Page 2 of Hot Lovin'

“Ready to make the world a better place, one smile at a time,” I reply with a wink.

Jan nods approvingly. “That’s the spirit. By the way, there’s a new case on your desk. It came in late yesterday.”

A familiar blend of anticipation and concern stirs in my stomach. “Thanks for letting me know. What’s it about?”

“Aiden Walker. Age four. The details are in the file. I was here working late when it came in last night. Had to get the sheriff involved. Aiden needs our help urgently,” she explains, her tone turning serious.

“Got it. I’ll dive into it right away,” I say, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders. I give her a sympathetic smile. “Another late one, huh?”

“Trying to get as much done before I abandon you,” she says with a grimace.

“You’re not abandoning us. You’re taking a well-earned vacation. Two weeks in Bali. I’m so jealous.” I sigh dreamily. “But no one deserves the break more than you, Jan. You work hard.”

“We all do,” my boss says firmly. “But I am sorry to leave you when things are so busy.”

I wave off her apology. “When are they not? Understaffed. Underpaid. Overworked. That’s the social worker mantra, right?”

Jan chuckles. “Right. But nothing beats the satisfaction of righting social injustice and contributing to positive social change,” she says as if quoting from a manual. Our job is about so much more than that, and we both know it.

“I grin. “What would the world do without us?”

Jan shakes her head with a wry smile. “Dread to think.”

“Right. I’ll get to work. I’ll catch you later before you leave.” With a small wave, I continue to my office further down the hall.

As I enter, sunlight streams through the small window, bouncing off the seafoam-green walls. Unlike Jan’s organized space, my desk is cluttered with case files and sticky notes. A solitary potted plant sits on the windowsill, having somehow survived my inconsistent watering schedule.

I close the door, and my gaze falls on the brown folder sitting on the top of the pile with a red sticky note. That color never means anything good. It’s the hue of heartache and broken homes, and I’ve come to recognize it all too well.

“Let’s see what we have here,” I mutter, settling into my chair and flipping the folder open with practiced ease.

I skim the contents, and a familiar pang tugs at my heartstrings. Aiden, a five-year-old boy with eyes too old for his single-digit age, stares back at me from the photo stapled to the report. His wide, solemn eyes and the dark circles beneath them tell a story no child should ever know.

“Okay, kid,” I whisper as if he can hear me. “Let’s get you out of there.”

According to the file, Aiden’s parents, Alicia and Mike Hartless, are the types who give monsters a run for their money. The details make my stomach churn, but I can’t afford to lose my composure, not when a child’s safety is on the line. Aiden needs me at my professional best.

Aiden’s file reveals he was taken to the hospital the night before, but it’s not the first time he’s been treated there. Due to the wounds and bruises on the boy’s body and his obvious malnourishment, the hospital staff alerted the authorities. At four years old, Aiden’s little eyes are haunted and woeful, tugging at every protective instinct within me. The authorities have taken him from his mother and father and temporarily placed him in a foster home. It’s my job to investigate the situation and determine whether Aiden should be allowed to return to his parents.

“Focus, Lottie,” I instruct myself, tapping the side of the file against my desk. I’ve been known to crack a joke to lift spirits, but there’s a time and place, and this isn’t it.

“All right, first things first,” I continue, rallying my thoughts. “We need a plan,” I tell myself, glancing around the empty room. “I guess it’s just you and me, Aiden.”

“Step one: gather evidence,” I say, pulling out a notepad. “Can’t let Alicia and Mike wiggle out of this.”

I jot down a list, each point a stepping stone toward getting Aiden somewhere safe. I have to follow the plan set up by our state to get Aiden out of this situation. Every step I take needs to be precise, and it’s essential that I follow protocol. I have to follow the rules because my evidence will end up in front of a judge and be scrutinized by my superiors. One misstep could send Aiden back into a situation he doesn’t deserve, and that would crush me.

“Step two: set up a meeting with the principal at Aiden’s pre-K. Teachers see more than they let on,” I reason, tapping the pen against my chin.

“Step three: talk to the neighbors. There’s always someone who’s seen something they wish they hadn’t.” I shiver at the thought of what the walls of Aiden’s home have witnessed. My stomach knots when I think about what that poor little boy must have endured.

“Step four: ensure the judge keeps Aiden in the temporary custody of a foster family while this is resolved. Preferably one without crazy schnauzers trying to herd the waves back into the ocean.” My small attempt at lightening the mood is lame, even to my ears, but humor is my coping mechanism, especially when it feels like I’m gearing up for battle.

“Step five: protect Aiden. And I mean mama-bear style, claws out, teeth bared and everything.” I stand, my resolve hardening. I won’t let him fall through the cracks.

“Okay, Lottie,” I pep-talk myself in the reflection of the computer screen, “you’ve got this. You’re charming and funny. And you’ve watched enough courtroom dramas to know how to put on your serious face. Time to save the day... again,” I declare, grabbing my keys and heading to my boss’s office.

The sunshine seems more subdued as I leave my office, knowing a little boy is suffering, but I’ll be damned if I don’t bring a little light back into Aiden’s life.

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