on my way to work.

  “Hey, baby! Where have you been? I called you this weekend, but you didn’t answer. You know I worry about you, especially on this particular weekend,” Mom’s voice wavers slightly, and I can hear her trying to stay in control.

  “Mom, I’m all right … everything is all right. You don’t need to worry about me so much. I’m moving on with my life. I need you to let go of this, too. Let’s just look ahead, okay?”

  “If you’re okay, then I’m okay, Sara. I know you think that I’m on Mason’s side, and I’m angry with you for moving on, but that’s not really true. Mason is a wonderful boy, but what I loved most about him was that I knew he would take care of my girl. I know that things were hard sometimes when you were growing up. There were things you couldn’t have because I couldn’t afford them. I don’t want you to have to feel like that ever again.”

  It’s obvious that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Just like me, my mom is a master at guilt and self-deprecation. “First of all, I had a wonderful childhood. You always made me feel secure and loved. You did right by me, okay? Secondly, because you saved every penny and made sure that I could finish college, I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I can take care of myself. Now, do I want someone to share my life with? Of course I do. But you have raised an independent woman who can take care of herself until I find someone. So, how about we end this pity party?”

  “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” she admits with a sniff. “So how’s work treating you? Lots of babies being born?”

  “Work is going great. Our patients always keep it interesting. Chanda, my boss, has recommended me to volunteer at the local outreach clinic. She thinks I’d be a great fit for the clinic because of my experience with the adoption committee. She’s been asking me about it for a few months, and I’ve finally decided to check it out. I have a meeting with the clinic director later this week, and I’m really excited about it.”

  “That sounds great, Sara! You’re going to be such an asset. They won’t know how they survived before you,” Mom gushes. That’s my mom, my biggest cheerleader.

  “I’m sure they’re surviving just fine without me, Mom, but I can’t wait to get involved.” I chuckle. “Look, I really need to get going. I work tonight, and my shift is about to start. I love you, Mom.”

  “Love ya, too, baby girl. Talk to you soon.”

  As I walk onto the labor and delivery unit, it doesn’t take me very long to realize that this is going to be one hell of a night. The front desk looks like a war zone. Papers and charts are scattered everywhere, the call bell is going off non-stop, and I hear moaning and screaming coming from several different directions.

  Labor and delivery is different from every other unit in the hospital. Pain is welcome here, although the patients tend to disagree. In fact, if a patient isn’t hurting, she probably isn’t in labor.

  “You may want to turn back around and run for your life, girl. It’s been a helluva day,” Chanda warns, shaking her head back and forth. “We’ve had four deliveries in the last hour, and another four are getting close. That moon must be full tonight!”

  Marlo comes bouncing up beside me and bumps me with her hip. “Glad you decided to join the party. Long time no see, bitch! How was your weekend with Alex?”

  “It was great. It was … enlightening.”

  Marlo gives me a confused look that is interrupted by a loud moaning coming from the unit entrance. I look to see a very pregnant woman grasping her husband while she makes her way to the front desk. Her pants are soaking wet, and she’s grabbing her belly. All of a sudden, she starts to squat down on the floor.

  “Oh, shit, here we go. Rock, paper, scissors?” Marlo suggests.

  “Sure. Rock, paper, scissors, shoot,” I call out. And then I watch Marlo’s rock beat my scissors to death. “You bitch! See ya in a few hours.”

  I put on my sweetest smile and go save my patient from giving birth on the corridor floor. I’m gonna need some roller skates for this shift.

  Tapping my hands on the steering wheel to the beat of the music, I try to get m
y nerves under control. After three ass-busting shifts at the hospital, I’m on my way to New Horizons Outreach Center for my interview. As I navigate through downtown Providence, I attempt to get my nerves in check. What if the director, Caroline, doesn’t think I’m a good fit for the clinic? I know it’s only a volunteer position, but I’ve worked myself into really wanting this job. It’s become part of my whole campaign for the new and improved Sara.

  As I park my 1967 Volkswagen Beetle across the street, I take a good look at the clinic. New Horizons is located in downtown Providence, so the building has a historical feel to it, but with an eclectic twist. There is a funky, electric blue wrought iron bench by the entryway and two pelican statues decorated with swirls and starbursts. There are mosaics embedded in the brick façade, and the door handle is an intricately designed music note.

  “Here goes nothing,” I say to myself as I cross the street and enter the clinic. The lobby has the same unique quality as the outside of the building. The front counter is a huge mosaic of abstract shapes and patterns. The waiting area is filled with brightly-colored wooden chairs with famous song titles whimsically painted on them.

  I timidly ring the little bell that is sitting on the counter, and I hear a woman’s voice calling, “Be there in just a minute!” I take a seat in the lime green “Go Your Own Way” chair, because, let’s face it, who doesn’t love Fleetwood Mac? I can hear the hum of other voices in the clinic, but I don’t see anyone. After a few minutes pass, the lobby door opens.

  “Hey, you must be Sara. I’m Caroline Winters, the clinic director. Please excuse my appearance; I’m working on an art project with some of our clients, and I didn’t have a chance to clean up.”

  Caroline Winters has a gentle, but commanding, presence. She’s about 5’11” with long black hair that she haphazardly pulled into a braid. The braid, along with her silver cat-eye glasses and her overalls, are speckled with a rainbow of paint.

  “No worries. It looks like you were having a good time …”

  “Of course, I always do.” She smiles and winks at me. “You see, I’m the director, but I’m also a licensed therapist specializing in art therapy. This is my wardrobe more often than not. Our clients made all of the art that you see around the clinic. Pretty talented group, don’t ya think?”

  “Definitely! The mosaics are beautiful.” As Caroline and I make small talk, I follow her into a back office community area. The room is empty, and I wonder where the staff and clients are hiding.

  “This is the common area where most of our volunteers are stationed. We have three small rooms that staff can use to meet with clients privately and two larger classrooms that are used to hold trainings, meetings, and things of that nature. My office is right through this door. Follow me.”

  “Things seem a little quiet this afternoon. Where is everyone?” I ask as I sit down in a guest chair. Instead of sitting behind her desk, Caroline sits in the other guest chair and faces me.

  “We have a couple of meetings going on and a group therapy session. We’re actually quite busy today, but it’s all happening behind closed doors. Looks can be deceiving,” Caroline says with a wink. “Chanda speaks so highly of you, Sara. I’m so excited that you’ve agreed to speak with me today. I was about to give up on you!” I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something about Caroline that puts me at ease. Just in the few minutes that we have spent together, I know that people likely gravitate toward this woman.

  “I’m really excited to be here. I had some personal things going on that I had to work out before I took on anything new. Chanda spoke with me about the clinic a few months ago, but I didn’t feel like I could give you a hundred percent at the time. It took me a while to get here …”

  “Our path isn’t always straight, is it? I’m just so glad that your journey finally led you here. I know you may have thought this was going to be an interview, but I really don’t feel the need to ask you anything. A glowing recommendation from Chanda tells me all I need to know. We’ve been close friends for years, and I know from experience that her respect is hard earned. Besides, I have a good feeling about you. You may think I’m a superstitious old woman, but I feel like we may be kindred spirits. Like we’re cut from the same cloth … do you know what I mean?” Caroline cringes, like she’s expecting me to laugh at her.

  “I actually do,” I giggle. “I know we’ve just met, but I’m really looking forward to working with you. I imagine there’s a lot I can learn from you, and not just about the clinic.”

  “I think we have much to learn from each other.” Caroline smiles warmly, and I know that I made the right decision coming here today. “Since you have so much knowledge about the adoption process, let’s start you off with those clients. Let me show you the paperwork and talk to you a bit about our procedures.”

  Caroline and I spend the next hour going over the paperwork and policies regarding adoption, and I feel confident taking care of the clinic’s patients. In many ways, the process is more complicated than the hospital, but I’m a quick learner. I’ve already worked my three shifts at the hospital this week, so I am free to work at the clinic for the rest, and I’m excited when Caroline asks me to work tomorrow.

  “Caroline, you said you would start me off with the adoption clients, but what other types of clients do you service?”

  “A variety of patients. The clinic has STD testing, pregnancy testing, therapy for substance abuse and mentally ill patients, and, of course, our adoption program. We also have a small program that we’re getting off the ground for victims of domestic violence. There are no hard limits when it comes to how the clinic helps the community. I feel it’s important to help anyone in any type of crisis whenever we can. I know it’s a lot to take in, so that’s why I’m starting you out with adoption. You know that area like the back of your hand, and we’ll ease you slowly into different roles. Of course, therapy is always done with a licensed counselor, so unless you’re looking for a career change, that’s the one job I won’t make you do around here. Everything else is fair game!” Caroline jokes.

  “Wow, you guys have your fingers in everything!”

  “We, my friend, we have our fingers in everything. You’re part of this ship now, too.” Caroline has her arm around my shoulder as we walk out of her office, and I love the familiarity I already feel with her.

  As we pass through the common staff area, I notice a couple talking quietly in the back of the room. The woman is sitting in the desk chair looking up at the man almost reverently. She has short, wispy blonde hair and porcelain skin. The man is sitting with one leg on the desk, leaning into her while whispering quietly with a smirk on his face. He is, in one word, beautiful. He has thick, black, bed head hair, chiseled cheekbones, broad shoulders, and a sexy five o’clock shadow. One look tells me all I need to know. He’s one of those guys—the type who remain eternally unaffected. Unaffected by everything and everyone around him. Unfortunately, that’s the kind of guy who always turns me into a blubbering mess. It’s as if their confidence is like a vacuum that sucks the self-esteem right out of my body. I become an awkward teenage girl who can’t form complete sentences. It’s humiliating, and I usually steer clear of those guys out of self-preservation, since I don’t particularly enjoy looking like an asshat.

  I don’t have to worry about making a fool out of myself today, because they are so enthralled in their conversation, they never even cast a glance at Caroline or me. Although I feel like I dodged what would most definitely be an embarrassing bullet, I can’t help but be a little bit disappointed by my invisibility. I’m not sure what to make of that feeling, so I quickly brush it aside.

  “Sara, I’m glad that you’ll be able to start right away,” Caroline says as we walk to the front of the common room. She opens the door to the lobby, and I brush past her as I move through the doorway.

  “Oh, I didn’t notice Celia and Adam back there. I should have introduced you … oh well, I’m sure you’ll meet them soon enough.�
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  I smiled tightly at Caroline. “I’m sure I will. Thanks so much for this opportunity Caroline. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  “Me, too! Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Caroline hesitates for a moment, and then lets out a small sigh. “You know, Sara, we are all works in progress.”

  “What do you mean?” I question, feeling confused by her comment.

  “We are all learning about ourselves and changing every day. Don’t ever feel like you have to apologize for taking time to figure it out. When we stop evolving and improving, that’s when life is over. We are all works in progress,” Caroline repeats, shrugging.

  What a wonderful concept and a refreshing way to approach life. It’s comforting to imagine constantly progressing, making changes to become better versions of ourselves. It makes getting over the hurdle of my guilt and insecurity feel much more attainable.

  “Maybe you’re right … I hope you’re right. Thanks for the opportunity, Caroline. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Dog Days Are Over” by Florence & the Machine

  WITH A POSITIVE attitude and a vanilla latte, I stroll into New Horizons Outreach Center early the next morning. I’m psyched to start a new chapter in my career, so much so that I’ve seemed to beat most of the staff in getting here.

  “Hello? Anybody here?”

  “Sara, is that you? My goodness, girl, you must have gotten up before the sun today.” Caroline rounds the corner with a surprised look on her face. Her hair is tied into a messy bun with a paintbrush shoved through it to keep it in place. She seems to have gotten an early start on painting her overalls. She’s already spattered with just about any color you can imagine.