10. Talon
ten
Talon
M y calf was cramping. We’d been on the road for nearly nine hours total, the sun long since set. The girl in the passenger seat was still awake, her leg bouncing anxiously the entire time. She’d been completely silent since she’d doled out her ultimatum about checking in with work, five hours before.
I thought I’d appreciate her finally shutting the hell up, but it actually made me uneasy. Her energy had shifted. I’d gotten used to the sarcastic, snide, and downright pissy version of her that she used as a shield to disguise her guilt and anxiety. Now, said anxiety was pouring off her in suffocating waves that were choking me. Her lip had been chewed to oblivion, and she had to have burned a thousand calories by how hard her leg had been shaking.
Was she really that desperate to check on those kids? I doubted it. I had my fair share of experience with social workers, and with it, a chip the size of a mountain on my shoulder. These weren’t really kids to people like her. They were caseloads. Dollar signs. She’d said it herself—it was a job, and if she lost it, she’d be pissed. The more kids on the roster, the better chances they have of paying their rent on time. Misely wasn’t any different. None of them were.
Still, when I pulled into the next motel in North Platte, I found myself asking if they had Wi-Fi and ignoring the stunned look from the woman to my left. And I didn’t let myself feel too good about the whispered thank you she offered as she threw the strap of her bag onto her shoulder while we unloaded the car.
Misely disappeared into the bathroom with one of her bags immediately, saying she’d prefer to get ready for bed first. I sighed, thankful for the moment to myself. Despite the uncomfortable silence we’d sat in for most of the drive, my social battery was bottomed out. Being in such close quarters with another person, whether they spoke to me or not, for such a long period of time was wildly outside of my comfort zone.
It didn’t help that Misely was beautiful. She was unreasonably beautiful, in a way that irritated me because I wanted to look at her. A lot. Which was distracting. It was a predicament I’d found myself in quite a bit since our first encounter last year, but up until now I’d had the space I needed to ground myself. That was also before I realized what an absolute pain in the ass she was.
It didn’t matter anyway, because ultimately, she was right. I’d taken her against her will, under the guise of a threat to her loved ones. Textbook blackmail. There wasn’t any way in hell she was going to let me act on any of the impulses that twitched just beneath the surface of my skin every time her perfume wafted in my direction. So, I’d keep my eyes on the road and my hands to myself.
My phone chimed in my pocket just as I sagged into the mattress of the bed closest to the door. I suppressed the growl in my throat at Kyle’s name in the notification bar, indicating he’d sent a photo. When the image loaded, my teeth ground together furiously.
Leo, wrapped up in snow pants and mittens, placing charcoal blocks into the stomach of a disproportionate snowman. Timestamped for early that afternoon.
Kyle In case you needed a little more motivation.
The door to the bathroom opened in a cloud of steam just like the night before, but I didn’t speak. I was on edge, my teeth digging painfully into my cheek. I looked away from where I’d been staring at Leo’s picture on my screen to see Misely in a ridiculous two-piece pajama set.
The shorts weren’t as short as the night before, but with the way the lace and silk hugged her thighs, I’d be remiss if I said they weren’t more tantalizing. The top was a matching silk button up that just reached the top of her navel, in a light pink color that barely stood out against the porcelain of her exposed skin. I was not at all surprised to see that her hair bonnet was also the same shade.
“Did you pack for a luxury trip?” The retort was out before I had time to bite back the words.
Her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling and her hip cocked out in a way I was quickly becoming familiar with when her arms crossed over her chest. “Everything about me is luxury, MacArthur.” She plopped down on her bed and grabbed a messenger bag she’d earlier tossed on the end of it. “But if you’re that curious, you just happened to kidnap me on laundry day.”
My mouth opened at the barb, wishing I could say something that might dull some of her resentment, but I swallowed it down. Settling instead on, “Can’t say I’m sorry for it.” With an exaggerated gander down her form.
Leo’s picture was still pulled up on my screen, his cheeks blushing brighter than Misely’s pajamas in the bite of the cold while he built his snowman. Completely unaware of the monster loitering nearby, snapping pictures of him to use as leverage. I had to stay on task. I had to succeed, and the only way that was happening was with Misely’s help.
She shot me the bird, not bothering to glance at me while she did, instead pulling a laptop out of the bag. Trepidation had me feeling like I should fly over there and slam it shut. Not give her any wiggle room to try and get someone to help her out of the mess I dragged her into. I held back though, watching her face twist up with concentration as she scrolled through emails.
“Shit,” she hissed, sitting back and rereading something. “Shit, shit, shit .” Her palm rested on her forehead, stress etched into her features. “ Fuck! ”
Curiosity got the best of me and I sat up. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes didn’t leave the screen, darting over the lines in front of her again. “Benji, one of my pre-teens. His mom was picked up again.”
“Picked up?”
“Prostituting. She’s already on thin ice with The Department of Children and Family Services, who deferred the case over to us. This was her third strike.”
"What happens on her third strike?
There was clear distress in Misely’s tone, the muscles in her neck and face tight. She kept speaking as if she’d forgotten who she was talking to.
“Jail time and her kid goes into foster care. I’ve been working with Benji for nine months, and he’s probably one of my most challenging kids. He’s been in and out of care since he was six and some of his foster families have not been great. He was reunified with his mom after a long court battle, but the damage had been done. Benji doesn’t trust foster care anymore, and he doesn’t trust his mother either.”
“I’m sure there are other counselors that can help him.” That must have been the wrong thing to say because she shot me a volcanic glare.
“It took months to get him to trust me and now he needs me and I’m not there. He’s not going to talk to anyone else, and they’ll end up sticking him with just anyone. Benji doesn’t need just anyone. He needs a family that I have personally vetted and approved, and I cannot do that from here.” Her fingers shoved past the band of her bonnet to her hair, pushing the fabric off her head as she deliberated.
“Okay, okay, okay,” she whispered, seeming to settle on something in her head. Then, her fingers were flying across the keyboard so rapidly that one might imagine them blurring in the air. I stood, crossing the room to peer over her shoulder.
Good evening, Barbara,
I apologize for my late response on this matter, I am currently out of town for a personal emergency and have limited access to internet connection. I will make it a point to connect my cell phone to my email so as not to miss any further correspondence on this matter.
That being said, I am incredibly disheartened to hear about Ms. Wright’s arrest and how this will impact my client's care. After careful review of his file, I’m sure you would agree that Benjamin must be placed with an experienced foster family. Under no circumstances can he be placed with anyone that I have not previously vetted and approved.
I will attach a list of potential families that I have on hand and we can review them together tomorrow. On that note, please let me know what time you have available before 11:00 a.m. tomorrow for a quick Zoom call. Please make your best efforts to include Benjamin on that call so that I can assure him that I will be personally overseeing his care going forward.
Kindly,
Misely Fisher
Social Worker
City of Chicago’s Children’s Center
“Now we’re doing Zoom calls?” I asked and she jumped as if she hadn’t realized I’d been standing behind her.
“Yes, I am,” she said matter-of-factly, clicking on her next email. “Hostage or not, Benji needs me. His experiences within the system have made him distrustful and often times combative. I’m not going to let him land with some abusive asshole just because you decided to drag me on your weird-ass vengeance trip.”
Her fingers were typing again, sending out a response to a person named Patti and apologizing for her abrupt time off and not putting in a request ahead of time. Something about a family emergency. I guess you could call it that.
“Do you really think anything you do is going to make a difference?” It came out harsher than I’d intended, but it didn’t deter her in the slightest. As if she’d heard the question a thousand times, she slapped the laptop closed and turned to face me with fire in her eyes.
“There are nearly four hundred thousand children in foster care in the United States, MacArthur. Over twenty thousand in Illinois alone. By the time a foster kid turns seventeen, over half have been entered into the legal system as a juvenile delinquent. Those traumas carry over into adulthood, they spend more time in jail than in school, and the cycle goes on and on until they have kids of their own and it starts all over again.
“The foster care system in our country is incredibly inadequate, and too often caseworkers turn a blind eye on these kids. These children . I will not be a part of that negligence. Whether the kid is already at risk, like Benji, or a perfect angel with a better background. Not for convenience, like so many in my field do, and definitely not for you .”
Bitterness and a foreign sense of gratitude warred together, clogging my throat. I knew firsthand exactly the negligence she was referring to, and not for a second did I think this one girl was going to make a single chink in the chain to change things in the grand scheme of things. But for the kids she oversaw, it was clear they were going to get everything from her. Despite my better judgment, I couldn’t help but admire her a little for that.