4. Azalea
4
Azalea
The next day, I arrived at the Century Place Apartments and pulled into a space in front of building six. My first home visit here in Summerville. Not my favorite part of the job, but it’s necessary.
To Corrections, they’re necessary to catch former prisoners re-offending and send them back to jail. To me , they’re an opportunity to optimize the spaces my clients are in. In order to live right, you need to live well. It’s relative, of course, but to me, living well means living in peace.
Very few of my clients have that.
I knocked on the door of apartment 608, dreading what I’d find inside.
Footsteps moved toward the door, then there was a pause just before it swung open.
I held myself as still as I possibly could. I had to, or else this man would see that I was intimidated and run all over me.
It wasn’t fear causing it, though. It was pure, unadulterated admiration for the beauty that was this man’s face.
In the office that day, Isaac Jackson’s brother had been the preview. In front of me stood the main attraction. I’d managed to forget what he looked like in the interim, but there was no denying it right now, and that was scary.
This man is gorgeous.
I had to focus. I needed a clear head and an eagle eye. This man was still a stranger, and a former prisoner. The gun on my hip was only insurance; my awareness was the true weapon.
“Mr. Jackson. I’m here for a home visit.”
“Obviously.” His dark eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Just for future reference, will these always be unscheduled?”
“Not always,” I said, eyeing him back.
His white t-shirt fit his frame perfectly, hugging his chest and arms. Navy blue sweatpants were slung low on his waist, with the two ends of their ties swinging lazily in front of his crotch. I shouldn’t have even noticed that, but I did. It was hard not to when they were swinging in front of a conspicuous bulge.
I looked away quickly and said, “So…”
He rolled his eyes and stepped aside.
The inside of his place was small, but clean. I’d been to plenty of places that could double as a set for Hoarders , so this was nice in comparison. And a good sign.
“Is this an inspection, or just you seeing if I really live here?” he said behind me.
“Both.” I turned to face him, and I didn’t miss the way his eyes jumped up to meet my face after having been focused way south of there. “Do you wanna show me around, or should I just wander?”
His eyes flickered over me in a way that felt very familiar.
I’m used to men sizing me up. As important as it is to me to be their advocate, I never, ever forget how easy it is to be taken advantage of. I’d been fortunate so far, but you never know.
“How long have you been doing this?” he said when his eyes finally came to rest on my face.
“Um, you mean corrections?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you ask?”
He inclined his head. “You don’t seem all that experienced.”
“Compared to who?”
“Did you meet Officer Gaither?”
I shook my head.
“He was a lot meaner than you, let’s just say that.”
“Why would I be mean? We just met, and I’m not your enemy.”
“I appreciate that, but in your line of work, it would probably serve you better if you were a little tougher.”
“I’m tough when I need to be.”
He stared blankly. “Take it from me: you need to be. All the time.” He paused to study me again. “How does your man feel about all this?”
Despite my irritation at that question, I kept my face neutral and ignored it.
“Are you planning to harm me, Mr. Jackson?”
“Of course not.”
“Are you planning to take advantage of me?”
“No.”
“Then your advice isn’t needed.”
He shrugged his strong shoulders. “I’m just saying. Everybody ain’t as nice as me.”
“Which is why I lead with kindness and adjust when necessary. Kindness is the only weapon that disarms everyone.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
The gun on my hip caught his interest, but he kept his thoughts about that to himself.
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” he said, “but with that attitude, you ‘bout to be food out here. I would hate to see that happen to somebody so beautiful.”
“Let’s just proceed with the tour.”
He smirked. “Whatever you say, Officer.”
I followed behind him as he led me a few feet away to the kitchen. His attitude left a lot to be desired, but he didn’t seem to be a threat.
Not to my safety, anyway.
My celibacy was another story.
I hadn’t had sex since before the breakup with Roman. Three months may not be long for some, but it was an eternity for me. And if the category is good sex, well, it had been even longer.
So being this close to a man this fine had disaster written all over it. I would never act on my attraction in a million years, but I didn’t want to be distracted from my work, which was way more important than sex.
Usually.
In theory.
Mr. Jackson didn’t say a word as he walked, he simply pointed at each room as he passed it and waited for me to look around. I tried not to stare at him, or the confident swagger in his gait, or the muscles at the backs of his shoulders, or the thick veins that ran down his golden-brown arms.
Get it together.
Home inspections can be deep or cursory. I chose the latter for today, making use of my powers of observation.
After I looked in every room, we made our way back to the small living area. If I didn’t already know a man lived here, the lack of personal items and rickety old futon would have been a major clue.
I pointed at it and said, “Can we talk for a minute?”
He nodded. I settled onto one end. He, on the other. A heavy silence settled between us, which I quickly spoke to fill.
“Mr. Jackson, I wanna do everything I can to help you stay the course. You’re working. You have a nice place here that you’re maintaining. This is good, but I have some concerns.”
“What concerns?”
“Well, one. In your bedroom. I smelled marijuana.”
He didn’t look the least bit ashamed. In fact, he smirked again. “Must be lingering in the walls.”
“So, you didn’t smoke today?”
“I did not smoke. Today.”
“I need you to take this seriously, Mr. Jackson. I could report you for this.”
An eyebrow raised slowly. “Then why don’t you?”
I went to speak, but quickly discovered I didn’t have an answer for that. I smelled weed the minute my feet hit his bedroom rug, but I didn’t for one second consider violating him for it. I didn’t want him to suffer the consequences.
“I believe in second chances,” I finally said. “Everybody deserves one.”
“Do we?”
“Yes. So let this serve as a warning, okay?”
He seemed to relax a bit, letting his legs fall open, spreading his arms out across the back of the futon, broadening his physical presence. I averted my eyes as fast as I could. I didn’t need him picking up on my attraction.
“You don’t think it’s bullshit that weed is being legalized all over this country and you still have to send us to jail over it?”
That…wasn’t where I thought he was going, but I was grateful for the seriousness of the topic.
“My personal feelings are irrelevant,” I answered.
His face tightened, letting me know it wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but he simply said, “I appreciate the second chance, Officer .”
For some reason, every time he said that word, it sounded like an insult.
“What do you want out of life?” I said, pulling an icebreaker out of my bag of tricks.
He shrugged. “That’s the kind of question you ask with a blunt in your hand.”
I bit back a laugh and gave him a stern look instead.
“Alright, alright.” He shook his head. “I honestly have no idea.”
“No goals? Let’s use your job as an example. Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Not working at that motherfucker, that’s for damn sure.”
“Okay, so you don’t like your job.”
“I don’t like my job.”
“What else do you wanna do? When you were little, what did you wanna be when you grew up?”
“Now you’re grasping at straws.”
I sighed. “It definitely feels that way.”
“Look, I get what you’re trying to do. I just don’t have an answer for you. I don’t think about shit like that. I take every day as it comes, because tomorrow ain’t promised. I learned that when my father died.”
“I’m sorry.”
He waved that away. “It was a long time ago.”
We sat in silence for a bit. His gaze lingered on me, brushing over me in gentle sweeps, making me increasingly uneasy. I wanted to peek inside his head and peruse his thoughts, but part of me already knew what I’d find, and I didn’t want to open that can of worms. Because I might just dive into it coochie first.
“I have a list of employment opportunities that I can email you,” I said.
“Is that so?”
My breath hitched at the deep, quiet timbre of his voice. “It’s important that your routine, whatever it is, makes you happy. That’s how you suit up every day to get it done.”
“Why would you give a shit about my happiness?” His lip curled slightly as he waited for my answer.
“Mr. Jackson, I’ve looked at your record. You’ve been in and out. Mostly non-violent offenses, but significant enough to make you go away for a long time if you go back in. I don’t want to see that happen.”
“It ain’t that deep, Officer.”
“It is to me.”
He almost smiled. “I’ll say this…Gaither might have said those same words, but they didn’t sound nearly as good coming from him.”
“I’m sincere in my desire to help you.”
He sighed. “What I really want is to figure out what I want. All I know right now is what I don’t want. I’m not trying to go back in.”
“Good.”
“But as far as the rest of my life? Like I told you, I don’t think like that.”
“Are you afraid to think like that?”
He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “What do you wanna do? Hm? Is this what you wanted to be when you were little? A fucking probation officer?”
“I wanted to help people.”
“And this is the best way you could come up with?”
“I have other goals.”
“Like what?”
I went to speak before reminding myself that I was the one in charge here. How he managed to do a role-reversal on me in the span of less than sixty seconds was beyond me.
Get it together.
“This isn’t about me. This is about you.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my card. I’d just gotten the box two days ago and was eager to distribute them to my clients. They still smelled like freshly printed ink.
I handed it over to him. “We’ll talk every two weeks.”
“I only had to get up with Gaither once a month.”
“I’m not Gaither.”
His eyes moved over me again, but this time, there was something distinctly lustful and voyeuristic about his stare.
“You are definitely not Gaither.”
My body warmed at his words, but he wasn’t going to get an acknowledgment out of me.
“You and I will talk every two weeks,” I repeated. All business. “The next time we talk, I would like an answer to my question. I’d also like you to tell me your bedroom no longer smells like weed.”
“Would you believe me if I did?”
“The point is for you to make it the truth.”
“I guess you’ll have to come back and make sure I’m not a liar.”
“Well, yes, I’ll do home visits periodically.”
“Then I’ll make sure my bedroom is inviting.”
Yeah, it was time to get the hell out of here.
I stood and squared my shoulders. “I don’t need to be invited. I’ll go in and inspect it because it’s my job.”
He went to his feet, towering over me as he looked down at me with a smirk. “Okay, Officer . I hear you.”
“Good.” I swallowed hard. “Until next time.”
I didn’t wait for a goodbye or anything else. I got the hell out of that man’s space as fast as I could and ignored the pounding of my heart as I drove home.
Isaac Jackson was gonna be a problem.