Unprotected Read online

  Unprotected

  Kristin Lee Johnson

  North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.

  St. Cloud, Minnesota

  Copyright © 2012 Kristin Lee Johnson

  ISBN 978-0-87839-887-4

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition: September 2012

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by

  North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.

  P.O. Box 451

  St. Cloud, Minnesota 56302

  www.northstarpress.com

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  Part One

  Chapter One

  October 2010

  You think you’re pretty hot shit, don’t you? All tripped up on power, like you’re queen of the fucking world!”

  Amanda flinched, but Leah just sighed. As a brand new child protection social worker, Amanda still wasn’t used to being hated. Their client, Marlys, whose children had just been removed two days before in an ugly scene that culminated in Marlys’s dropping to her knees and wailing, “My babies!” in her apartment parking lot, clearly despised her social workers.

  “It’s not like this every day,” Leah said under her breath, passing through the door that Amanda held open to the courthouse. “Marlys is a bit dramatic.” Marlys was quickly approaching, and Amanda had the sudden fear she was going to body block them to the ground. A size 22 (if she sucked in a lot) and wearing a dress that had to be a tight twelve, Marlys looked like a chocolate sausage stuffed in a leopard-print casing. Amanda managed a simpering smile as she held open the door for Marlys in a gesture of peace.

  “Oh, fuck you and the horse you rode in on!” Marlys huffed at Amanda, her face coming within inches of Amanda’s. “You think I can’t open my own damn door?”

  “No … I mean yes … I’m sure you can open your own damn … uh … your own door.” Amanda cringed, but Leah stifled a giggle.

  Leah put her hand on Amanda’s arm to allow Marlys to get ahead of them. As Marlys ambled up the stairs, Amanda finally exhaled.

  “So, I guess she hasn’t calmed down yet.” Amanda wiped her sweaty palms on her new skirt, one of the new work outfits she had purchased in an attempt to make her look like she knew what she was doing.

  “Hey, at least she hasn’t thrown anything at us today.” Leah, her more experienced, albeit jaded coworker, was unphased by Marlys’s anger, even when she had informed Marlys that her children were being removed and Marlys hurled her cell phone at them.

  “Oh, my god, that was unreal.” Amanda said, still shaken and relieved that she had ducked in time.

  “Eh,” Leah waved her hand dismissively. “I told you it’s not usually like this, and besides, she missed!”

  * * *

  After loitering in the basement of the courthouse as long as possible, they finally headed up the three flights of stairs for their hearings. One of the first things Amanda had learned about court was that most of the action happened in the hallway. There were half a dozen attorneys milling around, both men and women, the men in jackets and ties, the women in blazers and slacks. At least double that number of people looked disheveled, but “cleaned up” for court. A man with long hair looked freshly washed and combed and wore clean black jeans and a beer t-shirt: DUI first appearance in court. A younger woman looked meek and frightened accompanied by a well-dressed, assertive woman carrying a clipboard: battered woman with her advocate filing for an order for protection. Marlys’s attorneys and the fathers of two of her children with their attorneys stood near the elevator, which was ancient and purposely avoided by people who knew its history of stranding people between floors.

  Marlys, also near the elevator, hands on her ample hips, glared at Leah and Amanda as they came up the stairs. Leah breezed right by Marlys, but Amanda made eye contact as Marlys pointedly scratched her nose with her middle finger.

  Leah told the bailiffs at the checkin table that they were there for the Baxter and Thomas review hearings. The bailiff directed them to the larger court room usually presided over by Senior Judge Robert Morphew. Unflappable Leah suddenly looked nervous.

  “Crap,” Leah said as they walked away from the table, the sound of their shoes echoing on the waxed marble floors. “We hardly ever get him any more. This judge is scary.”

  Amanda tried to walk carefully on the slippery floor in her uncomfortable black heels so she didn’t fall. “Why is he so bad?”

  “He’s a former public defender and very sympathetic to parents. He’s really conservative, believes the government needs to stay out of private citizens’ lives except in extreme cases. I’d bet my next paycheck he cheats on his wife. He’s always flirting with the women attorneys.” Leah sat on a bench away from the people waiting for court to review her file. “The Baxter review is going to be rough because Marlys is a screamer, but the Thomas case is going to be just awful.”

  The Thomases, a well-known family in town, had owned a fifties’ style diner since the fifties. The father in the case, Chuck Thomas, had inherited the business from his father. Chuck, his wife, and their five children revolved their lives around the diner. The wife was the hostess, their four sons cooked, bussed tables, or cleaned, and their fifteen-year-old daughter had been a waitress since she was eleven. Outside of that, the boys played hockey and baseball, just like their dad had when he attended high school in town. They were a beloved family in Terrance, some of the biggest fish in the small town pond.

  Which is why it was so shocking when the emergency room at the hospital reported that thirteen-year-old Matthew Thomas, the second to youngest child in the family, was treated for a spiral fracture and dislocated shoulder that most likely resulted from his father twisting his arm behind his back with enough force to break bones. The emergency room doctor, immediately recognized the injury as consistent with child abuse and made the mandated report to the police that night while he was still in the ER. He followed up with a report to Terrence County Social Services the next morning. The doctor had no idea whom he was reporting.

  When Leah and Amanda’s supervisor, Max, read the report during their Monday staff meeting several people gasped. Amanda thought it was because of the severity of the injury. Roberta, the social worker nearest retirement who had lived in Terrence all her life, explained who the family was. Since Amanda had grown up in Apple Falls, just outside Terrence County borders, she did not recognize the name but knew the restaurant. Apple Falls and Terrence had been longtime sports rivals, so she had played softball and soccer in Terrence many times.

  The ER doctor told Leah he had made the report because the mother and the son couldn’t give any explanation for the injury. He then called in the mother because he suspected Matthew was covering something, and the mother became defensive and resented his implications. She refused to allow Matthew to answer any more questions and wouldn’t leave his side after that. The ER doctor wrote a very strongly worded letter that he felt the injury was the result of child abuse based on the nature of the injury and the family’s inability to explain what happened. Two days later Matthew told his friend in great detail that his dad actually had broken his arm and made him lie to everyone. The friend’s parents called Social Services, and the team agreed they should file a CHIPS (child in need of protection or services) petition to mandate services for this family. With Matthew still refusing to talk, the case was a mess.

  Amanda and Leah were sitting on a bench away from the bailiff’s desk when they saw Chuck Thomas walk in. He still had the broad shoulders of an athlete, b
ut the belly of a lapsed jock. His thinning dark hair was rearranged as efficiently as possible to cover his scalp. Still handsome, he carried himself with the assumption of being the most important person in the room.

  “Charles Thomas,” Chuck said quietly, and the bailiff burst out laughing.

  “Hey, Chuck!” They heard Chuck laugh and both bailiffs laughed along with him.

  “How’s the ticker?” Chuck asked. “My wife said she saw you on the course last week!”

  They couldn’t hear the bailiff’s response. Leah looked sick. They had expected him to be well connected with most of the people at the hearing, but seeing it play out was still like a slap in the face.

  “It’s gonna be fine,” Amanda tried to tell her, but Leah was already squaring her shoulders and preparing to walk back to the waiting area. She just reached the bailiffs’ desk when Marlys Baxter, wearing that skintight leopard print polyester dress and silver heels, waddled up to the desk. The straps of her silver heels dug into her thick feet, and she had chipping fuchsia polish on her toenails.

  “There’s the bitch who took my babies,” Marlys belted out. The seventy-year-old bailiff waved a finger at Marlys and shushed her. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m pissed off and sick to death of that woman effing with my family.”

  Leah approached Marlys, who immediately turned her back. “No, ma’am, I’m not speaking to you. You can talk to my lawyer or talk to the hand,” she said waving her hand and snapping her fingers in the air.

  “Marlys, I just wanted to see if you had any questions for me,” Leah said. Marlys stuck her nose in the air. “I know it’s been a concern of yours that I don’t communicate enough with you. Since you didn’t return my calls, I thought I would try to talk with you here.”

  “I didn’t get none of your calls! If you wanted to talk to me so bad you could have come to my house, or maybe you could just order a pizza and I could come to yours. Hmph!” Marlys flounced away. Leah stood watching her go, obviously fighting the urge to say or do something behind her back.

  Chuck Thomas had witnessed the whole scene. He stood near the wall with his hands on his hips as if he was in the courthouse every day. Although the absence of his wife was glaring to Amanda, Chuck looked thoroughly unfazed. Leah was about to approach Chuck, when he suddenly broke away from the group to greet a very tall man in a gray suit and turquoise tie. He had silver hair and the polish of wealth. The man shook hands with Chuck and pointed to a small conference room where they could speak quietly.

  Leah turned around and motioned to Amanda to go into another room. She wore a sick smile of defeat and nausea. They went into a conference room big enough for a table, two chairs, and a phone. “That was Skip Huseman,” Leah said with her eyes closed.

  Amanda knew the name but couldn’t place it.

  “‘No nonsense lawyers who protect your civil rights,’” Leah quoted.

  “Shock and Huseman? From the commercials?”

  “Where the hell is someone from the county attorney’s office?” Leah said. “Barb Cloud said we’re getting their new guy on this.”

  “Why would they assign a new guy to such a big case?” Amanda was supposed to be taking over this case for ongoing child protection case management, but she wasn’t sure it was a good idea to put a rookie like her on a high profile case like this.

  “CHIPS cases are bottom of the barrel,” Leah told her with a snort. “The new attorneys always start with us. As soon as they get good at this, they want to ship out into something else.” Leah rifled through her file to find her preliminary caseplan. “Let’s find him and at least give him this.”

  The hallway on the third floor went in a circle around the open rotunda, with a banister where people could overlook to the main floor with a seal of Terrance County on the marble floor. Through the window on the door of the smallest courtroom they could see Skip Huseman talking to a much shorter man who had his back to the door.

  “I’ll bet he’s our attorney,” Leah said of the shorter man. “Barb said to look for a short guy with curly hair.” Amanda couldn’t see him at all, but it wasn’t necessary because the door opened, and Skip walked out, quickly followed by their county attorney. Amanda was watching Skip walk away, looking angry, so she didn’t immediately turn her attention to the new attorney and was totally unprepared to hear her name.

  “Amanda. Oh, my god.”

  Amanda turned and sucked in her breath.

  “Jake.”

  * * *

  It had been over five years, and still the sight of him made her stomach lurch and her heart race. She had run away from him the night her mother died, and he told her that he loved her. She wasn’t sure which had been more frightening at the moment.

  Amanda had barely begun her new job and already her past life was at risk of being exposed. Amanda did the only thing she could think of to do. The thing that she sometimes thought she did best. She ran.

  Chapter Two

  June 2005

  A haze of reddish dust hovered over the field, with the beginnings of a June sunset casting an orange glow over the faces of the people in the stands. The University of Minnesota softball complex was huge compared to the run down high school field the team had been playing on. It was a bigger crowd than Amanda Danscher had ever played for, totaling at least 500 appreciative spectators. None of them were there to see her.

  Amanda’s arm ached only a little, surprising since this was her third game in as many days. Her dark blonde pony tail sticking out of the back of her cap was damp with sweat. Her coach had played her the maximum number of innings possible, saving her to pitch the complete game for the state championship. And with the last pitches of that last inning, Amanda’s only thoughts were of the hazy sun, her aching shoulder, and the vague recognition that she may never play this game again.

  “Strike three!” The ump motioned the out, and the team went crazy, throwing their gloves in the air and rushing to home plate. Usually softball teams charged their pitcher in celebration, but this team had learned that their pitcher wasn’t the jumping up and down kind of girl. Amanda took off her glove and walked toward the dugout, a few teammates clapping her on the back appreciatively. Her coach hugged her briefly, and Amanda patted her back for a moment before pulling away and gathering her equipment.

  The trophy presentation took place thrity minutes later as the sun was setting and the lights had just come on over the field. Amanda accepted the MVP award with a handshake and a thin smile. The moment it was over, Amanda gathered up her bag and jacket and made her way to her tiny hatchback. She threw her bag in the back, and waved at her teammates as they made their way to their vehicles. There was going to be a big party at the catcher’s home, and while it was mentioned to Amanda, they all knew she wouldn’t come.

  Amanda had been accepted at the U and would be starting in the fall, so she took an extra look around, wondering which dorm she would be in and where she might attend classes. But it was late and she knew she was expected back soon, so she got in her car and started the drive back to the hospital to see her mother who was finally, officially, dying.

  * * *

  Scents of rubbing alcohol, industrial carpet cleaner, and musty fabric combined for that familiar hospital odor. Using the emergency room entrance, she greeted the admissions desk worker by name and made her way past the elevator bay to the general patient wing. Her favorite nurse, Cheryl, was working and greeted Amanda with a hug that Amanda returned.

  “You did it! We all knew you would!” Cheryl held Amanda’s face in her hands and beamed. Cheryl was a mom of three adult sons, and she doted on Amanda. She playfully yanked on Amanda’s pony tail. “MVP! My husband thought you would be. What an honor!”

  Ready to change the subject, Amanda removed herself from Cheryl’s hug and asked, “How is she?”

  “Same stuff, sweetie,” Cheryl rubbed the stitching on Amanda’s warm up jacket. “We can’t get her bowels regulated and can barely keep her hydrated. She’s uncomfortable but
so proud of her girl.”

  “Mmm hmm.” Her mom enjoyed the attention that she was getting from Amanda’s success, but Amanda barely had the energy to be resentful anymore. It was just who her mom was.

  Amanda made her way down the gloomy hallway and entered her mother’s home away from home for the past two weeks. She expected it would be the last place she ever lived. Ovarian cancer had been cruel and aggressive, and after nearly four years her belly was full of malignancy. The tumors were wreaking havoc on her digestive system, and she was so sick that she required twenty-four-hour nursing care. The old hospital had a hospice wing where April would be moved when, or if, her doctor could get her stabilized.

  “Hey, mom,” Amanda knew she sounded tired, and she hoped her mom wouldn’t realize that she barely had the energy to be there.

  April Danscher was lying on her side with the sheet up to her legs. She had always been rail thin thanks to her two-pack-a-day habit, but now she was emaciated. Her knitted cap barely covered the straggly peach fuzz that dotted her scalp. Amanda had hated shaving her mom’s head after the chemo had made it fall out in clumps, but one of the many cruelties of April’s cancer was that her hair just stopped growing back, meaning that shaving wasn’t necessary anymore. Amanda could see that her mom wanted a cigarette because she was holding her fingers to her lips as if she had one in her hand.

  “I knew my girl would be MVP. I told all the girls that it would be you.” The “girls” were the hospital nurses, and the only friends that Amanda could ever remember her mom having. April and Amanda had spent the last eighteen years of Amanda’s life alone and desperately lonely. Amanda had been her mom’s only caregiver for the past three and one-half years until ten days ago, when her doctor had to stop chemo because she couldn’t tolerate the side effects. It wasn’t really working anyway. Then April developed a bowel obstruction, as the tumors in her abdomen were so large that they blocked her colon. After a horrific night when April screamed in pain for hours, Amanda brought her to the ER and she was admitted for the last time.