Chapter 7 - One Rule Too Many
Jake carried copies of everything straight to Dana Price.
She read the withdrawal slip and called someone from her desk.
“I need an emergency financial review on the Mercer guardianship,” she said. “And I want a home visit today.”
Jake stood across from her, helpless.
“Can I go?”
“No.”
“That’s my son.”
“And if Todd claims you threatened him during a government home visit, your parole officer gets a call and this whole thing becomes about you instead of Ben.”
Jake hated that she was right.
He went back to the halfway house and spent the afternoon applying for jobs.
A garage owner named Ray Coleman was the first person who did not stop listening when Jake said “felony.”
“What did you do?” Ray asked.
“I drove a truck during a warehouse break-in. I knew what they were doing. I told myself I was just driving. That was a lie.”
“Anybody hurt?”
“No.”
“You sober?”
“Yes.”
“You show up?”
“Yes.”
Ray tossed him a pair of work gloves.
“Then show up tomorrow at seven.”
Jake nearly laughed from relief.
At six-forty that evening, three minutes before curfew, Ben called the halfway house.
Jake grabbed the phone.
“Hey, buddy.”
Ben was whispering.
“Dad, CPS came.”
“I know.”
“Uncle Todd was nice while she was here.”
Jake’s stomach sank.
“What happened after she left?”
A door slammed in the background.
Ben’s breathing quickened.
“He took the blue box.”
“Where are you now?”
“In my room.”
“Is he hurting you?”
“No. He’s yelling.”
Jake stood up.
Ms. Patel looked over from the front desk.
“Ben, lock your door if you can. I’m calling Dana.”
“I can’t. He took the knob off last month.”
Jake felt something hot rise through his chest.
“What?”
“He said I kept sneaking out.”
Jake grabbed his jacket.
Ms. Patel stepped in front of the door.
“Where are you going?”
“My son doesn’t have a doorknob.”
“If you leave now, you violate curfew.”
“I don’t care.”
“You will when you’re back in custody and Todd still has the boy.”
Jake froze.
On the phone, Ben said, “Dad?”
“I’m here.”
“Don’t go back to prison because of me.”
Jake shut his eyes.
Those were words no eight-year-old should know how to say.
May you like
Then Ben whispered, “Wait. Someone’s coming upstairs.”
The line went dead.
