Sophie began twisting her ring again. “None.”
“That doesn’t sound right. Where have you applied?”
“Um, about five hospitals, um, one of them being Northwestern,” she added pointedly. “Three doctors’ offices, ten or so boarding schools, a couple of counseling centers …” She sighed. “I don’t think they want to hire a felon.”
Jerry sat back in his chair and studied the parolee across from him. She looked classy, fresh, and young—a sharp contrast to the bleak institutional setting of the hospital he’d just left.
His tone softened. “I think you’re aiming a bit high.”
Sophie frowned. “But I have my PhD. What do you want me to do—sell hot dogs on the street or something?”
“There’s no shame in that, Taylor. Hell, I was just at a Cubs game the other day, and they were hiring vendors to push hot dogs and beer. Why don’t you go apply at Wrigley?”
She shot him a hostile glance, offended by his preposterous suggestion, but then she noticed a slight smirk on his face. So, he was joking with her. Smiling a mischievous smile, she retorted indignantly, “Cubs games? The only way I’d take a job like that is for White Sox games.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a White Sox fan,” he groaned. “They should never have allowed you out of your sentence early. In fact, I should send you right back to Downer’s Grove now that I know this about you. A Sox fan. Ugh.”
She giggled, and he felt drawn into her engaging smile. She seemed bright, caring, and warm. Jerry was a confirmed bachelor who had devoted his life to his career, but if he ever had a daughter, he’d want her to be something like Sophie Taylor. Well, minus the criminal history.
“Seriously, though,” he continued, “I want you to expand your job search. Get something temporary and look for a position more suited to your tastes while you’re working. You know what they say: It’s easier to get a job when you already have a job.”
Sophie nodded. “I’ll keep looking, Mr. Stone. But if you see me walking up and down the aisles at Cubs games, you’ll know I’ve sunk to a new low.” That wasn’t true, actually. Having to crawl to her father and ask him for a job would be the lowest of lows.
Getting back to business, Jerry asked, “Have you attended therapy yet?”
“My first appointment is at ten this morning, sir.” Sophie said solemnly.
“And which shrink did you choose?”
“Dr. Hunter Hayes.”
Jerry arched one eyebrow. “You chose one of the only men on the list?”
“Well, I thought I’d relate better to a psychologist, and there weren’t that many listed. I hear he’s very good.”
The PO continued to shoot her a dubious stare, and suddenly she understood his consternation. “Oh! You’re worried about me seeing a male psychologist. You’re thinking that, um, maybe, um, something will happen again?”
“Exactly, Taylor,” he curtly replied.
“Uh, that is not going to happen, sir.”
“And how do you know that for sure?”
How could she answer without outing a colleague? Kirsten’s supervisor had let it slip that Dr. Hayes was gay, but Sophie wasn’t sure this was common knowledge, and she was determined not to cross professional boundaries again. “Well, uh, he, um, is, well, let’s just say I’m not his type. I seriously doubt Dr. Hayes is going to fall in love with me.”
Jerry stared blankly at her for a moment, then seemed to come to an understanding. “Dr. Hayes is gay?”
Sophie cleared her throat. “That’s what I hear, yes.”
He moved on. “You say your appointment is at ten today?”
She nodded.
Opening a file drawer, Jerry extracted a paper and scanned it quickly before dialing the phone. Sophie observed curiously and had no idea who Jerry was referring to when he said, “I got his voice mail.”
She felt sick when she heard Officer Stone begin leaving a message.
“Hello, Dr. Hayes. This is Parole Officer Jerry Stone with the Illinois Department of Corrections. I am calling to confirm your appointment with a parolee in my charge, Sophie Taylor. I will also need weekly updates regarding her attendance and progress in therapy. Please contact me at this number …”
Sophie dropped her head in shame. They’d had such a nice conversation, but this reminder that she was an untrustworthy con smacked her in the face. At times in the past week she’d felt almost normal, very nearly worthy, but something always took her back down to her status as a lowly, lying criminal.
Jerry hung up and was surprised to see Sophie looking so crestfallen. “What’s wrong, Taylor?”
Her tone was wounded. “You don’t believe me? About the therapy appointment?”
He sighed. “Trust has to be earned. I learned that the hard way too many times to count. You simply haven’t earned my trust yet.”
Nodding slowly, Sophie still felt hurt, although she knew his words were wise. She had given her trust too easily once, and now she was paying the price. She vowed to be more careful in the future.
“Taylor, we’re out of time,” Jerry informed her.
Sophie rose to leave, but after a moment’s hesitation, he added, “It’s my mother.”
“Excuse me?”
“I was visiting my mother in the hospital,” he said, shocked he was telling a parolee. “She’s dying of cancer.” What was this psychologist doing to him?
“Oh, I’m so sorry. You, um, had to come straight from the hospital to deal with a bunch of us convicts?”
Jerry did not respond. He looked as if he was about to cry.
“I’d better go. I don’t want to make you late,” she murmured, hastily exiting the office to help him save face.
Once Sophie opened the door, she found herself almost colliding again with the gorgeous man from last week. He had his right hand suspended in midair, his fist curled to knock, when she came busting through the door. He seemed as unsure about knocking as she had.
“Um, h-h-hi,” she stammered, closing the door behind her. Meeting her gaze were crystal eyes like blue shards of glass.
Grant appreciatively took in her bright, beautiful appearance and tilted his head in the direction of the office. “So, what kind of mood is he in today?”
Feeling her heart pound, Sophie managed, “Not so good today. His mother is dying. He just visited her in the hospital.” She cringed, realizing she was inappropriately sharing personal information.
The man showed a look of such utter sorrow that Sophie fought the urge to wrap him in a hug. She wondered what the hell she was thinking. He was a total stranger! And a criminal too.
“That’s awful,” he said, shaking his head. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Well, I better get in there.”
As he opened the door, Sophie caught sight of the logo on his shiny black athletic jacket. “Wait!” she whispered.
Grant turned to her, bewildered. “What?” he whispered back.
“Your White Sox jacket!” she hissed. “He’s a die-hard Cubs fan!”