“Let it out, Kelly.” Another uncomfortable pat from Sandra, who was still getting used to this kind of police work. “Let it out.”
The ERC – formerly the UC Santa Cruz Emergency Response Center, and now home to the Protective Service for the city – was a huge red barn that still said UC POLICE on the front. Sandra took her to the office around the side. “I wish I could stay with you, but I have my job. I’m going to get you a counselor to talk to, and someone from the Council office to get your info. And I promise, I’ll meet you back here after I’m done. That okay?”
“That’s fine. Thank you so much – for everything.”
“No problem. Talk to you later. Reuven!”
A young man, maybe twenty-five, emerged from another room. He wore the all-black outfit that must be the Protective Service “uniform,” but otherwise he looked like a rabbi, right down to the skullcap and the full beard. “You bellowed, Sarge?”
“We got a lady here who drove all the way down from the Marin coast and she’d been through the wringer. Can you help her out? And send someone to the Council office for a clerk.”
“Sure. And Mrs. McNulty brought donuts again. I know you went out early, so …”
“Oh, bless her heart. See you, Kelly!” Sandra left to hunt the wild pastry.
Kelly found the talk of donuts had woken her stomach. Good thing she’d brought in a food bag along with the bag from the front seat. As Reuven guided her to another room, she dug into it and removed a plastic zip-close bag. “Is it okay if I eat?”
“Sure, sure, just don’t make a mess.” Reuven sat in a chair in what looked like a meeting room minus the big table, and waved her to another chair. “What is that, by the way?”
Kelly looked at what she was eating – she was verging on sensory overload and hadn’t really been paying attention. “Dehydrated cream cheese.”
Reuven asked where she got it, which led to a discussion on food preparation, which got her talking about the Zen farm, then SBN&N, and within an hour she’d given a stranger her entire backstory from growing up in Oklahoma to the recent crisis and what brought her down to Santa Cruz. She felt guilty for monopolizing the conversation – Reuven only asked a few prompting questions and wrote a lot of stuff on a steno pad – but oh, it was so good to talk to someone besides herself!
When she finally wound down, she noticed another woman sitting in the room, a fellow redhead but the next step up from her and Sandra, tall and broad like a warrior goddess from a Celtic epic. She was wearing a red pantsuit, John Lennon eyeglasses and an amused expression. “Wait … when …?”
“About a half-hour ago,” the goddess replied in an Irish brogue as thick as oxtail soup. “Ye were, uh, in the zone.” She extended her hand. ”Eileen McGowan. I’m on the Council.”
“Pleased to meet you. Um, what is this Council I keep hearing about – the City Council?”
“More or less. We weren’t quite elected so much as … willing to do the job and tolerated. We’re talking about having a real election next year when we’re better organized. But for now, we keep things running and listen to complaints and keep records. I can’t believe everything ye went through.”
“Yeah, neither can I.” Kelly smiled. Had the plague selected in favor of nice people? She hadn’t gotten a bad vibe from anyone yet – it was almost alarming. “But it was what I had to do.”
“Aye. I got most of the information I needed just listening, but I do have a few questions I’d like to ask ye. Reuven, do you mind?”
“Sure. I’ve probably got someone waiting for me out there.”
“Wait.” Kelly was confused. “Did I answer all of your questions, Reuven?”
“Questions? I was here to let you vent and see if you needed psychiatric care. But from what I heard, you’ve got things in hand – you’re not bottling things up, you’re taking your meds, you’ve probably been through the worst of the trauma. If you feel you need regular counseling, it can be arranged, but you’re doing very well as far as I’m concerned. I’ll see you around, maybe.” Reuven left.
Kelly turned back to Eileen – or would it be Councilor McGowan? “Never would’ve guessed he was a psychiatrist.”
“He’s not – he was a rabbinical student who’d taken a few psych classes.” Eileen smiled. “But people just naturally open up to him, so we put him to work here. Just like I’m not a politician – I was a poli. sci. professor fleeing to America after a messy divorce, got stuck here when the world went pear-shaped, and threw my lot in to help.”
“And I managed a grocery store … whoa. Are you the Professor Bio I was told about?!”
Eileen laughed a belly laugh. “Oh, no, no, no. That’s Dr. Eric Bayo – he taught history and Black Studies here at the university. But when everyone started dropping like flies and the rest of us were in a panic, he kept his head, got us working together, helped us keep track of food and water, kept the electricity going. And when we had the chance, he started sending out teams to find others in need and put up signs like the ones ye saw … he’s an honest-to-God hero, he is.”
Kelly thought Eileen sounded like she was in love with Dr. Bayo, but she decided to not say that. “So what else did you want to ask me?”
“Oh, basic items
