catch it. This works on your speed as well as your hand-eye coordination,” I explain.
Pass after pass, the boys try their hardest to catch the ball. A few of them made it happen, and the others, the smaller of the group, came pretty close. There have been a lot of laughs, and today has reminded me why I love this game. I don’t know how many nights after dinner my dad and I would do this very same thing. Then when we moved next to Reese, she and her dad would join us while our moms watched from the lawn chairs.
It feels as though every part of my life is entwined with hers, and I love it. I love her for it. She has been there when I was just a kid with big dreams, and now, today, she’s here living that dream with me. At least I hope she will be.
“Boys!” Carla calls out. “It’s time to come in and get cleaned up for dinner.”
“Aw, do we have to?” one of them complains.
“Hey, now,” I chime in. “You need to listen to Carla and the other adults. They’re just looking out for what’s best for you.” There is some collective grumbling, but they nod as each one of them lines up to give me a high-five.
“You’re good with them,” Reese says, walking toward me.
“They’re all good kids. I hate that they’re here.” I point to the large building.
“Yeah, me too. However, what’s worse is that this place is better than where they were. This gives them structure, stability, a safe place to lay their head and food in their bellies,” she says sadly.
“You’re doing good work here, Reese.”
She shrugs. “I’m their social worker. It’s my job to look out for what’s best for them.”
“I agree, but you went above and beyond today. No one before you has ever taken their own time to plan something like this for them.”
“You were a hit,” she says, ignoring my compliment.
“We make a good team.”
She smiles up at me. “Yeah, we really do.”
Reaching out, I entangle my fingers with hers and lead her to her car. With a quick peck on the lips, I promise to see her at home.
Home.
Reese is my home.
Chapter 12
Reese
Reaching for my coffee cup, I find it empty. With a heavy sigh, I toss it into the trash can and debate on running out to grab another. I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day. When my phone rang at four this morning, I knew it wouldn’t be good. It never is in my line of work. Cassie, a little girl who just turned six, was removed from her home. This is the third time she’s been removed, and this time there were signs of abuse.
I wasn’t working for the county the first time she was removed, but I was there the second during my internship. Luckily, we were able to place her in foster care. Her parents did the required rehab, and she got to go home. This time, I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I have to wonder when is enough enough? When does the court system not see that this isn’t what’s best for her, to be bounced around?
I’ve been trying to place her in foster care all day, but I don’t have any families who can take her on. Not yet. There are many who are in training, but there just are not enough foster families to love and care for these kids. It breaks my heart.
Glancing at the clock, I see it’s already five o’clock. I’ve done all that I can do today, and it’s time to go home. I don’t need more caffeine. I need sleep. Lots and lots of sleep. Saving the court document I was working on, I close down my computer, and instead of packing up and bringing work home with me, I leave it all here. I need a night without it. I just need… to decompress from the sadness of the day.
I work for the county, but my office is in the children’s home. Normally, I go and say goodbye to all the kids, pass out some hugs. I know I’m breaking the cardinal rule to not get attached, but I can’t seem to prevent it. It’s not in me to not care about these kids. That’s the huge part of my frustration with my job. I don’t feel as though I’m making a difference. Instead, I feel like a hamster on a wheel, just going through