Unprotected (2 page)

“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.

“Well, it’s late, mom, so I’m going to head out. I just wanted to check in.”

April nodded understandingly. “Of course, my MVP. You must be worn out.” Her mother looked more worn out than three days of softball could ever affect Amanda, but she was grateful for the easy out.

“Good night, mom.” April nodded briefly, never one very comfortable with pleasantries, and rolled over to go to sleep.

Amanda slipped back into the hallway and surveyed the rooms in that wing. As usual, most rooms were empty. The single nurse at the nurses’ station was charting with her back turned. Amanda edged into the room two doors down from her mom’s and went straight into the bathroom to clean up. She lingered in the shower, feeling the grit of the field wash away. Finally she dried off with a towel hanging on a hook and pulled on shorts and a t-shirt. Amanda had slept at the hospital all week, in whatever room was closest. She feared someone would figure out she was the one messing up rooms, but so far she had gotten away with it.

Overwhelming exhaustion kicked in, and Amanda gracefully made her way across the dark room to crawl into the hospital bed. But when she grabbed the sheet, she jumped and yelped as she touched an arm.

“I was hoping you were going to climb on in.” The body in the bed belonged to a younger guy with a scratchy voice who sounded like he was ready to laugh.

“Holy shit! I’m so sorry.” Amanda backed away, mortified, as the guy chuckled.

“Seriously, there’s room.” He reached over and turned on a light. He looked to be about twenty with short dark curly hair, dark eyes, and the kind of face that was always smiling. Amanda continued to back away. “You don’t have to leave. I never sleep in the hospital. You wanna watch TV?” He picked up the remote and started flipping through channels.

“I’ll find another room,” she said softly. She looked him over quickly for clues as to possible reasons why he was there. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Is that woman down the hall your mom?” he asked kindly, sitting up a bit more and adjusting his pillow.“ I talked to her for a minute when we were both doing laps.”

“Um, yeah. She’s probably never going home.” Her face turned red as she blurted out that bit of personal information.

He nodded with understanding. “Cancer, right?” He motioned to his hair. “Me too. Sucks doesn’t it?”

Something about his concern felt genuine, and she felt drawn to talk to him. “Yeah. It’s been really rough. She was admitted last weekend for a bowel obstruction, but they can’t fix it so they’ll be moving her to hospice when she’s more stable.” More personal disclosure to a perfect stranger.

“Sorry. That’s rough.” He motioned for her to sit, and to her surprise she did. “I had, or have leukemia. I actually had a stem-cell transplant eight months ago, and I’ve been doing great. But then I got the stomach flu and everybody flipped out, so I gave in and got admitted for the night for IV fluids. It was easier than dealing with my mom following me around asking me about my bowel movements.”

Amanda laughed. “You really do have to talk a lot about your bodily functions when you have cancer.” Amanda cringed and wished she wouldn’t have used the “C word,” but he didn’t seem to mind. He was easy and comfortable to talk to, and he was cute despite the pallor of the stomach flu.

“I’m Jake, by the way. Jacob Mann.” He held out his hand to shake hers, but the IV tube in his arm pulled tight and he couldn’t reach.

Amanda reached out and shook his hand. “I’m Amanda. Happy to meet you.”

Jacob and Amanda stayed up talking most of the night. He talked a little about chemo treatments, and they compared doctor stories. Jake had been going to the Mayo Clinic and said he had great doctors with not so great bedside manners. Amanda wondered if her mom’s doctors really knew what they were doing, but the nurses had been amazing. Eventually they talked more about music and TV shows they liked, and they found commonalities in the housebound lives they led.

By 3:00 a.m. Jacob started to look groggy, but he seemed to be forcing himself to stay awake. Amanda was flattered but felt guilty, and knew that he was there to rest and recuperate.

“So, I’m going to get going,” she said nervously.

“Where? You can’t drive home now.” His concern was apparent, unfamiliar, and made her heart flutter.

“Just down the hall,” she said with a shrug. “Either they don’t know or they don’t care because I’ve been staying here all week.”

Jake smiled at her a little sadly. “Oh, okay. Goodnight.”

How could one word make her feel so good? She headed toward the door and gave a silly little wave. “Goodnight.”

* * *

After their first meeting, Amanda didn’t know how she was going to see Jake, she only knew she wanted to see him again. She passed by his room early the following afternoon while her mom was getting help with a bath, but his room was empty. Saturdays were often terribly long at the hospital, especially when Amanda’s mom wasn’t feeling well. The meds seemed to be kicking in, and she finally looked more comfortable. The doctor said that as soon as they got her IV out she could move to the hospice unit where at least the rooms were bigger and a little more home-like.

The two nurses on duty until shift change at three o’ clock were bitchy, so Amanda went to the balcony to sit outside for a few minutes. She found Jake there, lying on a lounge chair with his shirt off, apparently trying to get a suntan.

“The glare off your white skin is blinding,” Amanda said throwing him his t-shirt slung on the railing. “I think you better cover up.” Amanda was trying to sound funny and casual, but she was afraid it came out mean.

“Hey, it’s my night stalker,” Jake said, throwing his shirt on the floor of the balcony. She noticed his IV was out, but the line was still in his left wrist surrounded by tape and velcro. His chest was pale and hairless, and she could see scars from needles and IV’s around his collar bone area and on both arms. He noticed her noticing his scars. “You should try to be a little more casual when you’re checking someone out. My mom always said it’s not nice to stare.”

“Oh, man, I’m sorry,” Amanda said feeling a flush race up to her cheeks and looked away. “I … uh … wasn’t looking at …”

“Don’t freak out. I’m used to people looking at me from when I didn’t have hair and looked like a zombie. Someday I hope I’ll be checked out for my rippling pecs instead of my shiny red scars.” Jake put his shirt back on.

Amanda didn’t want him to know that she was checking out more than his scars, but it was less embarrassing to let him think she was looking at his lines and radiation tattoos and burns. “I should know by now to look you in the face and make small talk about the weather so you feel like a normal person, and not someone with a disease.” She leaned her elbows back on the railing and looked back down at him. “Or at least that’s what the cancer brochures tell me to say to you.”

“I’ll have you know I’m someone who used to have a disease who now has a slight case of diarrhea that requires a team of doctors to make sure I’ll pull through,” Jake said. He squinted up at Amanda and shielded his eyes from the sun almost directly overhead. “How’s the day going?”