Mother's Milk (16 page)

‘I'm a counselor … at least for now.' He flashed a smile that was merry and mischievous.

‘And then?' she asked, feeling the contagion of his joy and wondering just how young he was. She was guessing twenty-two, maybe twenty-three, twenty-five tops.

‘I start medical school in the fall.'

‘Really? Congratulations. Where are you going?'

‘NYU, I just got my acceptance letter. I also got into Columbia, but it's easier to stay downtown.'

OK,
she thought,
accepted to two of the best medical schools in the country, crazily handsome and smart
, and as the lights started to dim,
Maybe this conference won't be a total waste … of course he could be gay. Does he shave his chest? And for God's sake, Barrett – way too young!

Sneaking the occasional glance at him, and suspecting he might be doing the same back, Barrett half-listened as the Governor got up to the spot-lit podium and made his opening remarks. He stressed the critical importance of this initiative, how change must come, how each and every child entrusted to the state must be given the opportunity to …

She felt a shiver as Chase turned and whispered close to her ear, ‘I don't like to be a cynic, but I wonder if this might all be a terrible waste.'

‘It's almost impossible,' she whispered back, ‘so many variables with each of these kids and not well suited for top-down solutions that a lot of suits make at a conference.'

‘One size does not fit all,' he responded, as the moderator introduced the keynote speaker for the morning session.

Barrett's attention was suddenly pulled to the podium by the mention of her boss's name.

The moderator, a consultant whose firm had been given the task of pulling together what was clearly a major conference, gushed through Janice's accomplishments. ‘We are thrilled and honored to have with us today a woman who won't just tell us about the problem, but will help us chip away at a series of harsh realities to find core solutions that can make a difference in the lives of real children. Dr. Janice Fleet has not just talked the talk, she has walked the walk, from her years with the Department of Family and Youth Services, where she obtained seven- and eight-figure federal grants, while always maintaining a clinical caseload, to her ground-breaking achievements opening Mother's Milk, an internationally recognized string of drop-in centers for at-risk, runaway, and throw-away youth. The Mother's Milk centers have set a standard on getting services into the field. Every year Mother's Milk provides tens of thousands of homeless and at-risk youths with critical medical care, food, social support, housing services, legal aid, or just a friendly ear, always with the motto –
We do not judge
.

‘It was a sad day for the department when she left to take on her current position as the Commissioner for Mental Health. However, as she's here to tell us today, this move does not represent an abandonment of her commitment to our youth, but is the next critical step in building bridges to support our most vulnerable youth.

‘We are very grateful that she is with us today as we undertake this most important task. I give you … Dr. Janice Fleet.'

Barrett wondered why Janice hadn't mentioned she was the keynote. Then again, she had been somewhat preoccupied with Jerod. She felt a twinge of guilt as she watched her boss take the podium in a burgundy skirt suit, her blonde hair worn up, and her cream blouse open at the neck. ‘I'd like to thank all of you for having me here … and for being here. I'm also a bit worried, because I'm not certain that I have any great expertise … or answers.'

Her candor surprised Barrett as Janice freed the microphone and stepped from behind the podium to the front of the stage.

‘I'll tell you what my approach has been, and this could turn into the shortest talk ever. What I know to be true in terms of working with these kids is that everything must happen at the level of the individual child or teen. This doesn't mean you can't think in broader terms about program development, resource allocation, and all of that other stuff that we administrators like so much.' There was a round of polite laughter. ‘End of the day what matters and what makes a difference is how well that case manager connects with that child. Is there enough food in their belly? Do they have a safe place to sleep at night? Is somebody harming them, and how do we intervene and not make things worse? Because as someone who's worked for years in state agencies, I know that even the most well-intended intervention can make things worse. Children want to be with their parents, they need to be with their parents, and yet we're often faced with situations that are too dangerous and too damaging.' Janice looked down at the floor, and then back out at her audience, seemingly scanning the faces, and smiling at people she recognized – including Hugh. ‘Sometimes I hate talking about this stuff, because it can quickly get to that point that seems overwhelming, almost paralyzing. But then I come back to what I know is true, and works. Everything we do, without exception, must center on that one child or teenager, never losing focus of who they are, what they've been through, what they need, and perhaps most importantly finding out what they want. It's not a new approach, and it's certainly not something that I lay claim to. I like the expression “meet the person where they're at” that's been coined by the Harm Reduction movement and I also think the motivational approaches that have been so well studied with substance abuse and dependence are getting to exactly the same point. It's about practicality and doing what works. If someone shoots dope and doesn't want to stop, how can you help them? Well, maybe by focusing on what they do want … a place to live, a chance to get back into school, a job, friends, a girlfriend, medical help, clean clothes.' She paused, and shook her head. ‘This was the approach I took when establishing Mother's Milk. All of the case workers, and even the volunteers, were trained to not judge these kids and young adults who have been through so much. Everything they do – even the bad things – makes sense. They turn to drugs to numb the pain, the crimes they commit are for food, drugs and clothing … and sadly some of the crimes that will get them locked up are the very ones that were perpetrated against them as children. When I first started out in this field, I would never have believed that I'd get to this point. But now, when someone tells me that one of our clients is a sexual predator, my first thought is that they are likely also a survivor of trauma and sexual abuse; sadly, I am almost never wrong. That had a great deal to do with my shift from my first love at DFYS to my current position with DMH. Our kids grow up, and how they make the transition into adulthood …' She paused and looked down, there was brutal frankness in what she said next. ‘It's not going well.'

In spite of her reluctance to be there, Barrett found Janice's words moving and on target. She espoused a matter-of-fact approach and the only one that would make a difference in someone's life.

‘Powerful stuff,' Chase whispered, as Janice finished.

‘Indeed,' Barrett said, and wondered why she'd responded like a Jane Austen heroine. She'd also started to notice more about Chase, at whom she was trying hard not stare. His black leather boots were trendy and expensive. She wouldn't have put money on it, but having prowled the discount racks at Prada, they had the distinctive flare of the designer. Perhaps knock-offs, but even so, what did that say about the man? No wedding ring. Metrosexual? Gay? His jacket, too, perfectly tailored, not a wrinkle across his broad shoulders. The guy was into fashion, but counselors for the DFYS, especially young ones, weren't that well paid – forty or fifty grand tops.

Next speaker was Commissioner Carlos Martinez – Janice's replacement at DFYS – armed with a PowerPoint presentation. Mostly statistics and charts about high-risk kids aging out of the youth system – they were grim. Thirty percent arrested at least once in the year following their release; over seventy percent had serious mental health problems, and roughly the same number into problems with drugs and/or alcohol. ‘As desperate as all of that is,' he continued, ‘this is the part that we have got to do something about. Ten percent of these kids will be dead within three years of leaving our … care. This was in the morning paper.' Barrett shot forward in her seat as he flashed a black-and-white scan of a newspaper article – it had today's date, a crime-scene photo that showed the bodies of Ashley Kane and Bobby Dix. Her heart raced and she thought of Jerod, and felt a rush of helplessness; she shouldn't be here, she should be trying to find him.

She glanced to her left and saw that Chase too had been disturbed by the photo. She revised her inventory of him:
Gorgeous, smart, knows how to dress and has a heart. Way too young, Barrett, don't even think about it – has to be gay.
Her ruminations were mixed with thoughts of Hobbs, of how right it felt being back with him, and of how strange it felt to know he was dating someone.

Chase felt Barrett startle in her seat as the grainy photo of Bobby and his troublemaker girlfriend filled the screen. Up to now this had been hot; getting a firsthand look at the beautiful Dr. Conyors, neither her pictures – both the ones online and the framed montage now in his desk drawer – nor Janice's description had done her justice. He glanced at the podium as Commissioner Martinez talked.

‘Robert … Bobby Dix … was one of ours,' Carlos Martinez said. ‘He left his group home on his eighteenth birthday, and was dead before his twentieth.'

‘Sad stuff,' Chase commented, letting his words waft toward Dr. Conyors.

‘Very,' she said.

Chase felt her gaze flit over his perfect profile. This part of things was just like fishing, the bait drifting on the surface, letting out the line, waiting for that first bite. He sensed her attraction, from the dryness in her throat to the furtive glances, as though needing to confirm that he was really that beautiful.

‘At least he's not shifting the blame,' she added, as the commissioner candidly laid out the failures of the system.

‘That comes later,' Chase said, catching her eye. He smiled. ‘The whole agency is obsessed with documentation and covering your ass. Pretty sad, actually.' He loved the color of her eyes, somewhere between gray and blue, hard to be sure in the dim light … she wore almost no makeup, just a hint of lipstick, her skin was flawless, but her clothes were a catastrophe, at least from his perspective. She was in a navy off-the-rack skirt suit, with a mannish button-down shirt – it was clear she did not like to bring attention to herself, even her jewelry, tiny gold earrings and a plain gold chain around her neck, was a study in understatement.

He turned back, wondering at the body she was concealing,
Is she still nursing?
and relieved that Bobby's photo had been replaced by snapshots of other dead youths, none more than twenty or twenty-one. Commissioner Martinez gave brief histories of each, how long they had been wards of the state, how they had lived and how they had died – mostly through drug overdoses and suicide, but there were homicides as well. Chase recognized a few of the faces; one – like Bobby – had been part of the family, but he'd gotten too old and a little sloppy. Bored with the well-intentioned dribble, he let his gaze wander toward Janice, sitting on the stage, her hands folded in her lap, a look of fixed concentration on her face as she nodded in approval with the commissioner's talking points. In the front row he spotted the man whose electronic passkey he'd used a day ago to gain access to the lovely Dr. Conyors' office. He was nodding along with Janice, and every few seconds would turn in her direction. Obviously one of her lackeys; he wondered if he'd slept with her, or was it just the usual kiss-up at the office to get ahead?

‘Potent,' Dr. Conyors said as the lights turned up, signaling the midday break.

Chase used the back of his sleeve to wipe away an imaginary tear, as all around him he saw people reaching for tissues. He looked at her, and cocked a half-smile. ‘Dr. Conyors, I am thoroughly depressed,' he said.

‘Yeah, and it's Barrett,' she said.

‘Chase,' he said, extending his hand and taking hers in a gentle shake. Her fingers were long and there was strength in her grip.

She turned away, and smoothed a long bang from off her brow as she opened up her packet. ‘They want us to divide up in workgroups,' she said.

‘Which one are you in?' he asked, even though he already knew.

‘Criminal and legal dimensions of at-risk youth.'

‘What do you know,' he said, ‘me too, probably because two-thirds of my caseload is budding young thugs and thugettes. It seems I'm always bailing somebody out.' He shook his sleeve back from his right wrist and glanced at his watch. ‘We've got fifteen minutes to find room D132.'

OK
, Barrett thought, catching the Movado logo on the black dial that had four gold dots to denote the three, six, nine and twelve,
let's add money to the list, and I bet those shoes aren't knock-offs
.
Wealthy girlfriend? Boyfriend? Family money?

‘You want to grab some coffee?' he asked. ‘And I don't mean that boiled crap downstairs. There's a Starbucks around the corner.'

‘And every corner,' she added, but fresh air was suddenly very appealing. ‘Let's go.'

Pushing their way into the emptying throng, they drifted up the stairs of the auditorium. She walked just behind him, and noticed how others turned to look at him – mostly women, but a few men as well. He took the stairs with an easy grace and she guessed his height at around six two or three – about the same as Hobbs. She had the oddest thought, that this was a man without flaw. His thick, almost black wavy hair left no flake of dandruff on his jacket that gave a silhouette of broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. He looked back at her, a stray bang across his forehead. He pointed toward an opening in the crowd, and reaching back to grab her hand they shot through.