The murky light formed a shade around them, the club-goers a curtain of protection. Ari, and this stranger, lost themselves in the throbbing music and one another.
FOUR
Ari woke the next day feeling like she’d been run over by a truck. She couldn’t blame it on alcohol, just the lack of common sense and some kind of lust-driven desperation.
After taking a scalding hot shower, Ari traded the combat boots and low-cut jeans from the night before, for more conservative work clothes.
“Hopefully I scrubbed the skank off my skin,” she said into the mirror, but she still felt the lingering effects of the club. The feeling of his hands on her body.
Exhausted and sleep deprived, she still felt more awake than she had in months. She didn’t know if it was from the thrill of taking risks, or from him. A shiver ran down her arms when she thought about it—him. She suspected she knew the answer.
Too bad she didn’t know his name.
No one at work noticed that her lips were still swollen and chapped from sucking face with a stranger the night before, or if they did, they politely kept it to themselves. That’s all they did. Make out. A little groping and dry humping in the back hallway. There was no tell-tale “slut” sign on her forehead, but she closed herself in her office anyway to avoid questions.
With the noise of the office blocked out, Ari focused on Curtis Wilson’s file. She’d found it in her inbox when she’d arrived. Judge Hatcher wasted no time, that was for sure. She thought she had ’til Monday. Ari knew she shouldn’t complain. Having a jumpstart on placement and funding made all this easier, but the situation was so unconventional she couldn’t help but question the judge’s motives.
A note stuck to the top of the file included directions to the center and an appointment time. Ari checked her watch.
“Great.”
She had two hours. That didn’t give Ari much time to release Curtis from detention and get him to the program. Or to stop at the coffee shop. That one little sticky note dramatically changed the flow of her day. She rushed to gather her things, stopping by the front desk to sign out.
“Where are you going?” Rebecca asked.
“Down to the Glory Youth Center. I have a placement there for a new client.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Me either,” Ari said. “Judge Hatcher specifically requested this kid go there, so I’m just following directions. It must be a lower-risk level facility or something? Or maybe somewhere new? I’ll find out today.”
“Okay.” Rebecca narrowed her eyes and studied Ari closely. “You look different today. Did you do something to your hair?”
“Um…I washed it?” She hoped her face wasn’t as red as the streak in her hair.
“Smart ass,” she muttered, resuming her typing. “Check in later today. I’ll forward your messages.”
Ari waved and pushed the exterior door open, leaving the office behind.
* * *
The first group home visit Ari made when she started her job brought her to tears. Not because of the kids or the situations or the home itself, but because the director of the home lectured her for an hour. He rambled on and on about how it was society’s fault, and therefore her fault, that these children had been left behind.
At twenty-three, fresh in her first week of work at her “real” job, Ari had been overwhelmed by the bluntness of the director. On the way out the door, holding back big fat traitorous tears, Ari’s coworker explained that the director had spent the first half of his adult life in the military and suffered the effects from his many years of service. The man loved working with the kids, but he wasn’t that great with adults.
Back then, Ari cried about everything. Her parents’ death made her vulnerable and raw. Over time, those scars were covered by a hard numbness. That first day toughened Ari so that now, as she and Curtis arrived at the Glory Youth Center, she figured she could handle whatever was inside waiting for them.
“You heard of this place?” she asked Curtis.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
He shrugged in reply and Ari bit her tongue. “I don’t know,” meant, “I don’t care.”
She found the building easily and wondered how she’d never noticed it before. Granted, they were in an industrial area. The building was mixed in between older homes and empty buildings. The outside was clean—no, spotless. The parking lot tidy, including the area near the chain-link fence that surrounded the property. Ari opened the car door and said to the boy in the passenger seat, “Grab your stuff.”
The full extent of Curtis’s belongings fit into a manila envelope and the clothing he wore when he’d been arrested. Ari hadn’t had time to go by his home to see if there were any personal items he could have used. That would have been doubtful anyway. Odds were, the minute he got locked up, his clothing spread throughout the rest of the family.