11. Azalea
11
Azalea
Even on bad days, there’s always something to be thankful for.
On this lovely Thursday, I was thankful that Josh Hinton, a three-time arsonist, seemed to be making progress. He was close to the end of his five-year term and was well on his way to a wonderful new life.
He cussed me out earlier, but that was neither here nor there.
“Write his ass up.”
I laughed at my sister and what was her patented answer to everything, always. After a year of hearing about my job in Tucker, she’d lost patience for my client stories. I considered it a challenge to get her to empathize, but one that worked my social work muscles.
“Technically, I could write him up,” I admitted. “For disorderly conduct. But I didn’t feel threatened. He was just frustrated.”
“Okay, but that don’t mean he can’t watch his fucking mouth! Firestartin’ ass.”
“Stop.”
“You’re too nice. And what the hell was he frustrated about, anyway? He run out of matches?”
“No!” I gave her a light punch on the arm. “He lost his job. It’s hard out here. Yes, even for white men.”
“Cry me a river.”
She led me into the living room. She held the wine glasses while I carried the wine and charcuterie board loaded with crackers, meats, cheeses, and fruit.
We settled on her couch and dug in, snacking in silence before she asked, “Seriously, are you okay? Because you know I’ll fight dude.”
After she got suspended for fighting my boyfriend, a senior, when she was a freshman, and beating up my bully—who was also three years older than her—I definitely didn’t need the reminder.
“I’m completely fine. You know it takes a lot to rattle me.”
“What did he say?”
I munched on a handful of grapes. “Just…ranted a little about the job market and me thinking I know everything.”
Her nose turned up. “I bet a hard-R wasn’t far behind.”
“I don’t know why I even bother talking to you about clients.”
“Neither do I, but here we are.” She took several gulps of her wine. “And since we’re on the subject, Patrick told me about old boy and the car situation.”
I turned up my glass to drink and stall. I caught a glimpse of her disapproving stare, distorted by the ridges in the foot.
When I called Pat to give him the heads up that my car was already at a shop, it only took him about three questions before I folded and told him where it was and who had sent it there.
Needless to say, he was concerned.
So, when I arrived to pick my car up yesterday and discovered the service had already been paid for, I knew immediately that I would be keeping that to myself.
Mr. Dee was so nice. A grizzled old black man with white hair and a sprig of something dangling from the corner of his mouth. He told me it was all taken care of and refused to even entertain the thought of accepting a tip. His warmth and fatherly nature made it very easy to decide I’d be taking Pearl to him from then on.
But Amina didn’t need to know any of that.
I stared back at her and waited, but she just rolled her eyes and built herself a lunchable-style sandwich.
“You’re playing with fire,” was the first thing she said when she finished. “I saw it the other night.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He likes you and you like him.”
“Wrong.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. Okay, he’s attractive, but the only thing between us is my concern for his wellbeing as a client and his respect for me as his PO. That’s it, and that’s all.”
Her face softened. “You always wanna see the best in people. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. But sis, I see the truth in people. When I look at that fine ass outlaw? I see trouble.”
“Shut up. What kind of trouble?”
“The kind that’ll have you homeless, jobless, and bent over holding onto your ankles for dear life.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re insane. Listen, it’s fine if that’s how you and Pat get down, but don’t be projecting that onto me.”
She shot me a look. “You think I’m joking. Lawbreaking aside, that man is fine as hell.”
“Right, but—“
“But, it’s more than that. He’s weirdly charming.”
“He only said five words to you.”
She shrugged. “That was enough.”
“Okay, well, maybe you’re still projecting your own attraction.”
“Bitch, please. We’re talking about you.”
I took a deep breath and sat up, tucking my legs under me. “He’s cute. I already told you that. But he’s a client, and that’s a line I would never cross. Ever.”
“Good. But I feel like, you need to be extra hard on him because you find him attractive. It’ll be real easy to let him slide on shit. That might even be his angle.”
I had to admit, that thought never crossed my mind.
My colleagues inside the jail talked incessantly about the ability of prisoners to charm even the most hardened prison guards. It’s a skill they acquire and hone to get what they want by any means necessary.
Mr. Jackson probably had it, but would he use it on me? I couldn’t put it past him, but deep down, I hoped it wasn’t true.
“He did fail his UA,” I admitted.
“UA?”
“Urine analysis.”
Amina made a face. “Ew, he’s a crackhead?”
“No, idiot. Weed.”
“Okay. Perfect. You need to write that negro up or whatever it is y’all do.”
“I was planning to,” I lied.
Technically, it was at my discretion. I’d violated people for less. I’d let people slide for worse. And in my defense, I’d warned him. More than once.
It was too late to undo the car situation, but what happened next was perfectly within my control. If I failed to act on this, it would be sending him the message that his act of kindness was appropriate. Or worse, that it was beneficial to him.
We would have to have a conversation about that.
I finished the rest of my wine in three large swallows, resisting the urge to get drunk enough to not feel anything tonight.
My sister was right.
He’d charmed me. It wasn’t overt, but it was enough for me to have considered, just for a moment, not doing my job.
Later that evening, Pinky and Brownie, my two fluffy and lovable labradoodles, welcomed me home with kisses. After I fed them, they kept me company while I sat on my bed with my laptop, dreading what I had to do next. But as I always told myself, violating my clients is like forcing a child to eat his vegetables. They hate it, and it isn’t easy to swallow, but it’s good for them in the long run.
Mr. Jackson would learn from this, and then he’d come out the other side with a new lease on life.
I told myself that over and over again until I almost believed it.