I woke up Friday with a job to do and the excitement to do it. It wasn’t until the end of the day that I realized it was my mother’s birthday. She would have been fifty-five today.
I left FBI headquarters with the promise to return Monday and help put together the final reports. They wanted me to give another statement, and then return to show the cybercrimes division how I figured out what the hacker had done to the system. They said they would pay me a stipend for my time. I agreed, even though I would do it for free. I realized that no matter how nervous and worried I was about other people, when I talked to my fellow nerds I felt a lot more comfortable.
Maybe I was making progress. Maybe I was growing up.
I didn’t have a job anymore, but the mayor gave me six months’ severance. I could have kept my job, could have fought for it, but I didn’t want to. The money would help while I found something else. I wasn’t worried. As Michael Harris told me, I was smart and resourceful. I believed it, maybe for the first time in my life.
I had my mother’s remains cremated, but then I paid for a small space at a cemetery in Burbank. They had a wall of sealed urns and hers was second from the top, four from the right. I sat on a bench and didn’t know what to say. To her. Or to myself.
My phone rang, and I almost didn’t answer—it seemed wrong to answer a phone in a cemetery. But I did because it was Will, and we hadn’t really talked since yesterday morning.
“Hi,” I said quietly.
“Where are you?”
“Visiting my mother.”
“Can we meet?”
“Now?”
“Can you?” He sounded hopeful.
“Okay, sure. Where?”
I met Will at a pub near my house. I came here sometimes because it was comfortable and the bartender was nice and I didn’t feel awkward sitting alone. Will was there already. He was drinking a beer; I ordered one, too.
“Amy and Ian are going to interview me on their podcast on Monday,” Will said.
“That’s good. You’ll do great.” He would. Will was very smart and articulate. He would be able to explain what happened so that the average person could understand. Better, he was an advocate for changing the system. How the government dealt with the homeless crisis wasn’t working. Will knew how it could work.
“I appreciate your confidence,” Will said with a grin. “I spent all afternoon with the mayor. Literally, three hours with the man who never has meetings longer than five minutes.”
“He must like you.”
Will laughed. “I don’t think so but he doesn’t hate me, which is a start. He wasn’t involved in all this, and if he was, he’s hiding it very well. He might lose his election, but I don’t care. I’m getting it in writing.”
“Getting what in writing?” I asked.
“I pitched my nine-point plan to get people off the streets. I told him one of the problems was a California state law that required all government-funded drug rehab facilities use a harm reduction program, and we needed city facilities that required sobriety and helped people achieve it. He told me he would do it my way, and if the state challenged it, he would sue them. That’s a huge plus.”
“Wait—he’s going to implement your plan citywide?”
“No, he’s not that brave. But he’s giving me a small region and a substantial grant and my own team at homeless services. I’ll have twelve dedicated social workers at my disposal. I can use existing staff or hire new staff. Train them. The grant goes to First Contact for housing, rehab, cleanups and staff. I made sure my contract requires me to provide monthly reports of our progress, so everything is transparent. I will prove that accountability works. And I need a good computer person, someone who sees the homeless as people, as human beings, not as profit makers. Who knows the system and how it works. I need you.”
“You want me to work for you?”
“Yes. I can pay you now. I’ll pay what you made for the city. Together, Violet, we can make a difference. If I run this pilot project successfully and prove that I can get people off the streets and turn them self-sufficient in three years? Maybe they’ll expand it citywide. Statewide.”
“You’re an optimist.”
“Yes, I am. And you’re a pessimist. And together, we make a good team.”
He took my hand and didn’t let go. “At least,” he said quietly, “I think we make a great team.”
I looked down at our joined hands. I didn’t know where this was going, but for the first time in forever, I felt a hint of hope...of optimism for the future.
For my future.
I smiled. “We do make a great team.”