Not Done Yet - 6. Slither

Slither

As he hung up the phone, he rolled his neck to relax the kinks, then turned to the young man seated across the desk from him, and said, “C’mon, son. Let’s take you home.” The words were kindly, but spoken without much warmth. The man looked to be in his late 50s, and his office bore the clutter of years. A couple of diplomas, a number of certificates – one read, “Licensed Clinical Social Worker.” John Weaver worked for Children’s Protective Services. His eyes were dull, the eyes of a longtime public servant who’d seen too much. He rose, walked around his desk, and gently urged Casey to his feet. “The Fishers are good folks. They’ve fostered kids for many years, but never one your age. We’re going out on a limb for you, the Fishers and me, but it’s either their house or a detention facility. I hope you keep that in mind, and don’t cause any more trouble.”

Casey flinched at the word “trouble,” but held his tongue. That was one thing living with his dad had taught him – how to keep quiet. It hadn’t been his fault, but the case worker hadn’t seen things that way. Especially after Casey had just walked away from the Children’s Protective Services office.3

No one was hurt from the fire, and very little had been damaged. Mostly, it was just smoke. He had cursed himself for an idiot when the fire captain had told him the burner had been left on with a pan of oil on it.

The worst part was that James got dragged into it. James had been nothing but good to him, bringing him that bow and all. But that’s also where the camp stove had come from.

Walking out to the SUV with a small bag of clothes, the sun was nearing the horizon, and Casey’s stomach gave out a convincing growl. The older man looked over at him and chuckled. “I guess we’ve got enough time to get you fed before we go out there. Don’t want you to wear out your welcome before you even wipe your feet.”

“Thank you, sir. I know I’m being a burden on a number of folks, and I hope to turn that around soon.”

They climbed into the truck and strapped themselves in, and Mr. Weaver started the engine. The social worker sat still, gazing ahead, the truck idling, for a few seconds. He visibly relaxed, and sat up straighter, as if shedding years, before turning to his charge. “Listen, Casey, I’m due to retire before much longer. I’ve seen a lot of kids in your shoes come and go. I used to see their faces in my sleep, but now, it’s tough for me to even remember one of ‘em from one moment to the next.” He paused and sighed, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Honestly, most of them I work with never get out of the system. Whether they start off with the mindset, or find it once they get caught up in the system, they don’t adjust to normal life, even if they return to it. They end up back in my office, or the prosecutor’s, time and again. This once, I’d like things to work out different.”

Mr. Weaver put his glasses back on, turned to Casey once again, and looked at him for a moment. “You’ve said a lot of things that sound good, but I’ve heard a lot of words from con men, too. You’ve acted respectfully toward everyone who’s worked on your case. It’s been noticed and remarked on. Just now, you said you hope to turn things around, and I hope you do.” Putting the truck into reverse, he stopped again, before pulling out. “You may not know this, but you made a friend here in town. If not for him, buttin’ in, talkin’ to a number of folks, your case woulda gone south real quick. He talked the Fishers into taking you in, and convinced me to go along with it and make the recommendation to the court after the damages were paid.”

Mr. Weaver pulled out onto the street. Casey was quiet the whole time, and when the older man glanced over at him, he saw the boy looking down in what looked like shame. Looking back at the road, he soon turned into the parking lot of a restaurant. Cedars wasn’t the fanciest place, but the food was as good as any in town. Climbing out, Mr. Weaver led the way inside, and they were seated in the back.

As the waitress left with their drink order, the two picked up the menus. “Order whatever looks good to you.” When the waitress came back with a couple of iced teas, they placed their orders right away.

As she left the second time, Casey quietly spoke, but he didn’t look at the older man across the table from him, “Who talked to you about me, Mr. Weaver? It sounds like I’ve got more debts to repay.”

Mr. Weaver sat back and gave him a long, measuring look. “Not really sure why, but James Batisse decided to trust you. Talked me into it, too. I’ve known that boy’s mama for years, but he always struck me as shy. Make no mistake, son; that boy’s neck is stuck out as far as it’ll go for you. I shouldn’t even be telling you this.”

“James? Even after…?”

“Uh huh. He said to me, ‘Once in a while, you have to decide whether or not to invest in somebody, and hope the little bit you can offer can help them change their world. He took your part and stood up to his granddad, told him if you went to juvenile detention, he was goin’, too, and that’s more than a lot of folks woulda had the spine to do. That old man has some pull, and paid for the damages, but he’s strong-willed. James knows the Fishers ‘cause he hunts the property up the road from theirs.”

Casey dropped his head, his hands in his lap. After a few seconds, he straightened up in his chair and looked the older man in the eye. “Thanks for telling me, Mr. Weaver.”

Right then, the waitress came with the food, interrupting the conversation. Once she’d served them and left, Mr. Weaver said, “If you can find the words, it would go a long way for you to talk with that boy. Tell you what – if you like, after you’re settled, I can ask him to come out to see you. Like I said, he hunts out that way, but he also does some odd jobs for some of those folks, including the Fishers. They know how to get in touch with him, too. But right now, the most important thing for you to worry about is that chicken fried steak in front of you. This place makes the best in town. Don’t let it get cold.”

The rest of the meal was silent, except for the clank of tableware and the conversations from the other tables. Casey found there was a lot of food on his plate, but he didn’t stop eating until every bite was gone. He sat back and breathed a deep sigh. “Oh my god, I can’t remember the last time I ate so much. It was great.”

“There’s still a biscuit with your name on it.”

And just like that, the last biscuit disappeared, too. Mr. Weaver chuckled and flagged down the waitress for the check.

After they were back on the road, Casey was restless, unable to sit still, but Mr. Weaver didn’t say anything. Finally, Casey cleared his throat, but no words came out. Mr. Weaver stopped at a light and turned to him. “What’s on your mind, son? You’ve been putting extra wear on that seat belt since you got back in the car.”

“I-I guess this is all so different from anything I know. All I know about foster parents is nothing. All I know about the Fishers is even less.”

“Well, the Fishers are good folks. They don’t just take the State money; they kick in some of their own for their kids. They’ve taken in a few foster kids, though the oldest was 11. I expect you all to learn some things. Jim’s a pharmacist, and Carol works for the County. They’ve got a comfortable home. You’ll have your own room, I expect, since they don’t have any other fosters right now. I thought they’d stopped doing this for good, and maybe they had. You might like their place. They’ve got a few acres, with a garden and a workshop. A few animals. They could really use some help around the place.” Mr. Weaver winked.

The whole time they’d been driving down the street, houses had become fewer and farther between. Either side of the road were livestock fencing and open fields. They were approaching an area of thick brush and trees. As they got closer, a gravel road forked off to the right. Mr. Weaver began to slow, pulled onto the shoulder, and turned. The tires ground as they bit into the gravel. On the south side of the road were mostly rolling pastures with blank Angus cattle, but some small thickets grew right up against the fence lines. An occasional lone oak or pine tree broke up the landscape in the middle of the fields. To the south, the land was wild and covered in the old green of late summer: yaupon and persimmon grew thick, right up to the old oaks and a few small stands of pine trees. Casey strained his eyes, trying to see more than twenty feet from the road’s edge.

As they passed a number of unpaved drives leading into the woods, Casey noted how pretty the area was in the dappled light. “This is a cool road. I like it when the trees meet overhead. It’s like driving through a tunnel.”

Mr. Weaver answered, “You might ask the Fishers to take you through the state park. You’d really enjoy the drive through there. The road goes for several miles like this. We’re almost there.”

Sure enough, the man soon slowed and turned into a gravel driveway. This one, unlike the others, had a stone wall running alongside for over a hundred feet, the stones mortared into place. The face of the wall bore the image of a snake along most of its length, over four feet high and eighty feet long, picked out in contrasting stones. Casey’s eyes got large and his mouth fell open as they stopped alongside it, the tires grinding as they grabbed hold. “Wow! That is so FINE!” Looking through the driver’s side window, he didn’t notice the man and woman approaching the vehicle from his side.

Still staring at the wall as he opened the door, Casey stepped out, turned, and found himself face to face with Jim and Carol Fisher. Casey jumped back and let out a startled squeak as the Fishers roared with laughter. Still laughing, the man introduced them both. “Evening! You must be the Casey fellow we heard so much about. I’m Jim Fisher and this is my wife, Carol.”

Casey, struggling to regain his composure, said between breaths, “Mr. Fisher, Mrs. Fisher, I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m sorry for my reaction, but I was so distracted by your wall….”

Carol smiled, offered her hand to Casey, and said, “Casey, there’s no need to apologize. I think Jim loves to do that to people when they pull up for the first time. You’re not the first person he’s scared out of their skin while they were looking at Slither.”

Casey shook her hand, and asked, “Slither?”

Jim stepped up, smiled broadly, and offered a handshake to Casey, as well. “Slither there is the best pet we ever had.” He pointed to the wall. “He doesn’t eat much, you don’t have to clean up after him, and he never has to go to the vet. Sorry to startle you so, but yours was the most gratifying reaction I’ve ever seen.”

Mr. Weaver stepped up and shook hands with Jim and Carol. “Jim, Carol, how are you folks doing? I heard you built a chimney swift tower. Any effect on the bug population that you can tell?”

Carol’s eyes shone with excitement. “There sure was, John, and I haven’t been bit by mosquito one since the week after we put it up. It’s getting too dark to see it right now, so if you’re interested, you’ll just have to come back by another time. Why don’t you come inside for something cool to drink, and Jim can show Casey to his room?”

“I’d love that, Carol. Casey, here’s your bag. Why don’t you follow Jim, unless you’re still scared.” He handed the duffel bag to the boy, winked at Jim, then turned and walked with Carol toward the house.

Casey looked up into Jim Fisher’s moss-colored eyes, a good four inches over his own, and saw them crinkle at the corners with mirth. “C’mon, kid, let’s get you settled in. Welcome home.” With that, Jim threw his arm around Casey’s shoulder, gave him a one-arm hug, and started them walking after the others.