Vigilant

Ari walked past Rebecca’s desk and scribbled her initials on the sign-in pad. The receptionist sucked on a sugar-free red lollipop—part of her no-smoking-no-candy health change.

“That took a long time,” her friend and coworker said. She barely glanced up from the computer.

“I know.” Ari held up a bag of fast food. “Lunch of champions.”

Rebecca nodded in sympathy and nonchalantly asked, “So how was Mr. Sanders today?”

“Fine,” Ari replied. She knew where this was going. “Professional.”

“I bet he looked handsome in his suit.”

Ari looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. She loved Rebecca, but the girl had a big mouth. “He looked nice. And professional. Strictly professional.”

Rebecca pulled the sucker out of her mouth. “If you say so. Did he invite you to dinner?”

Ari blushed. “No. I barely talked to him at all. Judge Hatcher wanted to talk to me about a client.”

She reached for the stack of pink notes on her desk and waved them in the air. “I think he must have forgotten. He called while you were out. Ten bucks says he asks you to dinner. Alone.”

“Strictly professional,” Ari repeated, grabbing the notes. She walked away from Rebecca’s desk and through the office, stopping at her mailbox where she found three new, thick files. She skimmed the names.

“Darn it, Stanton, I’m not taking on these cases!”

A loud voice sounded from an office down the hall. “Yes, you are!”

The Glory City Juvenile Probation Office was half office, half rehabilitation center. Ari and the other caseworkers had offices in the building, but there was also space for treatment programs and activities for the kids assigned to the caseworkers.

Four other caseworkers and two assistants worked with Ari. Rebecca and Beverly managed the main desk. Shirley worked with first offenders. John provided after-care services, like finding a job or enrolling in school. Mr. Brown had been there for thirty years and Ari expected him to retire at any moment. He had a hodgepodge of cases he managed. Tony carried a caseload of clients in long-term detention. Then there was Stanton, Ari’s supervisor. With the file in her hand, she rushed past the other offices and into his.

She found him bent over files of his own. “No, no more girls. I can’t take it—they’re sucking me dry.”

He looked up and saw Ari’s desperation. “What happened?”

With her bag slung over her shoulder and the heavy stack of files in her hands she moved toward the chair in front of his desk. With little grace, Ari flopped into the seat.

“Ugh, just a crappy day in court. Hope hates me.” She ignored his amused look and continued. “Not like they don’t all hate me, but she thinks I broke her confidence or something. And I’m not sure what’s going on with her—it just made me feel useless.”

Settling into the uncomfortable chair, Ari told him what happened in court and described Hope’s story. Stanton—or really, Quinn Stanton, but everyone at the office called him by his last name—listened to her story while leaning back and rubbing his shiny, bald head. He was the best at what you could be around here—dedicated, calm, hard-working. His clients and the system never got him frazzled like Ari’s cases often made her.

Stanton’s desk chair squeaked as he shifted. “I can understand your reaction, I tend to agree with you—if anything, she was probably trying to get out of the violation.”

“I know, but you know how they usually hate you for getting in their business and forcing them to behave? This wasn’t why she was upset. She was upset because I didn’t believe her. I never believe anything any of my kids say. I’ve been lied to, too man

y times. Plus, she was so scared. I’ve never seen her afraid—of anything.”

Stanton sighed. “Look, there’s nothing you can do. She violated her contract—not only by being away from home, but also for getting arrested. And if she really is afraid of something, then she probably is safer in the county lockup than anywhere else.” He nodded toward the files in Ari’s lap. “Everything okay then with those new cases?”

Ari narrowed her eyes at him, trying to look fierce. “No, it’s not. I don’t want any more lost girls on my caseload! The abuse and how they sell themselves and the pain and the men and the scars—” Ari sighed, cutting off her argument. Everything about that day felt hopeless…but there was nothing she could do but try her best. It was her job.

Stanton’s dark brown eyes lit up a little. “You do a good job, Ari. These girls trust and need you—even if it’s just for the short period they’re in our custody.”

Under the weight of her bag and files, Ari struggled to her feet. She shot him a false look of anger. “Way to hit me in my soft spot, Boss.”

Laughter bounced off the walls and he picked up his pen to continue working. Ari heard him mutter as she walked out the door and down the hall to her office, “Not my fault you’re a sucker.”

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur of phone calls and paperwork—something Ari rarely had the opportunity to do. Most days she was either in the field, visiting homes or placing a child in residential care. Not to mention the days spent traveling across the state to check on clients in long-term lockup. But that afternoon, her calendar was relatively free so she took the opportunity to catch up on some work and leave on time.