Chapter
One
Sawyer
(Present Day)
The sound of gravel crunched beneath my tires as I drove down a rural road in Rhodes County, Kansas. I rubbed my temple to ease the tension, but my eyes continued to burn from lack of sleep. The eye drops I had used before walking into court this morning, which claimed to “relieve redness within minutes,” had worn off at some point in the last seven hours. I was running on four hours of sleep in the last two days, and I wasn’t sure that any eye drop could fix that. I had already logged a good 1,900 miles within the last three days, and I had ingested enough caffeine to fell an elephant. Casting an occasional glance in the rearview mirror, I saw sad gray eyes staring back at me.
“I promise I’m doing the best I can, Connor.”
We hadn’t talked since we left the courthouse, and I hated this as much as he did. I had attempted conversation a couple of times by asking about the 1000-piece puzzle he had been working on at home, but he wasn’t engaging. I didn’t blame him. I hated small talk too, especially in moments when it seemed especially shallow in comparison to the unbearable weight of the moment.
“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled.
He rolled his eyes and turned toward the window. If only he knew how little influence I effectively had. People always assumed we were the powers that be, but most often, things depended on an entire team of individuals who might not see eye to eye. Additionally, there were the judges who were elected but lacked any knowledge of the laws they were expected to enforce. Good ol’ boy judges with the right last names littered our state like most states, more concerned with keeping up appearances than keeping kids safe. Connor had lucked out with a judge that appeared to want the best thing for him.
I would “Yeah, whatever” too if I didn’t know all the background information. However, there was not much that I didn’t know about Connor Hanson. His dog-eared file rested in my caramel-colored, faux-leather tote bag in the front passenger seat. The thick, light blue folder stretched at the seams and spoke of his years in and out of foster care. Nine-year-olds shouldn’t have this much heartbreak. Their biggest concerns were supposed to be about hanging out with friends and building Lego sets.
My childhood was far from ideal, I understood those heartbroken storm cloud eyes more than I wanted to. I wished I could fix this. I wished I could make parents love their children and always put their needs first, but sometimes that simply wasn’t the case. Sometimes individuals like Connor came from a family tree riddled with addiction, and more often than not, the parents needed as much help as their children. Addictions were hard to break and even harder to break when someone hadn’t made any measurable efforts. No one on the team was favorable to reintegration when they thought no steps forward had been made by the adults in the situation. It was only a matter of determining whether the effort was linked to a lack of understanding, challenges, or lack of follow-through.
I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My elbow-length, wavy blonde hair was in a French twist to make me appear older. Having what many deemed a “baby face,” I always did everything I could to portray a professional appearance so that my opinion wasn’t immediately discounted because of my age. I was consistently the youngest person in the room, and it had been that way since I had graduated early from college and was immediately hired as a social worker.
My makeup and clothing were flawless despite my lack of sleep. I’ve watched hundreds of hours of makeup tutorials and videos on how to have “presence.” The gist was to occupy the largest amount of space in a room, which was ironic considering all I wanted to do was take up the least amount of space possible.
I worked diligently to assess what life skills I was inadequate in and tried to fill that void with advice from strangers on the internet. You couldn’t exactly walk up to someone on the street and say, “I don’t know how to be a normal human. Can you help?”
People would see me as a freak more than they already did. These instructional videos were how I knew my makeup was on point, similarly to how I knew my gray pinstripe, slim, high-waisted trousers with a tucked in silk blouse and sky-high heels worked best on my body shape for business attire. I analyzed photos of completed outfits online and purchased my clothing accordingly, except for the occasional outfit that Talia talked me into. Her choices tended to be more bright, patterned, and sexier than anything I typically wore. To Talia’s dismay, those outfits sat in my closet most of the time, untouched because the life of a social worker didn’t require sexy outfits.
Even though I still exhibited the signs of being inexperienced in life skills, watching the instructional videos helped. I had to remind myself that at least I was a fully functioning, law-abiding human who tried to be kind and considerate. I had ten lifetimes of experience on how to be a vile one.
The headache that was a result of my French twist hairstyle throbbed as I glanced at my phone mounted on the dash. Fifteen percent battery. I inwardly cursed the fact that I had left my charger in my personal vehicle. I’d be lucky to make it to the respite home before it completely died. My eyes shifted back to the rearview mirror to check on Connor.
Court always triggered behaviors in him, as it did with many kids. The Martins, Connor’s foster parents, were good people who took on tough cases and genuinely cared about the kids in their home. For their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, they decided to celebrate and had been gifted a couple’s trip. When events similar to this happened, another licensed foster home would be responsible for the child. Connor would be staying with the Baileys, a gentle retired couple that primarily only did respite for foster families instead of having one particular child in their home long term. Many of the families that used the Baileys for respite considered them to be grandparents, and the Baileys really had a heart for families that had a heart for foster care.
Once I dropped Connor off, I’d start my four-day weekend to burn off a vacation day from months of working overtime with no break. Social work was taxing in every area, but I loved making a difference, especially when it involved children.
“Why can’t my dad take me home?!” Connor bit out. His harsh tone startled me.
“He can’t right now. Kids deserve to live in safe homes. I’m sorry, buddy,” I said gently as I glanced toward him. My heart ached for his situation.
His eyes narrowed, as his face turned red.
“I’m not your buddy. You don’t care about me!” he spat. My heart caught because I genuinely did care. I thought about all the kids on my caseload daily, but I knew what he was saying wasn’t personal. He was frustrated with the progress and I was too.
“It’s okay to be disappointed, Connor, but it’s not okay to be rude.” I spoke clearly and calmly, knowing Connor thoroughly enough to recognize he was getting close to blowing his cool.
“I hate you!” he suddenly screamed and erupted in a combative volcano of anger.
Connor slung his arms around wildly, becoming aggressive, hitting things around him as he unbuckled himself and grabbed at the door handle. I had already been driving slowly due to the gravel road, but I immediately hit the brakes. The car slid to a stop as gravel dust billowed everywhere. Connor flung open the door, leaped from the car, and ran toward an open hay field as if the devil himself was chasing him. I shifted to park, hopped from the car and raced after him as fast as I could in heels, but he was already long gone. Damn. Panic built as I realized I could no longer see him.
I yelled out his name, but I knew it was pointless due to the distance. I spun around, studying the rural surroundings with no sign of life. It had been miles since I had seen a house or another vehicle. This portion of Rhodes County was especially rural, as it was mostly a patchwork of family-owned farms and ranches. I had no clue where I was because this wasn’t the route I normally took to the Bailey’s house. I trekked back to the work car where my cell phone was. Clutching my phone as I snagged it off the dash, I typed a quick message to my boss letting her know what happened. Surprisingly, the text had enough signal to go through. My cell signal kept dropping, but I was scared to turn off the navigation app, which depleted my battery even more.
This wasn’t the first time Connor had run. He had a history of becoming combative during times of heightened emotions, but once he was calm, he’d apologize and be the tenderhearted boy I knew him to be. I attempted to call 911, but my cell phone signal wasn’t strong enough for a call. Shuffling through the glove box, which served as a mini lost and found collection, I retrieved a hot pink ribbon, that had undoubtedly been left by a child. My heels sank into the soil as I tied it to a strand of barbed wire alongside the road. I knew the four-inch heels were impractical out here, but I was dressed for court, not chasing after a child through a field. The least I could do was mark a location for law enforcement to begin the search. I got back in the car and moved my cell around, trying to find a signal. Two bars. I froze and held the phone still, my arm almost fully extended, and dialed 911 on speakerphone.
Two rings.
“What’s your emergency?” a female voice asked.
“My name is Sawyer Brannan. I’m a social worker for CPS, and I was transporting a minor when he jumped from the car and ran. I don’t think he’s injured. I’m not familiar with the area and I no longer have eyes on him. My cell signal is spotty, and my battery is low.” This wasn’t my first rodeo with runaway situations.
“Stay on the line and I’ll get your location. What’s the age of the child?” I could hear typing in the background as she spoke.
“He’s nine years old,” I respond as I actively scan my surroundings hoping to catch a glimpse of Connor.
Suddenly, the phone chimed, indicating that the call had dropped. Hell.
“Ugh!” I huffed.
The only thing that was logical at this point was to turn around and find the house I had passed a few miles back. I crossed my fingers that they would have a landline or a different cell service that worked better out here. I couldn’t merely sit here and do nothing, even though I didn’t want to drive away.
I whipped the car around and sent rocks flying. This wasn’t anything like the time Connor ran away at a mall or the time in the neighborhood. This time, I had no idea how to find him without getting lost myself. Connor would most likely try to find me again once he calmed down, but would he be able to find his way back? That seemed unlikely. The landscape was wide open, and hills rolled as far as your eyes could see. Gravel pelted the bottom of the car as I sped back to the last farmhouse. Driving around a curve, I saw a large, beautiful white farmhouse with a wraparound porch. The house was something straight out of a dream. It was idyllic and the kind of peacefulness you could experience by simply looking at it. Off to the side of the house, a tire was hanging from a thick rope on a large tree branch.
Something felt vaguely familiar, which was disconcerting. I experienced that strange inkling again that I had the first time I drove by. It was as if I had been here before, but I didn’t understand why. I currently had fifty-seven children on my caseload, but I knew with absolute certainty that none of them were connected to this house, and I lived forty-five minutes away. There was no logical reason why I should feel this way. Somehow, it felt older, perhaps something from my childhood, which also didn’t make sense. I was exhausted from my unrelentingly stressful week, therefore I pushed the thoughts out of my head. I needed to find Connor, get him to the respite home, and then get some sleep. If the situation wasn’t intensely stressful, I could have appreciated the beauty of the house and the perfect shade of sunshine yellow that the porch swing was painted. My cell signal kept fluctuating between one and two bars, but wasn’t stable enough to call out. I parked and my heels clicked loudly on the wood as I hastily scaled the steps. I rapped on the door and tried dialing 911 again.
“What’s your emergency?” Thank goodness.
“I called a couple of minutes ago. My cell doesn’t have a good signal.” I froze so the signal wouldn’t change.
“Yes. Hold still and let me try to ping your location.” I knocked on the door again.
There were five modes of transportation parked outside. Surely, someone was in this house.
Two pickup trucks were lined up next to the barn, along with a large green tractor on the far side. One truck appeared brand new. It was the nicest pickup truck I had ever seen, with glossy metallic forest-green paint. The other was an old gray farm truck with rust around the wheels. There was also a semitruck and another piece of equipment that I didn’t know the name of, but it appeared to be something you could drive. I knocked on the door again.
“You’re at my brother’s house?” the dispatcher asked with an incredulous tone.
What? I had no clue where I was.
“I don’t know where I am. I drove back to the closest house I saw.”
“Okay. Hold on. We’re a small department. I might be able to get you some help faster,” she said, steadily clicking away.
I glanced at my phone’s eleven percent battery. I needed to charge my phone. I would be the liaison between the office and law enforcement until Connor was found. I needed to keep in touch with the team, and I had to cancel plans with Talia again. We were going to celebrate the anniversary of her opening her therapy office two years ago. The celebration was a couple weeks delayed due to the chaos that I called my life. I rubbed my temple again and wished I had a hair tie to let my hair down and braid it. The weight of my hair tugging on the back of my head was going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. This headache was relentless.
“My brother is headed your way. He’ll help you until a unit makes it. Hang in there for a few more minutes, and an officer is en route.” She spoke confidently.
“Okay. Thank you.”
I clicked off my phone and sat down on the top porch step. There was a chill in the air from an unexpected cold front in April. I needed a change of clothes. I texted Talia.
Sawyer:
I have a runaway situation. If this doesn’t get resolved in a couple hours, can you please bring me a change of clothes? I’m sorry, but I most likely won’t be able to make it tonight.
I saw three dots pop up immediately.
Talia:
Another runaway?! You have to be exhausted. Of course, I will. Where are you?
This is the second time I canceled on her this week for the same exact reason. I sent a pin showing my location.
Talia:
Got it! Anything else?
Talia is my best friend. My only friend.
Sawyer:
Hair tie. Tylenol. You can pick out the next two movies for movie night.
Talia:
Your debt can be paid in cheesecake. Cookie dough cheesecake. ILY.
The corner of my mouth tipped up in a smile.
Sawyer:
Deal. ILY.