Page 8 of The Delivery

“It’ll be fine. We just have a little power thing going. He’s totally harmless.”

“A summons arrived for you this morning. Sorry,” Janey says, throwing it down on my desk.

I swallow my coffee and pull the envelope to me. Every once in a while I’m summoned to appear in court on behalf of a program participant. I wish that’s what this was. I know without looking that this one is on behalf of my parents.

“It’s from Michigan. Are you going to go?”

“Don’t know.” Housing court again. My parent’s house is in foreclosure. We transferred everything to my name two years ago because I was the only one in the family with a job. All it did was slow down the show. A show that started when first my dad and then eventually my mom got laid off as the factories shut down. I had been trying to swing their mortgage payments, but then Baba had to go into assisted living. That obviously isn’t free. Credit cards are maxed, and my salary isn’t enough to support all three.

“I’m fucked. We’re going to lose the house. I think we’ve got a month at most. They’ll have to come out to LA and move into my apartment.”

“What about Alex? Has he finished school?”

Alexei is my little brother. He’s had his own run-ins with the law, but thank God he’s in college now.

“I’ll have to appear. Maybe I can get them to give us another extension.”

“Extreme make-over home addition? Ty what’s his name? We could make a video to submit.”

“Does that come with life long property taxes paid after you get the fancy house? Because my parents have got nothing. Four years of unemployment ate up a lifetime’s worth of savings. My mom pawned her wedding band last Christmas to pay for the duck roast. Then my grandmother and dad wouldn’t eat it because they were pretending to still be Eastern Orthodox. My whole family is crazy. My mom called me crying, and I had to scold my dad over the phone. I told him to eat the fucking roast duck like it was his last meal on earth.

“Are they affected by the water shut off?”

“No, not yet at least. But soon they won’t even have a home that the water could be shut off to.”

“I only booked you intakes for the afternoon. If you need to take care of this—go. I’ve got everything under control.”

Janey looks at me seriously with big eyes blinking like an innocent toad.

“I’d rather add misery to misery. That way I know I’m not alone.”

“That a girl!” Janey says, picking at the vertical ruffles on her blouse. I love you when you’re all morose and sarcastic. Then I know for sure you haven’t been replaced by an extraterrestrial clone. It’s that bitter aftertaste you have that makes you so sweet.”

“It’s awesome if you’re twenty-five and your parents move back in with you, right? God, they could even bring their furniture and knickknacks. That alone could secure me some dates.”

“Maybe some weirdos. You never have any problem finding men—you may just want to reconsider bringing them home. You do have a court appearance at twelve. The Jarel Hopkins case is closing. He’s being tried as an adult.”

I look at my watch and groan.

“I don’t even remember him. Did he complete the program?”

“Yep. Seemed like a good kid. Drug robbery gone bad. First-degree manslaughter. Not a pretty case. There’s no testimony on this one—you’re there for support.”

Janey leaves my office, and I dig my fingers into the back of my neck, trying to strangle away the knots. I sleep twisted up like a pretzel and sometimes I wake up on the floor. I’m more stressed out than a stockbroker. Without the money. Without any money. I’m broke. I’m broke-ass-poor.

After an early lunch, I head back to my office to get ready for court; I keep a few extra blazers in my work closet. I’ve got a navy blue velvet one that makes up for the air-conditioned nightmare that is LA county criminal court. It’s got something crusted on the lapel that I attempt to scrape off with my nail. I vaguely remember soup, maybe salad dressing. I lick my finger and rub.

Good as new. Time to go watch the whale of a system swallow up more plankton. I’ll deal with Michigan later. One calamity at a time; it’s all I can do. It’s all I’ve got time for. I kick off my flats and squish my feet into some heels. Heels give me more power. I’m not only taller, but I’m much more badass in heels. These ones are black, four inches with a line of snakeskin up the back of the heel.

On the way out of Pathways, I run into Mozey Cruz in the hall. He’s got a program participant, a pretty one with a full sleeve of tattoos, backed up against the wall. His arm is up, palm flat, sustaining him and effectively hiding her face. I’d like to just march by, let them make out and make my way out the door. But it’s the rules here that sustain us, and I happen to be the asshole in charge.

I hike my bag up on my shoulder and grip my case files hard.

“Mr. Cruz, Ms.—” I say, trying to see her around his arm. She giggles. Little baby girly laughter that says she’s eating up his charm. Neither of them pays me any heed. They’re too wrapped up in each other. She’s got a crop-top on, and I watch in horror as Mozey’s other hand caresses her bare flesh. The back of his hand brushes up her torso, but I swear I’m the one who feels it. What would it be like to have him touch me like that? Snap out of it, Finch. That’s not going to happen.

“Hey, guys?”

They both turn on a dime and stare.

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