Page 2 of Defiled Innocence

“Good.” I take a sip of my coffee. Ooh, a little too much sugar. I put the mug down again.

After closing his briefcase, he hands me a copy of the will and keeps a copy for himself as he leans back.

“Can you just summarize it for me?” I put the document on my desk after my eyes sweep over my brother’s name listed under the last will and testament heading.

He looks a little relieved at my request. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Lia.” Caroline, one of the counselors, bursts into my office. Glancing at Luther, she winces. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Is something wrong?”

“I have a probation officer on the phone demanding clinic notes. I’ve told him three times I can’t send them without a court order or a release from the client. But he’s insisting.”

“I assume there is no subpoena on file and the client hasn’t agreed to share clinical information?” I clarify.

“That’s right. I told him I can give him an update on if the guy has shown up for his sessions, which he has, but I can’t give him anything else without the other things.” She looks at my phone, a soft plea in her eyes.

I sigh. “What line?”

“Two. Thank you. I have a client waiting on me.” She wiggles her fingers at me with a big grin and hurries from the room.

“Sorry, Luther, one more minute.” I grab the call and deal with the probation officer who is more insistent than a man in his position should be.

He knows the law as well as I do in this situation; he’s just trying to strong-arm us to avoid having to do the legwork to get it done the right way.

After I hang up, leaving him just as annoyed as he was when I took his call, I sink back into my chair.

Luther clears his throat, reminding me he’s still in my office, waiting for me.

“Sorry. Okay, let’s get it done.” I fold my hands on my desk and give him my undivided attention.

“Your brother made things very straightforward in regard to his estate,” Luther starts out. “As you know?—”

“Lia. Shit. Sorry.” Ramon, one of our social workers, rushes into the room, cutting short when he sees Luther.

“It’s okay, what do you need?” I give Luther an apologetic smile.

“Sherman, the fifty-year-old you found a bed for this morning?” Ramon shakes his head. “He’s being transported back here. The shelter had some mix-up and there’s no bed for him. I tried calling Julia, but she’s got nothing.”

I hang my head and take a deep breath. That bed had been nearly impossible to get in the first place.

Sherman doesn’t need rehab services, just somewhere to sleep and shower while he finds his footing again.

“All right.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing my brain to find a solution here. “I’ll pull a favor. One sec.”

They both watch me as I make a quick call to a shelter up north. It’s an hour’s drive away, and outside the city limits, but that might be just what he needs. A day or two away from all the bars and clubs calling his name at night.

“There.” I hang up my phone and scribble the address on a piece of paper for Ramon. “Call the bus and let them know to take Sherman there. They won’t have an actual bed for him until this afternoon, but he’ll just have to make do. He can stay there for three days; that’s their limit for emergencies. If he wants a more permanent solution, he needs to be assigned a caseworker there.”

Ramon glances at the address. “This isn’t even in the city.”

“Right.” I nod. “That’s why it’s a last resort. They can get him set up with a social worker, job training, and a more permanent housing solution. It’s that or nowhere, Ramon.”

He nods. “He’s going to hate it, but I think it’ll be good for him. The city drags him down.”

We’ve worked on and off with Sherman over the last three years since we’ve opened the doors to the Moreau Community Center. He’s a good guy, and he tries, but he’s definitely one of our more needy clients.

“I’ll call it in. Thanks, Lia.” Ramon takes the address and leaves the office.

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