The Path To Love. Jane Myers Perrine
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a word since she left.” She looked down at her hands. “I’ll never understand that. I’ve always wondered how a woman could walk out on a child without making arrangements for her care.”
He wished he could say something reassuring but thought she’d probably feel uncomfortable if he did. Besides, this was all purely professional. “Then you went to live with your uncle, Louis Calhoun?”
“Yes, and after he was incarcerated for grand theft auto, I lived with my aunt Tessie, Tessie Fuller.”
“Your boss mentioned you have two cousins. Are they Mrs. Fuller’s children?”
Francie nodded.
“What are their names?”
She shifted in her seat. “Why do you need to know that?”
“Gentry kept no information on any of his clients. I could pull up the prison records but they’re not always complete. Are you uncomfortable with this? Do you mind helping me complete this information?” He glanced up at her.
“No, but my cousins aren’t involved in the family business—you know, crime—and I don’t like to include them in this. I’m sort of protective of them. Can’t you leave their names out?”
“Miss Calhoun, this is purely informational, for my files.”
She took a deep breath and sat back in the chair. “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “My nephews are Mike—he’s twenty-one—and Tim. He’s sixteen and lives with a foster family. Mike did, too, until he was seventeen. Mike will graduate from college this spring. He’s going to be a doctor.” She smiled. “They’re great young men.”
“Very impressive.” He wrote a few more notes before looking at her. “What’s your phone number?”
“I don’t have a phone but the woman down the hall will take messages.” She gave him that number and those of her cousins.
“Any other relatives?”
“Not that I know of. I don’t know if my mother had family.” She bit her lip and looked away. “I mean after she left us.”
“Thank you. That should fill in everything.” He studied the form again. “Oh, one more thing. How’s your health?”
“Fine. No problems.”
He closed the folder and handed her a card. “Here’s the name of the financial aid officer at your school. I talked to her. She said for you to come in. She believes they can help you with tuition and books.”
“Oh, how wonderful.” She looked as if he’d given her a wonderful gift. “Even a little bit would make so much difference. I wouldn’t have to feel like I’m always broke.” She rubbed her hand across her jeans. “I could buy some new shoes and maybe a dress to wear to church.” They were such small things, but she glowed with pleasure at the idea.
“I hope it works out.”
“And thank you.” She scooted forward in the chair. “Thank you for doing this. I wish you’d been my parole officer from the beginning.”
Then she directed her smile toward him. He felt warm inside, a sensation a truly professional parole officer should not feel—and he never had before—when one of his clients smiled.
Today he’d made an effort to be warmer, in a professional way. When he’d erected the front of cold indifference previously he’d felt as if he’d hurt her deeply. His inability to be objective, his tendency to see her as an attractive woman, not a parolee, were his fault, not hers. No, he couldn’t be her good buddy.
How much longer he could continue to work with Miss Calhoun?
What an odd thought. He pushed it away. Structure and firmness were the best way to keep a relationship with a parolee proper and professional, he reminded himself.
“Thank you, Miss Calhoun. If there isn’t anything more?”
“Oh, no, thank you.” She stood.
“I’ll see you Tuesday.”
“Yes, thank you. Tuesday.” She smiled at him, that smile that warmed him, before she left the cubicle.
Then Mitzi Matthews—a seasoned criminal of fifty with the hard expression of a woman who’d been in trouble all her life—took Miss Calhoun’s place.
If he had anything to do with it, Miss Calhoun would never end up like Mitzi Matthews.
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