Now and Again (11 page)

“What’s up, woman?” Layla asked. “You haven’t called your favorite attorney in a while.”

Melanie sighed. “I know. It’s been a zoo here. You need to come over to my place soon for some wine.”

“Wine and whine? Anytime.”

“The next night I can get out of here before dark we’ll do it,” Melanie said.

“Is there something at work I could help out with to lighten the load?”

“No, it’s not legal stuff I need, it’s just the stuff our volunteers usually handle but we’re short people right now.”

“I can do non-legal stuff.”

There was a pause before Melanie answered. “You sure?”

“Of course.

“Can you come by this evening?”

“I’ll be there by six,” Layla said. “And I’ll bring dinner.”

The office Melanie and two other staffers shared was a single room with three small cubicles and a few chairs. Layla had been there before, and she went right to Melanie’s end cubicle when she walked in.

Melanie had the phone to her ear, and she rolled her eyes as Layla sat down in a worn metal folding chair.

“No, I understand, Carla,” Melanie said. “I know how that goes. I’ll try you next time, okay?”

She hung up the phone and rubbed her forehead. Layla passed a foam cup of fountain soda across the desk.

“Thanks,” Melanie said. “This day … It’s gonna be the whole week, actually. Scott’s on vacation and Meredith broke her ankle yesterday.”

Layla cringed as she pulled sandwiches out of a brown paper sack. “So you’re alone?”

“Yeah. And I just had two crisis calls come in. I’m trying to get a volunteer to take one, but I can’t find anybody.”

Layla raised her hands and pointed both index fingers at herself. “Hello?”

“What? You?” Melanie’s eyes bulged as she reached for the chicken sandwich Layla sat on the desk for her. “Thanks, but you’re not trained in crisis response.”

“I’m trained with common sense, Mel. Are you saying I’m worse than no one?”

“Well … no. Uh …” She sorted through several sheets of paper on her desk, pulling one out. “One of the calls is a man considering suicide, so I need to go on that one. But this one—”

Layla reached for the paper Melanie held toward her. “Whatever it is, I’m on it,” she said.

“It’s a mom with two kids who’s having a breakdown. She wants to be recommitted to a hospital for treatment. Social Services is coming later to get her kids, but if you could just help until then. See that the kids are safe.”

“I can handle that,” Layla said, rising from the chair. “I’ll eat on the way.”

“Call me when you leave the apartment, okay? Listen, it’s not in the best neighborhood, so be careful. Keep your big mouth shut.”

“You’re
welcome
,” Layla said sarcastically as she left the office. When she got in her car, she plugged the address into her GPS and cranked up her pop music.

Her phone dinged with a text just as she was about to move the car out of park and she glanced at it. Ben.

Dinner tonight?

She twisted her lips into a pout. She wanted to see him, but she’d never been one of those women who cleared her schedule just in case a man might ask her to get together.

I’m helping my friend Melanie with something tonight. Miss you, tho. xo

His response came quickly.

Tomorrow night?

This time Layla sighed with frustration. She didn’t want to turn him down again, but she’d already committed to help Emma.

Painting at my sister’s bakery.

She hoped Ben didn’t think she was trying to blow him off, because nothing was further from the truth.

I’m a decent painter. Want some help?

She smiled when she read his message, typing one back quickly.

Yes! I’ll txt you the address.

She went to pull out when another message from him popped up.

Did you get your locks changed?

Layla smiled. Ben said if the person harassing her had a key, it could be someone who lived there before her, and he insisted she get the locks changed. She didn’t tell him she’d been liberal about having keys made, passing them out to friends and her neighbors who helped with Prince. But he was probably right, so she’d taken his advice.

The super changed them today.
Keep it in your pants at O’Malley’s tonight, k?

That had probably come off bitchy, but she was starting to feel territorial about Ben. Women ogling him when she was next to him didn’t bother her as much as the thought of them doing it when she wasn’t.

Going to the gym and then home, boss. 

Layla sat her phone on the passenger seat and pulled into the heavy evening traffic. She didn’t want to be possessive, but for these four weeks, she wanted Ben to herself.

The GPS led her through the city, into a neighborhood with people clustered on street corners and on the front steps of broken-down store fronts. Several of the buildings looked abandoned.

A wiry, shirtless man with corded arm muscles was holding another man against a brick storefront while his stocky friend in a baseball hat throttled him with repeated punches to the gut. Some bystanders watched, looking only mildly interested, while others just continued smoking or carrying on conversations.

After a glance at them Layla avoided looking back, keeping her eyes on the road. She followed the automated voice that told her to turn and found the address just a block off the main drag. It was a dilapidated old house with two front doors that had apparently been converted into apartments. She looked down at the paper from Melanie and approached the one marked “Apt. B”, knocking on the door.

The odor of stale cigarette smoke hit her as soon as a little boy pulled the dented steel door open. He wore a white t-shirt that was just as stained with dirt as his round face. His bare feet were a darker shade of brown that his suntanned skin.

“Hi,” Layla said. “I’m here to help out your mom.”

The boy opened the door silently, allowing her in. Layla took a deep breath as she surveyed the small living room, which was littered with garbage and dirty dishes. A young girl with stringy dark hair hugged her knees as she stared up at cartoons on a small television.

“My name’s Layla.” She searched for a place to set her purse down, but every surface was either covered with trash or looked sticky, so she decided to just keep holding it. “Is your mom here?”

“In her room,” the boy said as he sat down next to the girl. Layla walked into a tiny kitchen and cringed at the rotten smell that grew stronger with every step she took. The sink and counter were stacked with dirty dishes, and flies swarmed in and out of them.

The bottom of one of her heels stuck in a spot on the kitchen’s linoleum, and Layla shook her head as she pulled it off. How could anyone raise their children in a place so disgusting?

She knocked lightly on a door off the kitchen and a sleepy woman’s voice responded.

“What?”

“Hi, I’m with Advocates for Hope,” Layla said.

“You takin’ my kids?” The woman’s voice was flat and lifeless. The room was dark, with heavy blankets over the one window, and Layla could just make out the shape of the woman in the bed.

“No, I think Social Services is coming later. I’m just here to help. Is there anything I can do?”

“I doubt it. I just want the kids gone so they don’t find me.”

Layla took a deep breath. Maybe Melanie was right. She wasn’t cut out to help people deal with problems. But she’d volunteered, so now she had to figure something out.

“Are you going to treatment?” she asked.

“What’s the point? I’ve gone twice already.”

“You’ve got two pretty great kids out there to try it for. I can see you love them.”

There was silence, and Layla wondered if she’d said the wrong thing.

“Yeah. They deserve better than me.”

“Don’t say that,” Layla said. “Just take some time to focus on yourself. The kids will be safe and taken care of. Now, what can I do to help? Clean up the kitchen, maybe? Or make some dinner for the kids?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Layla left the room with a sigh and surveyed the kitchen again. What would Melanie do? She was resourceful, so she’d make the best of this. Layla could do that, too. She crossed to the refrigerator and opened it, slamming it shut when she saw a lone plate with something furry on it. The cabinets were also bare, with only a canister of iced tea mix.

So. No way she could make the kids dinner. She blew out a breath. Maybe she could have a pizza delivered? But she hadn’t seen any place on her way in that looked like it delivered food. And she wasn’t leaving the kids alone to pick up food.

She dialed Ben before she had time to over think it.

“Hey,” he said, breathless.

“Hi. I need a favor.”

When she heard the light knock on the front door 30 minutes later, Layla opened it and saw Ben standing there, his arms full and his eyes crinkled with concern.

“What are you doing in this neighborhood?” he asked. “And why do you need this stuff?”

Layla opened the door to let him in, reaching for the paper sack he held.

“I’m helping Melanie,” she said. “She’s the director of a mental health advocacy place and she’s short volunteers. Just roll with it, okay?”

Ben nodded and waited while Layla took the sack of food to the kids.

“Guys, you can just eat while you watch your show, okay?” she said. “We’ve got cheeseburgers, chicken nuggets, fries and milk here. Lots of food. Are you hungry?”

Both children nodded, their big brown eyes locked on the food.

“Ben, this is Tyler, he’s five. And this is Shayla, she’s three. That’s my friend Ben, guys.”

They said nothing, tearing into the food instead. There was a tug in Layla’s chest as she watched them. She rose from the floor, walking back over to Ben.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the box of garbage bags from his hand. “I needed these so I can get this place cleaned up while we wait for Social Services to get here.”

“They taking the kids?” he whispered. Layla nodded.

“Their mom’s in the bedroom,” she said softly.

Ben’s light gray t-shirt was stained with sweat, and she remembered he’d been working out when she called.

“You can go back to the gym,” she said, opening the box of garbage bags. He gave her a skeptical glance and reached for one of the bags.

They’d filled four bags and were searching the cabinets for dish soap when a middle-aged woman with a bad perm and a tight smile knocked on the screen door.

“Hi, I’m Elaine with Social Services,” she said.

“Oh, hi. I’m from Advocates for Hope. Layla Carson.”

“Are you a new volunteer?” Elaine’s brows knitted together.

“Yes, I am.” Layla stepped aside to allow the woman in. The sight of the still-messy apartment didn’t seem to faze her. She glanced down at her large clipboard.

“Tyler and Shayla,” she said, approaching the two children. “I’m Elaine.”

She asked them questions about the TV show they were watching, and Layla met Ben’s eyes wordlessly. She was glad he’d stayed. Helping people wasn’t her strong suit.

With a steadying breath, Layla went back to the bedroom of the children’s mother.

“Hi, it’s me again,” she said, knocking and sticking her head through the opening in the doorway. “I didn’t catch your name before.”

“Amanda,” a muffled voice replied.

“Okay. A woman from Social Services is here to get the kids, Amanda. Do you want to come out and say goodbye?”

Moments passed, and Layla wondered if Amanda had heard her. “I can’t,” she finally said, her voice hoarse. “Tell ‘em . . . I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you want to—”

“No!” Amanda’s voice rang clearer as she raised her head from the pillow. “I said no.”

Layla sighed again as she left the room, wondering what Melanie would do. Elaine had risen and was helping the kids gather the few toys they had scattered on the worn brown living room carpet.

“Ah . . . Elaine, can I talk to you for a sec?” she asked. Layla approached Ben, who stood in a corner with his arms crossed, and Elaine joined them, her brows raised at Layla.

“Where are you taking the kids?” Layla asked.

“Emergency foster placement for now—”

“No, I mean, where exactly? What kind of place is it? Are they going to some crack house with people who already have eight other foster kids?”

Ben reached behind his neck and blew out a breath, and Elaine gave Layla a look somewhere between shocked and pissed.

“I’m placing them somewhere safe,” she said. “The details are confidential,
as you know
.”

“I’m not saying I want a name and address, but I’d like to know these kids aren’t going to a place even worse than this,” Layla said, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Ma’am, I’m here to handle placement of the children,” Elaine’s voice rose with annoyance. “You are only a volunteer, who is not licensed—”

Ben put his hands out as Elaine spoke. “Look, can’t you just share the general information with her? She’s only asking because she cares. She’s new at this.”

Elaine’s eyebrows dropped as she studied Ben as though just realizing he was there. “Who are you?”

Ben reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out the black leather badge holder that encased his gold star. He flashed it and Elaine’s expression morphed in an instant.

“I’m sorry, detective,” she said. “I didn’t realize CPD was involved on this.”

“We’re not, I’m just here as a friend of Layla’s. I’m just asking, one public servant to another, will you help us out?”

Elaine’s lips tightened into a line, but she flipped through the papers on her clipboard. “Retired couple from the suburbs,” she said, not looking up. “I know them. They’ve been fostering since their own kids left for college. They’re good people.”

“And the kids will stay together, right?” Layla asked. “You won’t separate them now or later?”

“Since there’s only two of them, it won’t be an issue.”

Layla sighed with relief as Elaine turned away and ushered Tyler and Shayla to the door. The little girl cried and reached for her brother’s hand.