Dorothea Puentes's Arc

Chapter 6 of 9

Thursday arrived with heavy rain that drummed against the boarding house windows. Dorothea had set out tea and cookies in the front room where the social worker could observe her afternoon medication routine. She checked the clock—two fifteen. He was supposed to arrive at two. She straightened the pillows on the couch and waited. By two thirty, her phone buzzed with a text message. He couldn't make it today. A family emergency had come up. He'd reschedule soon. Dorothea read the message twice, her jaw tightening. She looked at the tea she'd prepared, the cookies arranged on her best plate, the medication cups lined up perfectly on the tray. All of it sat there, useless. Mr. Henderson shuffled into the room and asked if it was time for his pills. She snapped at him to wait, her voice sharp enough to make him step back. The moment hung between them, awkward and tense. She took a breath and softened her tone, apologizing. But the damage was done. He looked at her differently now, uncertain. She handed him his pills and watched him leave. The social worker hadn't seen her careful preparations. He'd only seen nothing at all. By Friday morning, Dorothea needed to fix things. She drove through Killead, past the church with the large community room where she'd signed up to volunteer. The building looked peaceful in the morning light. A white praying angel sculpture stood near the entrance, hands folded and wings curved gently. An old gnarled elm tree framed the other side, its twisted branches and gray bark weathered by decades. She parked and went inside to confirm her volunteer schedule. The coordinator wasn't there. A note on the desk said the program had been suspended for two weeks due to staffing problems. Dorothea stared at the paper. Another plan, another delay. She walked back outside and got in her car. She drove to the brick post office to mail her utility payments. The line stretched long inside, filled with people holding packages and envelopes. She waited twenty minutes, watching the clock above the counter. When she finally reached the front, the clerk told her the automated payment system was faster. Dorothea's face flushed. She pushed her envelopes across the counter anyway and paid in cash. Outside, she sat in her car and gripped the steering wheel. Everything was slipping. The social worker had cancelled. The volunteer program was suspended. Even the simple act of mailing bills had made her look foolish. She drove home slowly, the rain starting again. Mr. Henderson was in the front room when she arrived, reading a newspaper. He glanced up at her but didn't speak. She wanted to explain that she'd been tired yesterday, that she hadn't meant to snap at him. But the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she walked to her office and shut the door. The ledger sat on her desk, perfect and organized. The records were flawless. But none of it mattered if she couldn't control herself for five minutes when things went wrong. She pressed her palms against her eyes and tried to think of what came next.