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someone in the hospital, sir?”
    He looked up again, startled. Scrunching his forehead, he asked, “How did you …” He then gazed down at his shirt and ripped the nametag off, angrily crumpling it in his hands before tossing the sticky wad into the garbage can.
    “So, Ms. Taylor, how is your roommate’s dissertation coming along?”
    Sophie was disappointed that he’d evaded her questions, but touched that he remembered this tidbit from their first meeting. “I made her write five pages!” she beamed.
    “I see,” he gruffly replied. “And do you have a job yet?”
    Her smile faded. “Um, no sir.”
    “Time is running out, Taylor. How many jobs have you applied for?”
    Sophie looked up and to the right, visibly performing mental calculations. “About twenty-four jobs, I think?”
    Jerry raised his eyebrows and leaned in. “Twenty-four?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “How many interviews have you had?”
    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