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Zoe walked by lifting her coffee cup, signaling that it was break time. Amanda sighed and went to the break room to chat with her coworkers for a few minutes.

Lois and Sharon, the two workers responsible for maintaining the computer tracking system, were in the breakroom lamenting the new system to Becca. They were in the process of switching to a nationwide computer database that held information about every person who had been found “guilty” of child abuse nationwide. The system piggybacked their statewide computer system that held the same information, in addition to being the computer system that they used for all documentation on every case. Lois and Sharon were both in their sixties, and defied the stereotype of the young, tech savvy computer programmer.

“The system now contains the name of every victim, perpetrator, and social worker involved in every state,” Lois was telling Becca. “It’s a huge amount of information, and I completely object to the names of victims being included.”

Amanda tuned out at that point, realizing that she might be able to find her grandmother in this new system. She found herself hoping, strangely, that her grandmother had been found “guilty” of child abuse so that her name would be in this system. She slid out of her chair at the break room table, and headed for her office.

“Did we bore you already?” Lois asked, taking knitting needles out of a bag.

“No, I, uh, just have something I need to do.” Amanda knew she looked guilty as hell. They had been clearly instructed that they were never to use this system for anything other than work. She sat back at her desk and logged into the system.

The screen that allowed social workers to locate clients required as little as a last name and location, but could take more information to reduce the search. She typed in Danscher and Terrance, and paused before hitting the enter key. She considered how much trouble she could be in for using the system this way. She could claim that this was part of a case she was working on if she ever got caught. She couldn’t imagine that someone was monitoring the system that closely anyway. Glancing up, she saw that Max’s door was closed, and it looked like he was on his phone. She sucked in her breath and pushed enter.

The word, “searching” blinked on the screen for about ten seconds.

What came next shouldn’t have caught her by complete surprise. Living the life that she had lived, she should have been prepared. But she wasn’t. What she saw felt like a punch in the stomach, and in an instant made her question everything she had believed about herself.

April Danscher………perpetrator

Amanda Danscher……..…victim

Chapter Nineteen

In one of Amanda’s sociology classes—Diversity and Social Work Practice, the professor had lectured on the use of language in social work, and how it could affect their future clients. They had discussed using the terms African American and Caucasian, versus black and white. They discussed terms like chemically dependent, alcoholic, welfare, abuse, and addict. But the word that garnered the most heated debate was one of the more straightforward words in their practice—victim: one who suffers at the hands of another. Some of the people in the class wanted to use the term survivor. Others thought that was ridiculous and overdramatic, especially when dealing with child abuse. Clearly a child could be considered a victim at the hands of the person who was expected to keep him safe. Yet, the term incensed some members of the class who said the term implied weakness. The professor said the term also implies vulnerability, which is very hard for many people to acknowledge in themselves.

Yet there it was, written plainly on the screen in front of her. Victim, at the hands of her mother, Amanda’s only known relative until a few days ago. There were no other Danschers. Her grandmother remained anonymous.

Amanda only wished that this information could have remained locked away as well. Anyone in her office could do the same thing and find out that Amanda was once a client of this office. Perhaps they already knew. Max might run all names through the computer before interviews.

Amanda sat frozen at her computer until she realized someone could walk in and see her computer screen. She closed the window, and absently shuffled papers around on her desk. The phone rang, and she jumped.

“Hey, loser.” It was Jacob, and he was teasing her about the teams she picked to go to the Superbowl in his pool. She coughed and tried to speak, but couldn’t.

“My gosh, a sore loser at that. It was only twenty bucks to get into the pool. Maybe next year.” Amanda still couldn’t think of anything to say. “Are you there, Amanda?”

“Mmhmm.”

She was going to cry, so she hung up the phone and got out of her office, and out of her building before anyone saw her. Unfortunately, her car was in front of the building and there was a lot more traffic in that direction. She walked, just trying to get away.

They’re going to find out about me
. The words marched through her head like a playground taunt. Flashes of scenes that never actually occurred played themselves out in her head—Leah interviewing her mother. Zoe driving her to foster care, dropping her off with icy, angry Mary Clark. Would her mother have tried to get her back?

Her steps slowed. What had been reported? Who reported it?

It was the same street she had walked a few months before the day she saw Jacob in court for the first time. In her Minnesota winter uniform, a heavy sweater, wool slacks, and dressy boots, she was relatively warm, even without her coat. She had walked several blocks before she started to wonder if anyone would notice she was gone. She couldn’t remember if she had any appointments scheduled. At that point, she could barely remember what day it was.

From the first day on the job, Amanda had realized there was a line drawn between “us” and “them.” She supposed it was how they all tolerated all the painful things they encountered. Her coworkers were devoted advocates for the kids they worked with, and oftentimes the parents too. But consciously or unconsciously, right or wrong, there was a line between workers and clients.

Was she more upset because she was a victim, or was it the fear of having her life exposed? In Terrance, she was always being asked whom she was related to, when she graduated, or how she fit into the town that its residents fiercely claimed as their home. Would anyone still think she was competent if they knew who she really was?

As she walked, she listened to her boots squeak on the hardened snow. The air was cold, but not frigid. The tears running down her cheeks made her face colder. She was oblivious to her surroundings until a car pulled up next to her, moving with her slowly on the deserted residential street. She started to feel nervous, like she was being followed, until she looked over and saw it was Jacob. He parked and motioned for her to come over. She looked at him, not moving, so he got out.

“Hey.” He was carrying her coat. “When you hung up on me, I thought I better come over and apologize. Max said he saw you leave out the back door without your coat …” He put her coat around her shoulders, holding the lapels together in front to keep the coat on. “What happened?”

Amanda shook her head, too ashamed to tell him anything. She looked down, trying to hide her tears.

Jake put his arms around her and held her tightly. Amanda held her breath, trying not to cry anymore. “Max told me you had a rough day yesterday. He said to tell you to just go home for the day if you needed to.”

Victim. Pathetic, pitiful victim. Too weak and pathetic to work
. She shook her head, both at the thoughts running through her head, and the suggestion that she just go home. She couldn’t admit to Max that she was weak. She tried to stuff down the sadness and shame, but her feelings wouldn’t squash down the way they used to. They were on the surface more and more lately, and she had no idea how to handle them. Every emotion she had seemed to knock the life right out of her.

Jacob pulled back and tried to look at Amanda, but she avoided his eyes. He could still see her jaw clenched, holding back tears.

“Whatever it is, Amanda, it’s okay.” He stroked her hair. “Let’s go to my place, and I’ll make you some lunch. We can sit around and watch MTV all afternoon.” He was going to take the afternoon off to be with her, but all Amanda really wanted to do was go home and go to bed.

“Just take me home,” Amanda whispered. “I just need to get some sleep.”

“No. You can sleep at my place. You’re not going to be alone.”

He always knew just what to say.

* * *

Jacob warmed up some of Trix’s homemade wild rice soup, and they ate on the couch sitting under blankets. They watched MTV, and then switched over to the game show network to watch a
Price Is Right
marathon. The soup, the blanket, and the company made Amanda start to relax. Jake always had an amazing way of being with her and tolerating her being emotional.

At some point, Amanda dozed off on Jake’s couch. When she woke up, it was nearly dark out. Jake was sitting on the floor by the couch, working on his laptop, but stopped when he saw Amanda sit up.

“Feel better?”

Amanda nodded, embarrassed.

“What happened, Amanda? You looked so sad.”

Amanda let out a heavy sigh. She was so tired of feeling this way. So tired of feeling pathetic and alone. She was becoming her own worst enemy because she was letting her history get the better of her every time it became an issue. She hated people feeling sorry for her, but the person who felt the sorriest for Amanda was always Amanda.

“I’m okay, Jacob. I was upset, but I’m over it. I’m ready to move on.”

Part Three

Chapter Twenty

Marlys actually wore a boa to her discharge meeting.“I know I got a long way to go,” she said, enunciating her words clearly and proudly, “but I’m here today and I’m sober today, and that’s alls I can do is take care of to-day.”

Marlys’ primary counselor, Mavis, nodded. Mavis was in her early sixties, and she had been a counselor for over twenty years after becoming sober herself. Amanda knew this because Mavis talked about her own sobriety almost every time they talked about Marlys. “That’s right, Marlys. So tell your social worker what you’re going to do to stay clean and sober tomorrow and the next day …”

Marlys turned to Amanda, sitting at the table in the conference room at the outpatient treatment center where they were having their meeting. The only other person in the room was Glady, the court appointed guardian ad litem who was assigned to the case to look out for the best interests of the kids. Glady was in her fifties and African American, and she had a calm and competent demeanor that gave her instant credibility with clients and providers.

“I’m already going to the NA or the AA almost every day. I still needa job, but I know there’s a meeting somewhere every day, and I need my meetings. I also needs to stay on my medication so I don’t get so depressed about my past and all the things I’ve did.”

“The medication is a biggie,” Mavis said. “Shame is a big trigger for you, and you started handling that shame much better when you started your meds.”

“Amen,” Marlys said. “I’m ready to be a new person, a new sober person for my kids.”

Amanda nodded and took this as her cue to speak up. Meetings like this intimidated Amanda because people like Mavis were so experienced, and she knew Mavis could immediately tell if she said something stupid.

“About your kids … I think we’ll be ready to increase your visits now that you’re done with primary treatment.” Amanda opened her file and pulled out the caseplan for Marlys. “We said at the last meeting that your visits would increase to all day, and we’ll start working toward unsupervised visits in the next few weeks …”

“Weeks! I ain’t waiting weeks! I’ll have my apartment next month, and then I want them home.” Marlys sat up straight in her chair and leaned forward with her eyes bulging. Glady sat back slightly in her chair.

Amanda cleared her throat and felt herself turning red. “I know you do, Marlys, but we need to make sure that, uh, that you aren’t going to, uh, I mean that your treatment has really worked …”

“You see!” Marlys yelled, banging her hand on the table. “Nobody thinks I’m gonna do right. Everybody’s expecting me to fail. Why should I even try?”

Mavis sat back and crossed her arms. “You’re being a victim, Marlys. You don’t need your social worker’s permission to get sober. This has to be about you taking care of yourself.”

“I done all this for my babies, but she’s the one who decides what happens to my babies. I can’t get my boys back until
she
say so.”

Amanda cleared her throat again. “The law says that I have to try to get your children back to you …”

“The law says! See! You don’t think I’m doing nothing. You’re just doing what the law says. Did the law say that my babies’ daddy don’t hafta pay me no child support? No. The law says he s’posed to, but he don’t pay nothing. When you start getting the law to make him pay, then you can use your laws on me.”

“Don’t argue, Marlys,” Mavis said, “It gets you nowhere. Your drug addiction got you into this place. Not his failure to pay child support. You’re blaming again.”

Amanda closed her file, and cleared her throat, trying to sound more authoritative and confident. “Marlys, I really do want to get your boys back home. This is a great step that you made, getting through treatment like this. We just have to make sure it’s really going to work this time, because you have relapsed before, and we don’t want to let that happen again. I’m not saying that to make you mad. I’m just trying to talk about it so we can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Glady spoke up at that point. “We all know that kids do best with their mamas, as long as their mamas are healthy. We want to help you be healthy so you can be the best mama.”

Glady’s words soothed Marlys enough to help her settle down and talk about the next steps.