Angel of Redemption
Read Angel of Redemption Online
Authors: J. A. Little
Angel of Redemption
By J.A. Little
Kayla
“
Come
on
,
Kayla. This is total bullshit. I didn
’
t do anything!
”
I
look up from my phone to see Logan Davidson with a scowl on his face.
“
Just shut your mouth and get your stuff,
”
I order, annoyed.
“
But
—”
I
hold my hand up in front of me and glare at him. My patience is running thin,
and if this boy pushes me any further, I will snap. Seventeen-year-old Logan
isn
’
t
a bad kid, he
’
s
just a little misguided. That
’
s what I keep telling myself, anyway. It usually keeps me
from banging my head against the wall when he acts up. He enjoys causing
trouble and getting into fights. He
’
s a big kid, too, which doesn
’
t make things any easier. At six foot two
and around two hundred pounds, his size
—
in addition to his behavioral issues
—
makes him hard to place. He has a good
heart, though. I can see it in the rare moments when he lets his wall down to
take care of his little brother, Matty.
Grumbling
and swearing under his breath, Logan violently shoves clothes into his
makeshift suitcase. The state of Minnesota gives kids in foster care glorified
trash bags to act as suitcases and thinks that by dressing them up with a nice,
plaid pattern, the kids will forget what they really are
—
a way to cart their stuff from temporary home to temporary
home. Logan and his brother are on their eighth move.
When
I graduated from college with my degree in social work, I thought I could save
the world, change lives, be a part of something amazing
…
but over the years, I
’
ve realized how na
ï
ve I was. Life doesn
’
t work that way and neither does the social welfare system
—
it
’
s not that simple. There are rules, bureaucracy, and red
tape creating barriers at what seems like every turn.
The
Davidson boys entered the system when Logan was eleven. Matty was nearly eight.
Their mother, a meth and heroin addict, tried to sell Matty to support her
habit. When the guy came to pick up his
purchase
, Logan stabbed him with
a steak knife, grabbed Matty, and ran. It was the middle of winter and neither
one of them was appropriately dressed for the frigid weather. For nearly a
week, the boys hid out in all-night laundromats and at the bus station.
Eventually someone reported them to CPS and they were taken into care, albeit
not without a fight.
Their
case was my first when I joined Minnesota State
’
s Department of Human Services. I
chose to go into foster care, not child protective services, so there was no
reason for me to be out on a call. I was simply tagging along to see how intake
did their jobs before I got any cases of my own. I saw the state the boys were
in
—
dirty and hungry. They looked so
small. A few weeks later, their case file landed on my desk. Sometimes I wonder
if it was fate
—
if,
for some reason, I was meant to be their caseworker. And then I laugh and
remember there
’
s
no such thing as fate.
Matty is waiting with his own bag at the bottom of
the stairs when Logan and I descend.
“
You know you can stay, Matty.
”
Sandy Barker, one of my favorite foster mothers, smiles at
him. She places her hand on the back of his head.
“
We just can
’
t have Logan fighting with Steve anymore.
”
Matty
pulls away from her. Without a word, he picks up his bag and walks out the
front door. Logan follows. Matty is fourteen and almost the exact opposite of
Logan. He
’
s
small for his age and stick thin. He
’
s also extremely shy and doesn
’
t talk much. I worry about him all the
time. There
’
s
a fine line between being okay and completely losing it. I think Matty
’
s walking that line.
“
I
’
m really sorry, Sandy,
”
I say sadly. I hate that this has happened. Sandy and her
husband, Steve, have always come through for me in tight situations. I was
thrilled when they agreed to take the boys in five months ago after Logan blew
their previous placement. I thought that maybe it would be the final move; that
Logan might realize how great they are as foster parents. I thought wrong.
“
It
’
s okay, Kayla. It
’
s not your fault. I
’
m just sad Matty feels like he needs
to leave, too.
”
“
Those two are thick as thieves,
”
I say, shaking my head.
“
I
don
’
t think either of them would survive
anywhere without the other.
”
Exiting
the Barker house, I unlock my car for the boys. Logan climbs into the front
passenger seat, while Matty ducks into the back.
“
Can I drive?
”
Logan asks as I slide in behind the wheel.
“
Absolutely not.
”
“
Come on, Kayla, please?
”
he begs, flashing his irritatingly adorable dimples and
batting his long, dark eyelashes.
“
First of all, you don
’
t have your license
—
”
“
I
’
ve got my permit.
”
“—
second of all,
”
I continue.
“
Why on earth would I give you the
privilege of driving my car when I was just called, while on my way home, to
come pick you up for punching your foster father?
”
Logan
looks sheepish for a split-second before frowning.
“
He pissed me off.
”
“
Yeah, and that
’
s a good excuse,
”
I snap.
“
Besides, I thought you said you didn
’
t do anything.
”
He
shrugs. I watch in the rearview mirror as Matty pulls his iPod out of his
hoodie pocket and puts his earbuds in. Sandy and Steve gave both boys iPods for
Christmas this past year. While Logan scoffed that iPods were stupid and
outdated, Matty seemed to cherish his. It gave him an escape when he wanted to
pretend he couldn
’
t hear the conversations around him.
“
Have you ever thought that maybe your
constant fighting and troublemaking might be hurting your brother?
”
I ask quietly as I drive toward my office.
Logan
looks behind him and then turns to face forward again.
“
He
’
s fine.
”
“
Really? You really think he
’
s okay with being uprooted every few
months?
”
“
It
’
s not like I do it on purpose.
”
He scowls.
“
You
’
ve got to control your anger,
”
I say with a sigh.
“
You
’
re going to be eighteen in less than
six months. If you keep doing this shit, you
’
re going to land yourself in jail.
Where will Matty be then?
”
“
Can
’
t I adopt him or something?
”
“
If you
’
re
in jail? No!
”
I scoff.
“
Even if you
’
re not, you can
’
t even take care of yourself. How are
you going to take care of a fourteen-year-old?
”
He
looks at me and frowns.
“
Shit, Kayla, I don
’
t know. I just assumed they
’
d let me do it. He
’
s my brother.
”
Shaking
my head, I can
’
t
help but feel for Logan. He loves his brother, but his impulse control is
nonexistent. He
’
s
not thinking about either of their futures.
“
They
’
re not going to let you take care of
him if they think he
’
s not safe with you.
”
“
He
is
safe with me,
”
Logan barks. In the mirror, I see Matty look up from his
iPod, briefly meeting my gaze before looking back down.
“
Logan, I know you love him, but you
have to grow up. Stop fighting, stop lying, stop smoking weed, stop tagging
neighborhood garages, stop screwing around with random girls, and stop stealing
everything you can get your hands on.
”
“
I don
’
t
—”
Again,
I lift my hand.
“
Don
’
t even try it. I know exactly what you
’
ve been up to. I
’
m not going to scold you. I
’
m trying to let you know where it
’
s going to land you,
”
I look over at him,
“
and
Matty.
”
Logan
doesn
’
t
say anything else for the rest of the thirty-minute drive. He sits with his
arms across his chest and his eyes closed. I wonder if he
’
s thinking about what I
’
ve said or if he
’
s already moved on. My guess is the
latter. When we get to the DHS building, I get out of the car and the boys
follow.
“
Leave your bags,
”
I instruct.
“
Hopefully we won
’
t be spending the night here, but if
you need them, you can always come back out.
”
I slide my ID card into the front door.
“
Hey, Xavier,
”
I greet the night shift security
guard.
“
Hey, Kayla. Late night tonight?
”
Xavier offers me a smile, allowing me to slip past the
metal detector. The boys know the routine. They have to empty their pockets
before coming through.
As
he digs through his pockets, Logan complains,
“
I
don
’
t
understand this shit. Do they really think I
’
m going to come in here and shoot up
the place?
”
“
There are some desperate people out
there who will do just about anything when it comes to their kids, Logan. It
’
s better safe than sorry.
”
“
That
’
s fucked up.
”
I don’t bat an eyelash at Logan’s foul mouth
anymore. I used to get on his case about it, but it didn’t do any good. Now I’ve
gotten used to it, and, in all honesty, I have to pick my battles when it comes
to him.
We
make our way through the maze of hallways back to my office. The place isn
’
t as deserted as the evening hour
might suggest. Tired and frustrated workers sit with phones plastered to their
ears while kids hang around them, bored and complaining. Winter is hard on the
foster care system. Maybe it
’
s because the kids are stuck indoors more with energy
levels that irritate parents unable to cope. Or maybe it
’
s because they
’
re in school and the schools are required to file reports
when children are habitually underdressed or underfed. CPS tries to keep kids
in their homes as much as possible, but, regardless, the system is overwhelmed
in the winter. For that reason, I now expect to be sitting in my office with
the Davidson boys for a long time.