Me: Did you say Sheila was late last week, too?
Geena: Yes. But only five minutes, and she answered her phone.
Me: I really don’t want to make the call.
It was almost Christmas, after all, and ripping kids from their parents was always our last resort.
Geena shrugged, and we both looked at the boy. He’d been hungry, so I’d raided the kitchen. So far, he’d scarfed down an apple, two carrots, two cartons of milk, and was halfway through his second tuna sandwich. This wasn’t standard procedure, but he’d told us that his mom had lost her food card, so he hadn’t gotten dinner the night before. That was heartbreaking enough, but something in the pit of my stomach warned me he was in for a long night and would need all the sustenance he could get.
“You full yet, Toby?” I asked.
“About to here,” he said, drawing a line across his belly with his hand.
“Well, your mom will be here soon,” I said, taking his plate.
He looked out the front window and frowned. “Do you need help cleaning? I’m a good cleaner.”
Toby was a sweet kid. A little on the shy side, he mostly kept to himself, but he seemed to really enjoy school. It made me wonder what sort of home life he had. Regardless, he could overcome that BS and grow into someone great. He just needed people who believed in him.
I returned the plate to the kitchen only to be bombarded with texts on my way back.
Geena: We have a situation.
Geena: A car just parked in front of the school. The man stumbling out of it looks drunk.
Geena: Toby recognizes him.
Shit!
Hearing voices ahead, I hurried my steps, rounding the corner to find Geena facing off with a short, wiry man. She’d shoved Toby behind her and kept one hand on his shoulder like an anchor.
“…what the goddamn problem is. Sheila said I’m on the goddamn list, and you people shouldn’t give me no trouble.” The words came out slurred as he stabbed a finger in her face, just inches shy of her nose and a little to the right.
“Hi!” I said, my tone overly cheerful. “Maybe I can help. Toby, do you recognize this man?”
The drunk scoffed. “Of course he recognizes me.”
My attention stayed on Toby, who nodded. “That’s Larry,” he whispered, his eyes full of fear as they darted to the man.
“See there? The kid knows who I am.” The man wobbled on his feet, trying to get around Geena, who kept Toby at her back. “Now get your shit and come on. I don’t got all day to wait on your slow ass. The boy moves like goddamn molasses.”
The desperate look Geena shot me begged for an intervention.
This was the worst part of my job, but I was the director, so I stepped up. “Take Toby to my office and try to call Sheila one more time. I’ll handle this.”
There were more instructions I didn’t voice, but she knew the protocol. Her eyes filled with gratitude as she stepped back, took Toby’s hand, and tugged him toward my office. Larry tried to follow, but I cut him off.
“What the fuck do you want?” he asked, eyeing me.
“Is Sheila with you?”
He threw his arms out as if he were being crucified and spun around, almost tripping himself. “Do you see her here?”
I took a deep breath, wishing I had stopped by my office for my taser, since this asshat could use a few volts. “There must have been a misunderstanding because Sheila hasn’t made any changes to Toby’s authorized pickup list in months.” I was the one who kept those lists up, so I’d know. “But even if she had, you’ve had a bit too much to drink. Why don’t you go home to sober up?”
“I ain’t intoxicated,” he replied.
No, it was much worse than that. Judging by the stench, he’d been marinated in cheap booze, rolled in an ashtray, and then baked in the sun for a week. It was all I could do not to cover my nose. I tried breathing through my mouth, but that was worse.
