The caseworker grasps Iris’s upper arm. “I’ll see you back at the office. My court time isn’t for another twenty minutes.” She dodges the other seated parties while striding toward the girl with the slightly upturned doe eyes.
When they turn toward another door, my legs shake. I’m going to fall on my ass, I’m so weak.
“Emily, it’s our turn,” Iris calls to me from the door with the baby carrier and diaper bag looped on her arm. “Don’t forget to silence your phone.”
“Right.” I jump as tendrils of fear still skate along my spine.
After swiping the screen, I shake my head.
Jake: Thought you might need a distraction.
Below his words is a photo of an enormous white cabinet island with his hands braced on the edge. His large, calloused hands. And those veins that go up his forearms. Heat floods up my cheeks as the tendrils of fear turn to zaps of electric sparks. The man’s hands are deadly.
I frown. Who took the photo, and where are they?
A message pops up on the screen.
Xavier: Love this island. Let me know if you and Jake need help putting it in.
Jake: If you respond with one word to Xavier, I’m paddling your ass when you get home. Right after I punch him in the jaw.
And just like that – all the tension is gone.
Okay, most of it is gone.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Jake
One Week Later
As I settle in front of the computer, I rub the back of my neck. Sleepless nights from a waking baby and other nocturnal and afternoon and maybe a few morning wakeups have taken a toll on my sleep schedule. But it’s all worth it. Who cares about a few knots in my shoulders and back when they have two beautiful girls to hang out with?
And everything is going just the way we wanted. Court went smoothly. Or as smoothly as could be expected. Emily took Grace to the court hearing. I couldn’t go because my license isn’t finalized yet, but from what she said, the next hearing should be a recommendation for termination due to abandonment. It’s only a matter of time.
There’s no reason I won’t be able to attend the next hearing in two months, and we’ll be leaving, together, from our home.
I grin while typing in the report from this morning’s calls. I’m not sure that Mr. Robertson is really missing the gas in his jug, or if he used it all and forgot. Either way, it doesn’t matter. He called it in, so we’ll document the report in case something comes of it.
My fingers fly over the keys. What’s going to happen? A rash of gas syphoning thefts? More likely it’s going to be that Mr. Robertson calls in missing his garden clippers next. And then a rake.
Crap. I shake my head as the humor of the situation evaporates.
I should contact his family to be on the lookout for similar misplaced items, forgotten appointments, and other unusual occurrences. I’m sure they don’t want to face reality but it’s better to be prepared ahead of time than report a missing Mr. Robertson because he took off to the city and got lost.
As I suspected, his son wasn’t as surprised at the call as he could’ve been. He and his sister had noticed a few odd behaviors over the last several months. Every shopping trip resulted in the purchase of ketchup and a blanket because he was out or needed one more until the cabinets were brimming with rows of the condiment and under the beds were stuffed with extra covers.
Harry coughed as he brought up the yellow dump truck toys that his father had purchased for his sons for Christmas, and his sons are in college. It’s never easy to brace of the early stages of dementia or Alzheimer’s.
I gave him some resources to explore and ended the call.
When I signed up for the police force, I had no idea how much of my work would be spent on community outreach. I expected to spend my days chasing bad guys but instead, I’m contacting family members and checking up on business owners.
The front door of the police station opens, causing a shift in the air pressure. “One second, and I’ll be with you.” I close the screen and turn my chair to face the incoming visitor.
My mom. I grin and rise to my feet. “Hey, Mom.” I rush around the desk. “What’re you doing here?”
“Checking on my son whom I never see anymore.” Her mouth forms a pout as she stalks toward me. The soft soles of her tennis shoes don’t make a sound on the cement floor as she moves through the room.
