“Old boots.”She shot him a sideways glance.“How can you tell?”
“The way your butt wiggles.”
She let out a snort.
It lightened the mood all the way to the front door of the building.Once inside, though, they both became quiet.The lobby wasn’t any fancier than the outside.One dusty landscape painting hung on the wall with a fake garden of dustier plastic plants underneath.The building directory showed that the office they needed was on the fourth floor.
All humor left them as the doors of the elevator closed.It clunked as it began rising, and the sounds coming off the old cables didn’t sound safe.
Billy hooked his arm around Roxie’s waist and pulled her back against him.She wove her fingers through his, but he could feel how stiff she was.
“Breathe,” he whispered into her ear.
“Later.”
The light for the fourth floor was burnt out, but the bell dinged loudly when they made it to their destination.Neither of them moved.
For a long moment, they hovered on the precipice between the past and the present.
When the automatic doors started to close, Roxie jumped forward out of his arms.Pushing back the bumper, she opened the doors and stepped out into the hallway.She looked to the right and then the left.
Billy took her hand again.“Room 402.”
If they were going to do this, they might as well get it over with.
They started down the hallway like two kids about to face the principal.When they made it to the door, though, he tugged at her hand.He didn’t need to say anything.With one look into each other’s eyes, they both straightened their spines and pulled back their shoulders.
Kids in the system learned to show no fear, and they weren’t in the system anymore.They were adults now.
Still, they kept hold of one another’s hands as they entered the office.
It was a small workplace, with maybe five people.That was the way things worked, though.So much need, but so few resources.Politicians could never seem to allocate much funding to help those who needed it the most.
A clerk looked up at the sound of their footsteps.She was a mousy woman with heavy glasses and limp brown hair.The eyes behind those thick lenses were tired but sharp.
With a quick pass, she evaluated them for signs of trouble.Roxie passed muster easily.She was wearing her old boots, but she’d gone conservative for the day.The femme fatale from the billboard was covered up and toned down.Billy, unfortunately, hadn’t brought any Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes for this trip, and the inspection put his back up.
“Can I help you?”the woman asked, keeping her peripheral vision on him.
“I’d like to talk to someone about getting access to the paperwork of a child who went through the foster care system,” Roxie said.
“You’ll need to fill out a Form 19-SS/A.”
“I already have.”
Behind those Coke-bottle glasses, the woman’s eyes softened.“It usually takes four to six weeks before a request is fulfilled.”
“It’s been eight.”
“Oh, my.”The woman bit her lower lip.“Can I get your name?”
“Roxanne Cannon.”Roxie efficiently whipped out a copy of the form from her purse.
The clerk adjusted her glasses on her nose.“I really am sorry.Let me dig into this and—”
“Is there a problem here?”
Both Roxie and Billy took a step back when the clerk was interrupted by a sour-faced, pencil-thin man who’d popped into the doorway of the one actual office in the suite.
