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My eyes snap open and I rise from the couch like a vampire from a coffin – with a straight back and what I’m sure are bloodshot eyes.
Mary, her soft cheek pressed into the pillow, is still asleep after getting the all-clear from her CAT scan earlier.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to draw moisture. I must’ve fallen asleep after talking on the phone with social services. I reopen them to focus on the two women in the doorway. One I recognize as the advocate from earlier, the other in a red blazer I do not.
A police officer comes up behind them.
My bladder decides at that moment to declare itself full and ready to explode. Deciding to take a moment to regroup before beginning my argument to take Mary home with me, I hightail it to the attached private bathroom with a whispered, ‘One sec.’
It isn’t until my bladder is empty, my face washed, and teeth brushed from the toiletries in my small duffle, that panic sets it.
I’m a single woman living in a studio efficiency apartment in a questionable part of the city. That was supposed to be strategic, help me save money to care for Kayla and Mary, but now it’s a huge albatross keeping Mary out of foster care.
The irony kills me.
I can look for a better place, but I’m not sure what would happen to Mary in the meantime.
It’s as if I’ve gone back in time when all I could do was wait, helpless and scared, for others to decide my fate. Child services, judges, social workers, police. And this time, even though I’m older, it’s so much worse. Because it’s Mary’s life in limbo.
Moving quickly, I fight back tears of exhaustion and fear as I smooth out my hair as best I can and reapply my travel-size deodorant. It doesn’t make me feel as confident as I’d hoped, but it’s better than nothing.
As expected, the two women and the officer are still standing in the doorway when I emerge. Walking quietly past the bed, I wave them out the door. ‘I want to let her sleep.’
Miss Clatch smiles another forced smile. ‘Of course.’
I know I’m in trouble when I catch myself longing for Thomas. If he was here, standing behind me, looking his superior self, it would give a boost of courage.
The woman in the red blazer offers her hand. ‘I’m Silvia al Abbas. I’m with child protective services.’
I shake it, wishing my hand didn’t feel so limp in her hers. ‘I’m Alice Truman, Mary’s aunt.’
Though I’m sure she knows that isn’t the full truth, she doesn’t let on, instead stepping back for the police officer to speak.
‘I’m Officer Doan. As the missing person’s closest point of contact, I’m here to inform you that a warrant for Miss Kayla Roger’s arrest has been issued. If you’ve seen her or can think of anyone who might know where she is, please tell me.’
I expected it. But expecting it and actually hearing out loud that your one-time sister is a fugitive are two different things.
Officer Doan continues to stare at me as I process what he’s said. It isn’t until he shifts impatiently on his black-soled boots that I realize he’s waiting for me to give him that information now.
My breathing quickens. ‘Um, let me see.’ I rattle off her last place of employment and her ex-boyfriend’s name, though I don’t have either of their contact information. ‘The last time I heard from Kayla was Friday night.’ I frown at the memory, now knowing since my earlier call to her landlord that it was the night before Mary and her eviction.
‘I see.’ He hands me a card. ‘If she contacts you again, or if someone mentions seeing her, call this number.’
There’s no sense of relief when he leaves, just more trepidation when Ms al Abbas clears her throat. ‘Miss Truman.’
I can help but stiffen. ‘Yes?’
It’s the heavy sigh that does it. Her eyes drifting to the right, her hands coming together. I’ve seen this stance a hundred times over from social workers. Telling me the couple who interviewed me decided not to go through with the adoption. Letting me know that the foster family I had just gotten comfortable with was just temporary and that I needed to move – again. Handing me my temporary Medicaid card on my eighteenth birthday and wishing me the best but not expecting much from me.
She’s going to tell me that she looked into my place of residence. That CPS determined it unsuitable for fostering. That I’ll have to watch, helpless, as Mary is taken to an emergency foster placement.
The tears of frustration that I’ve worked so hard to keep back surface and I turn my head to blink them away.
If only I had a better place to live. More money. A respectable background. Those are things that matter in these situations. Not how much I love Mary, not how staying with me is infinitely better than shuffling her to a house full of strangers, as well meaning as they might be. I’m her family. I’m who she needs.
After a deep breath, I manage to quell the tears again.
And for some unknown reason, when my vision clears, Thomas Moore is walking toward me.
