Page 29 of Sweet Deal
Her gaze darted from him to the other side of the room and back.
“Go. I’m fine.”
Waiting another second to make sure he was indeed fine; she darted to her purse on the sofa table and flipped through messages.
“Everything okay?” He didn’t like the frown deepening between her eyes.
Slowly walking toward him, she continued to stare at her phone.
“Rach?”
She sank into the sofa beside him “Sorry. I’ve got a family I’m having a hard time helping.”
“Tell me about it.”
Her gaze lifted to meet his, and she blew out a sigh. “Most of the time, we’re trying to protect kids from their parents. I hate to have to say this, but we don’t always get to swoop in and save the kids from a troubled home life. Too often we spend time coaching the children on how not to aggravate the parents so they don’t get hurt.”
“That’s crazy.” Other words came to mind but none he could use without his mother threatening to wash his mouth out with soap, no matter how old he was.
“There’s so much about the system that can be frustrating. Sometimes, some of us bend the rules.”
“Bend?”
Her lips pressed tightly together, her shoulder dipped, and then she heaved a sigh. “You might say that there may have been a time or two when a social worker might take an injured kid in their own vehicle for… treatment.”
“Some as in you?”
Again, her shoulder lifted, and her head tipped to meet it. “Maybe.”
“Rach…” He struggled with how to say what he was thinking without coming off as a jerk. “Violent parents, taking kids without approval, you mentioned the other day tracking folks down on the streets if that’s where they’re smoking crack. Is your work always this dangerous?”
Her hesitation to respond told him more than he wanted to know.
“What’s happening now?”
She glanced at her phone. “I have one case. The son is about to age out of the system. Not that it’s been able to help much so far. He’s schizophrenic, doesn’t like taking his meds, and has a drug abuse problem. Whenever he gets into a placement to steady his meds and clean him up, they let him out and it starts all over again.”
“Like now?”
Her head bobbed. “It’s just the mom and a little sister. When he’s in a good place, he’s a sweet boy.”
“But when he’s not?”
“Mom just texted me that he left the house this afternoon and hasn’t come home. She’s worried. Actually, she’s scared. She says that he’s arguing with the voices.”
“Man.” Eyes closed, he relaxed fingers that had tightened into a fist. “Now what?”
“I’ll make some calls tomorrow. Try a little harder to get him placement for evaluation before it escalates any more.”
“What is it they say the definition of crazy is?”
“I know, doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results. It’s all I can do. I can’t fix everything, and I certainly can’t cure schizophrenia.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No.” She reached out and touched his arm. “When I can fix a situation, help a troubled mom, reach a lost kid, it’s a euphoria like you wouldn’t believe.”
He felt his mouth tip in a slight smile. “You always loved straightening out messes. As I remember, the more chaotic and impossible the situation, the more drawn to it you were. I guess you still are.”
