294 Jake’s Childhood Home 1 (1/2)

Mary pulled into the neighborhood in 45 minutes. She had a frown on her face as she looked left and right as she drove down the streets. The houses were all one-story and looked rundown like they could collapse any second if there was an earthquake. Mary had grown up in an affluent family and had never seen such a sketchy looking neighborhood.

She parked on the street, near the supposed house that her foster son grew up. Before getting out, she decided to call Doug Duncan, their social worker liaison. ”Doug...are you sure you sent me the right address?”

”It's not what you expected?” He asked, sounding slightly distracted. ”Jake's mother didn't have a job. She lived off welfare and god knows how she was able to afford alcohol. With her money going to the house and the bills that came with it, it's not surprising that she had starved Jake. No money, no food.”

Mary sighed. ”Right. Well, I'm here. You said someone already bought the house right?”

”Last I checked, it was off the market.” The background noise on his end for louder all of a sudden. ”Mary, we'll have to chat later. My hands are kind of full at the moment.”

”Yes, of course, I understand.” She hung up and gave him his freedom. She was slightly curious if all social workers had to go in on a Sunday or if some emergency had came up for Doug. Usually he was patient and could make time to hear about her concerns relating to Jake, but this was the first time he had brushed her off. Could he have found out anything regarding Jake's family? Nahh, he would have said something. Maybe he just got a new case. Doug was a dedicated social worker with an emphasis on troubling cases like parents nearly killing their kids. It must be rough.

She clenched her phone tightly as she mustered up the courage to step out of the car. She locked the doors and slowly made her way to the house number given to her. The house was an ugly shade of mustard yellow, that had faded and looked like it could use some power washing. The front yard was minuscule, yet looked to be properly manicured and taken care of.

Mary stepped on the one stair it took to reach the front door. She took a deep breath and knocked three times with enough strength to make sure she was heard.

It was only a second before the door swung open and revealed a short Mexican woman. ”Yes, can I help you?” She was young and dressed in a uniform that implied she worked at the theme park nearby.

Mary cleared her throat. ”Hello, I'm Mary Atkins. You don't know me, but I had something to ask of you if you can spare me a few minutes.”

The woman looked at her with suspicion and closed the door a little. ”What is it?”

Mary stepped back to give her space and to let her know that she wasn't a threat. ”It's like this. My foster son grew up here with his birth mom. They had a rocky relationship and he was thankfully rescued from her. This happened last year around the summer, but he's only been with us for a month. My husband and I were interested in knowing how and where he grew up, and if we could get any hints of his past by coming here and exploring.”

”And where is your husband?” The woman vigilantly looked up and down the street, looking for another suspicious character.