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Page 11 of Small Sacrifices

While he works, he forgets to drink. First thing after handing his pages of notes to Marisol, he makes himself a tea and tries to ignore the dull pulse in his temples. It doesn’t get easier when he returns to his desk to find Marisol already frowning at him.

"This is a lot."

He’s about to apologize, but she isn’t done yet.

"I think you overprepared. Don’t get me wrong, I think you’ll be able to work with this.

But you didn’t need to write all this down.

If you get hung up on these notes and stop a conversation to find something, that’s the same thing as hesitating because you can’t think of the right thing to say. "

"But I’m not good at phone calls." And he doesn’t have a filter. What if he gets flustered enough that apologizes or does something equally undesirable?

"You don’t have practice," Marisol says with a kind smile on her face. "But you’re going to need to do it at some point. And you won’t always have two hours to prepare."

The thought of that is anxiety-inducing. But she’s right. Reid doesn’t even want to know what his father would say if he could see him now. Having to make phone calls probably doesn’t even count as a sacrifice in his books. He wants to say something about that, but the words won’t come.

Marisol rubs her nose. "Do you already know who you wanna try it out on first?"

Oh . Given that so far, he's only researched Stephanie Greene, it would probably be best to have her be the first attempt. Especially because she might be hard to convince and might require several phone calls. He says as much, and Marisol snorts.

"So what you're saying is, you wanna do one of the more difficult ones first?" she asks. "I mean, sure. If you think that's a good idea."

It likely isn’t. The problem is that he has momentum now. If he stops to research the parents, he not only could get lost in that for the rest of the day, but might also build up even more of a sense of dread surrounding the phone calls. He needs to prove to himself that it's not that bad.

So, he heads back to his desk, plugs in his earphones, and flips through the printouts he prepared yesterday.

Someone had thoughtlessly posted a picture of a telephone tree in a public Facebook group to illustrate the extent of the affected children, their names circled in pink highlighter.

The phones must be ringing off the hook by now.

He dials the number under the name Robin Greene.

It's a bit difficult. He still hasn't gotten used to the minuscule buttons on the cordless phone on his desk.

But using his private mobile phone for this would be a very bad idea.

He doesn't want to open himself up to midnight calls from angry parents.

To his surprise, Ms. Greene picks up on the third ring.

"You have five seconds to convince me I actually want to speak to you, or I swear to God—"

"I'm calling from Governor Mackenzie's office!

" Reid interrupts her. Immediately, he wants to hit himself.

Way to go. Teachers love being interrupted.

But he powers through, because if he's already leaving a poor impression, he may as well do it thoroughly.

"My name is Reid Maxwell, and I work with the Department of Public Relations. We’re making preparations for the governor to visit Chesterton next week. Could I ask you a few questions?"

"Most of the relevant questions are answered by that article. I assume you've read it." Her voice is a mix of steely resolve and exhaustion. Reid can sense her anger and fatigue through the phone. It must be exhausting to manage a sick child, let alone advocate for their needs during such a crisis.

"I have. But I would like to expand on some of that and also find out if there is anything specific you'd want out of a visit like that." Already, he feels like he's lying. Expand on some of that. That's not something he'd say in day-to-day life.

But he must have caught her at the right time because she actually agrees. Or maybe not. It seems too simple. Reid immediately feels uneasy. Why was she so quick to go along with this?

"Robbie has gotten worse," is the first thing Ms. Greene says when Reid has thanked her for taking the time.

"Oh." So maybe that's why? Reid doesn't really know what to say to that.

Robbie is six years old, and the idea of him suffering at all is painful.

The pictures of the rash on his hands, mouth, and knees are suddenly at the front of Reid's mind. The grumpy expression on his face, as if he didn’t appreciate being made to sit still for this documentation.

That already looked bad—what does worse mean?

He wishes he could apologize. The rules of engagement for this sort of thing are very clear: No apologies. Only acknowledgments. He absolutely cannot make it sound like anyone working for the governor thinks there may be some blame to be assigned here.

"That sounds... difficult," he says, and immediately wants to kick himself. But Ms. Greene seems to take the patience needed to teach elementary-age children with her everywhere. He doesn't even hear her breathing change on the other end.

"It is. He hates the hospital, but we can't take care of him at home anymore. He's not... he needs more help." There's a depth to her words, like her throat is already wide with tears. "It's horrible. A hospital is no place for a sick little boy."

That... doesn't sound good. Reid has to bite his cheek against the immediate question about his treatment. If she wants him to know, she will tell him. He will not make an enemy of this woman. But it turns out that he doesn't need to ask, he just needs to wait for her to draw a sharp breath.

"It's his kidneys. They're not doing too well. The doctor is still trying to keep him off dialysis, and I don't know what to think about it. I can't even give him one of mine. He's too small." She sniffs, but otherwise, Reid can't hear much on her end of the line. There isn't even any rustling.

Kidneys are important. Reid doesn't have much medical knowledge, but it's enough to understand that this is bad. He tries to blink away the burning sensation in his eyes. "That should not be happening."

"No, it shouldn't. He's just a child. He played in the schoolyard." The steel is back in her voice now. Reid is glad for it. Anger is much easier for him to cope with than sadness.

"He should have been safe," Reid agrees. After that, silence elapses. One after the other, Reid touches the fingertips of his right hand to the pad of his thumb and forces himself to let it.

"What, aren't you going to tell me I'm blaming the wrong people?"

He remembers her last tweet, how she had accused Governor Mackenzie of poisoning her son before she went silent, presumably to take her son to the hospital. Reid doesn't like the way she's asked that question. But he understands why she did. And he makes himself avoid answering it.

"I'm offering you the opportunity to talk to the man himself and ask him the questions." He doesn't mention the cameras yet. It's too early, he doesn't even know if she would be willing to be in the same room as the man yet. He also doesn't bounce his knee. It's difficult.

On the other end of the line, there's a clacking sound. Like wood on wood. "Are you kidding me?"

"No, ma'am."

"You want me to meet the governor." It's not a question, even though it should be.

"I want to invite you to a meeting to air your concerns, along with others that were affected. The public will be excluded," Reid says. Everett's voice echoes through his head, telling him he sounds like a politician. It doesn't feel like a good thing. Sticky, somehow.

"The public will be excluded or the press will be excluded?"

There are definitely going to be cameras. Reid hates that this seems to be the main objective in this, at least to some people.

"We haven't finalized our plans yet. I'm just trying to gauge interest." God, that feels disgusting.

He knows he's not lying. But it's a technicality at this point.

Even if they have invited no journalists yet, haven't put together a camera crew, they will soon.

It's pretty obvious, and it makes him feel slimy.

There's a sharp huff of breath on the other end of the line. Normally, Reid is bad at that kind of thing—but it's clear to him that she doesn't believe him. Still, she's polite about it. "I'm not attending a photo op just to shake someone's hand. Especially not with my son in the hospital."

That sparks something in the back of his brain.

Because hadn't she talked about her son wanting to be governor one day in an Instagram post not too long ago?

It makes him feel worse, but there's also a giddy undercurrent of excitement.

What if... "And what about Robbie? Just hypothetically, would you let him meet the governor if he wanted to? "

The question seems to give her pause. "Not if it's going to be on the twelve o'clock news later that day. I don't want footage of my sick child on television. And don't call him Robbie. He's Robin to you."

Which is fair enough. She could ask for pretty much anything, and Reid would at least internally agree with her. Boundaries are important. If only he could respect them a bit more right now.

"What about a picture? Just one. Do you think Robin would like that?"

Ms. Greene makes a small, disgruntled sound that melds into a sigh.

"Probably, yeah." Suddenly, she sounds exhausted and defeated.

Reid picks at his cuticles. This feels like the type of situation where his mom would tell him to back off.

Leave people alone, Reid. They need their time.

Don't poke. "Don't poke," is a thing she still tells him frequently because he doesn't always know when to stop.

But he's pretty sure he should stop now. So he retreats.

"Well, you have time to think about it. Maybe ask him if he's feeling up to it. We're planning to visit next week."

"Next week?" All of a sudden, she sounds incensed. Something twists deep in Reid's stomach. Should he not have said that? Just security-wise, that probably wasn't too smart.

"The governor doesn't make empty promises.

Right now, he's working on solutions that he can present to you.

" He takes a deep breath to stop himself from asking her for patience or, worse, understanding.

Defending Governor Mackenzie won't go over well in this scenario.

No matter how much Reid itches to do it.

"Is there anything you can tell me? Can you give me any answers? Because our health insurance is garbage, and every day that Robbie has to spend in the hospital is one day closer to wiping out our savings. Do you have anything to say about that? Any solution?"

She gets loud towards the end, so loud that Reid winces and turns down the volume on his earbuds. His face is burning with shame when he says, "I'm very sorry to say that I don't. But we are working on—"

"Working on it is not enough!" Ms. Greene is shouting now, and Reid has to dial down the volume further. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Marisol wince in sympathy. "These are children. They need healthcare, and they need it now!"

Reid feels his fingernails dig into his palm. This wasn't covered in his dialogue tree. A serious oversight. Technically, having access to healthcare and feeling secure about it are two different things. He should have anticipated that.

"If I understand correctly, CalEPA is responsible for making those funds available and—" he begins his explanation, but Ms. Greene doesn't let him finish.

"Call me back when there's actually something being done to help us," she says and hangs up.

The silence is so sudden that it rings in Reid's ears.

He blinks. Well, that took a turn. For a moment, the conversation had seemed to be going well.

She was opening up, and she didn't dismiss his questions outright.

But this is the problem with not having concrete information—he can't give people what they need to know.

That's all they want from him right now, and he's unable to provide it.

Still, that doesn't mean that he can't reach the goal that was set for him.

A bitter taste spreads on his tongue when he remembers Everett's words earlier, and the call with his parents yesterday.

Sure, this is difficult. But that doesn't mean it's too much.

Reid will just have to approach it strategically, and prove to himself, as well as everyone else, that he's capable of this.

Much to his dismay, he can't ask Governor Mackenzie what the plan is.

And Mr. Wright wouldn't appreciate Reid coming back so soon with more questions.

What that leaves him with is finding someone who knows what the CalEPA task force is up to, since it seems the task force isn't communicating with the parents either.

Oh, joy.