“I know, but you know how they usually hate you for getting in their business and forcing them to behave? This wasn’t why she was upset. She was upset because I didn’t believe her. I never believe anything any of my kids say. I’ve been lied to, too many times. Plus, she was so scared. I’ve never seen her afraid—of anything.”
Stanton sighed. “Look, there’s nothing you can do. She violated her contract—not only by being away from home, but also for getting arrested. And if she really is afraid of something, then she probably is safer in the county lockup than anywhere else.” He nodded toward the files in Ari’s lap. “Everything okay then with those new cases?”
Ari narrowed her eyes at him, trying to look fierce. “No, it’s not. I don’t want any more lost girls on my caseload! The abuse and how they sell themselves and the pain and the men and the scars—” Ari sighed, cutting off her argument. Everything about that day felt hopeless … but there was nothing she could do but try her best. It was her job.
Stanton’s dark brown eyes lit up a little. “You do a good job, Ari. These girls trust and need you—even if it’s just for the short period they’re in our custody.”
Under the weight of her bag and files, Ari struggled to her feet. She shot him a false look of anger. “Way to hit me in my soft spot, Boss.”
Laughter bounced off the walls and he picked up his pen to continue working. Ari heard him mutter as she walked out the door and down the hall to her office, “Not my fault you’re a sucker.”
***
The rest of the day passed in a blur of phone calls and paperwork—something Ari rarely had the opportunity to do. Most days she was either in the field, visiting homes or placing a child in residential care. Not to mention the days spent traveling across the state to check on clients in long-term lockup. But that afternoon, her calendar was relatively free so she took the opportunity to catch up on some work and leave on time.
Ari lived close to the office—only a short commute of about ten minutes without traffic. That night she made it home easily, pulling her car onto her tree-lined street and parking in her driveway. She loved her house. The porch and swing, the leaded glass windows, the historic door. The Craftsman bungalow she purchased a year prior was painted a soothing seafoam green, with buttery-yellow trim. It was small—only a thousand square feet, two bedrooms and one bath, a tiny galley kitchen, but it was hers. She shared it with a roommate—one she chose to help make the mortgage payments, and for safety. Plus, he was Ari’s best friend.
Removing her bag and the paperwork from the car, she left the doors unlocked before climbing the porch steps and pushing her key into the deadbolt. Living in a neighborhood like this, one learned things, like to never lock car doors. If someone wanted to break into a car, it was best to just let them. No need to pay for glass repair. Before Ari could get the door open, two cats wove around her legs. Another rule of the neighborhood: never feed a stray cat.
Oliver wasn’t home yet. He worked at a law firm downtown and his commute was harder and longer. After changing, Ari set about making dinner. By the time he arrived 30 minutes later, she had two plates of pasta ready.
“Thank God!” he muttered, as he walked in and smelled dinner. “Have I told you how much I love that you cook? ’Cause I do. I was going to order pizza and cheese fries.”
“Wait …” Ari asked in mock seriousness. “That’s an option? ’Cause really, this can save for later.”
Oliver disappeared to his room and came out two minutes later in shorts and a stain-covered T-shirt. His blond hair was no longer business tidy, but disheveled. The messy hair better represented his personality. A little wild. Definitely silly. And very hot. “Nope sorry, my ass—”
“Language,” she called in warning. She’d instituted a no-cussing policy once she started with the juvies. Teaching by example, or something like that.
“Sorry, my booty is hitting that sofa and isn’t moving until I’ve watched three hours of bad reality TV programming.” He swung by the kitchen and grabbed drinks and utensils while Ari brought the plates to the living room.
Flipping on The Bachelor, Ari knew she was lucky to have Oliver. He was game for anything as long as it involved food or a good time. He kept his mess in his room, paid his bills on time, and generally didn’t pry into Ari’s life. He was good-looking in a scruffy, shaggy-haired, one-night-stand kind of way. Fortunately for Ari, their friendship outlasted the awkwardness of their own one-night stand.
“So you’re not going out tonight?” she asked between forkfuls of pasta.
“Nah, I’ve got nothing going on, and work? It’s kicking my ass a little.”Ari smacked him again for his language.
Oliver and Ari met in graduate school. He was in law school while she majored in social work. They both found jobs pretty easily and where Ari worked long hours for little reward, Oliver worked long hours for a shot at a big office with a nice view. Sometimes, she wasn’t quite sure it was a fair trade. Okay really, it definitely wasn’t a fair trade.