A Risky Prospect, Chapter 21

“There’s really nothing else we can do?” Through the windshield, the sky is heavy with gray as we head to another woman’s home, to take away her child.

“Can’t help someone who won’t help themselves,” my new boss says with a shrug. “This job can eat you alive. I suggest you don’t get too attached.”

catch up A Risky Prospect, Chapter 1 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 2 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 3 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 4 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 5 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 6 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 7 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 8 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 9 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 10 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 11 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 12 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 13 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 14 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 15 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 16 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 17 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 18 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 19 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 20 Chapter 21Olivia

My new supervisor, Diane, wastes no time getting me settled in.

“We’re overloaded,” she says the second I sit down in her office. “I wish I could take some time and teach you the ropes, but I don’t have time to hold your hand. I’m putting you with Glace. She’s been with us for seven years. You’ll pick up everything you need to know just by watching her.”

Someone knocks at Diane’s door.

“Come in,” she calls.

I turn in my seat to see the newcomer. A curvy woman with long curly hair and copper skin leans in through the doorway. Behind purple frames, her brown eyes are warm yet observant. In just a few seconds, I sense her taking in everything about me, from my clothes to my own curls to the scuffs on my riding boots.

“Glace,” Diane says, pronouncing it like a shortened version of “glacial,” “this is Olivia, your new trainee.”

“Hello.” Glace waves. “I hope those boots are comfortable. We’ve got a home visit in twenty.” Without another word, she turns and bustles from the office.

My mouth falls open. “I thought I had paperwork to fill out.”

Diane waves a hand at me. “Stop in later, we’ll get those tax forms handled. Go.”

Pushing back my chair, I hurry to catch up with Glace. She works her way around cubicles toward the entrance, pausing only long enough to say hello to a few of the other social workers. From behind, I study her gray jeans and long sweater.

I might’ve overdressed.

Glace bursts through the double doors, holding one open for me. I slip through and follow her to a blue Hyundai Elantra.

“State vehicle?” I ask, glancing at the plates. They look normal to me.

She gives me a funny look. “Yeah right. Hop in.”

“Where are we going?” I ask as I jog to the passenger’s side.

“A home visit,” she says, as if I didn’t hear her the first time.

“Yeah, but where?” Opening the door, I slide into the seat. Her car smells like vanilla. A Yankee Candle air freshener hangs from the rearview mirror.

“Mapleridge Drive.” Glace gets in and starts the car, air conditioning blasting out of the vents. “Disabled kid, depressed mom. I’m trying to help them out, but the mom makes it really hard.”

Mapleridge is in one of the few remaining nice neighborhoods in Waterbury—not the kind of place that usually comes to mind when I think of DCF taking kids.

“How so?” I ask as she pulls out of the parking lot.

“The kid is a wheelchair user. Nice. Quiet. He won’t go to school, though. He’s been truant for so long, pretty soon we’ll have to place him with someone. The mom’s husband up and left, and she pretty much gave up.”

“Damn,” I say. Even middle class people have their problems. “So what can we do?”

“I’m holding out as long as I can, but eventually I’m going to have to start the paperwork for placement. I tried setting her up with therapy. She won’t go. I tried having someone come for in-home services. When they knock, she won’t answer.” Glace sighs, a long, weary sound that rattles my bones. “Not only is he missing school, but he’s also missed a year’s worth of doctor’s appointments. They’re behind on bills. Facing eviction. She even let her food stamps go.”

“There’s really nothing else we can do?” I stare through the windshield, watching the city pass as we head to the East End neighborhood in Waterbury.

“Can’t help someone who won’t help themselves,” Glace says with a shrug. Flicking on her turn signal, she glances at me while she waits for traffic to pass. “This job can eat you alive. I suggest you don’t get too attached.”

With those words, she turns the car up Meriden Road.

We lapse into silence. I knew being a social worker wouldn’t be easy, but I’m already frustrated. When DCF took me from Bree, I didn’t like it, but I got it. Bree left me for days at a time, often without food in the house. All for her flavor of the week. This mom that Glace describes sounds like someone who’s just fallen on hard times—someone the state should be helping, rather than punishing.

Glace pulls into the driveway of a green single-family home. It’s all on one floor—perfect for a child with a disability. My fists curl at the thought of a landlord tossing a single mom and her disabled child out onto the street.

Opening her door, Glace steps out of the car. “Grab those files on the backseat for me,” she says, walking to the front door.

I lean over the center console and find a black laptop bag stuffed to the brim with folders. I buckle it closed—barely. Wrapping my fingers around the strap, I yank it toward me. It practically sinks into the backseat.

“What does she have in here, rocks?” I mutter. I yank the bag free, hoisting it onto my lap. Apparently part of my duties as a trainee is lugging around heavy files.

It’s not much different from being a Prospect.

I didn’t expect to be given a case on my first day or anything like that, but I went to school for four years and got licensed so I could help people, not so I could be someone’s bitch for a day. Squaring my shoulders, I carry the bag inside the house.

The first thing I notice is how normal everything looks inside. The living room is tidy, and the scent of apple cinnamon wafts through the air from candles on the coffee table. It’s nothing like Bree’s house, that’s for sure.

The mother sits on the couch, her hands folded in her lap. Her son sits in his wheelchair, an Xbox controller in his hand. On the TV, a game sits paused, the sound on low. Once again, I’m struck by how completely normal it all is. This isn’t a case of child abuse. It can’t be. I stand in the living room and fix my gaze on the framed photos on the entertainment center rather than staring. Most of them are of the kid, from infancy to now, his teen years.

“Renee,” Glace says, “this is Olivia. She’s just started her training with the department, so she’s going to observe. Is that okay?”

Renee shrugs. “As long as she isn’t here to take my son.”

Glace opens her mouth, but I interject.

“I’m not here to take your son, Renee.” I take a seat on the other end of the couch and drop the bag on the floor. “We don’t make the rules, do we, Glace?”

Glace blinks at me, stunned. “No,” she says. “We don’t.” She pinches her eyebrows together and narrows her eyes at me.

Rifling through the bag, I pull out the Thomas file. I tap the manila with a fingernail. “On our way over here, Glace briefed me on your situation. Renee . . .” I let my voice trail off, hold my eyes to hers. Let her see me. “I was a foster kid. The state does the best it can, but it was still hell for me. At his age and with his condition, your son—” I flip the folder open and scan the names inside. “Rhett will probably be placed in a group home.” I slap the folder shut. “Do you want that for your son?”

Rhett lets out a low, guttural moan.

Eyes wide, Renee places a hand on his shoulder. “No one is taking my baby.”

“That’s my point,” I snap. “Do you think you’re the only case we’ve got?” I pick up the bag and drop it onto the couch for emphasis. It sinks into the cushion, the whole couch shaking as it lands. “Glace has been extraordinarily patient with you, but it’s just about out of her hands. The state is stretched thin as it is. They’re not going to keep working with you. Do you understand me?”

Tears spill from Renee’s eyes. She shakes her head. “Please,” she sobs.

“You’ve got to meet us halfway,” I tell her.

“No,” she cries. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“You didn’t,” I soothe. “I know your scumbag of a husband took off and left you with a child who needs around the clock care because of his Lou Gherig’s disease. I know you can’t work because no job is going to fit your needs. I know you’re heartbroken and you feel like you’ve got no one on your side. But I’m telling you, right here, right now, that Glace and I are all you’ve got. So are you gonna let the therapist come in here and talk to you? So we can check this box off on our list, and close your case?”

Renee’s eyes meet mine, hope blooming in them. “Okay,” she breathes.

“And are you gonna send your kid to school?”

“I can’t,” she says through tears. Her face reddens in splotches.

“Why the hell not?” I demand.

“Olivia,” Glace warns.

“They’re awful to him,” Renee cries. “He’s not even learning anything there. I know—” A hiccup cuts off her words. “I know there’s not much they can do for his condition. It’s degenerative. I know that. But all they do is let him play on an iPad and give him candy. That’s not school.” She buries her face in her hands, shoulders heaving.

I glance at Glace. Her eyebrows reach her hairline. “I had no idea,” she admits.

“Glace, are there better programs we can look into for Rhett?” I ask.

“Absolutely.” She pulls her phone out of her purse and holds it up. “I’m going to call Diane, pick her brain. Just give me one moment.” Pressing the phone to her ear, she steps outside.

I slide closer to Renee and rub her back. “I’m sorry. I know you’re hurting. I can’t promise you that it’ll stop, but I can promise you that if you do what Glace has been asking you, things will get better.”

Lifting her face from her hands, Renee reaches out and squeezes my hand with a soggy hand. “Thank you,” she whispers.

I squeeze her hand back. I probably just got fired myself on my first day, but at least I know I made a difference.

Thank you for reading Chapter 21 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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