Damaged Page 17

  “I know you’re not stupid. I think you’re very smart.” Mary smiled at him. “But it’s just the rules that you can’t live in this house by yourself.”

  “Can you live here with me?”

  Mary hadn’t seen that coming. “No, because I have a house of my own. It’s a very nice house.”

  “Can you live in my house and go to your house on the weekend? There’s a girl in my class, her parents are divorced and she goes to her daddy’s house on the weekend.”

  “I can’t do that. My house is near my work and I need my house close to my work.”

  “Can I live with you in your house?” Patrick finished his eggs and put the fork down.

  “Is that what you would like to do?” Mary held her breath. “Because I would like that.”

  “Do you have good air-conditioning like in your car?”

  “Yes.” Mary laughed.

  “Can I bring my comics?”

  “Yes, of course, you would have your own room, just like here. I already packed your things. I’d like you to stay with me, but only if you want to.”

  “I do want to. I like you.” Patrick nodded, with a new smile.

  “I like you too.” Mary smiled back, touched.

  “My Pops says you’re nice and smart and not too bossy.”

  “That would be me.” Mary chuckled.

  “He says you care about me and you’re helping me.”

  “I do care about you.”

  “I want to go to your house.” Patrick smiled again.

  “Okay, but here’s is the thing. You can stay with me, but not until after the weekend.” Mary hoped she could explain to him.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s the law, again. A lady will be coming here soon, and she’s going to talk to you about where you are going to live. I’m not sure I can convince her to let you come stay with me today.”

  “Why not?” Patrick’s frown returned.

  “Because that’s not the law. I’m going to try to convince her, but if I can’t, I’m going to go to her boss after the weekend. So you’ll probably have to go where she says this weekend, do you understand?”

  “Where?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’m sure it’s a good place.”

  “I don’t want to do that.”

  “I know, but you might have to.”

  “Go to her house? With strangers?” Patrick’s frown deepened, and his foot started to wiggle. “I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.”

  “This isn’t that kind of stranger, this is a nice person you don’t know.” Mary realized how ridiculous she sounded as soon as she’d finished the sentence. “What I mean is, it’s not really a stranger. It’s a nice family who wants to have a little boy stay at their house and they’re called a foster family.”

  “Do they have other kids?” Patrick eyes flared with worry. “Other kids in the family?”

  “I don’t know yet. She’s going to come and visit us this morning and tell us, and she’ll answer all of your questions.”

  Suddenly, the doorbell buzzed, and they both looked over. Mary checked her watch, which read 7:58, so DHS had come early. “Patrick, I’ll get the door—” she said, getting up, but he was already in motion, scooting out of the kitchen.

  “I got it!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  After the introductions were made, Mary sat down next to Patrick on the couch, offering the chair to the DHS caseworker, Olivia Solo, a slim, petite woman who was much younger than Mary had expected, probably in her mid-twenties, with her long black hair slicked back into a supertight ponytail. She had a round, fleshy face and her large features looked even larger because her makeup was heavy. Her round brown eyes were thickly lined, her eyebrows were penciled over, and even her lips were outlined, covered with a purplish red lipstick. Mary caught Patrick staring at all the lines and colors in Olivia’s face, as if he were drawing.

  “So how are you, Patrick?” Olivia flashed him a pat smile as she set her oversized black leather handbag and black nylon messenger bag beside her chair. She crossed her legs in her tight jeans, which she had on with a lightweight white cotton sweater and heeled sandals. Around her neck was a gold chain, and her perfume was strong and floral.

  Patrick didn’t reply, wiggling his foot.

  “I’m sorry about your loss,” Olivia said, making quick eye contact with Patrick, then pulling a pad from her messenger bag and placing it on her thighs.

  Patrick didn’t reply, and Mary doubted he knew what she was talking about. Mary couldn’t help but wonder how much experience with children a twenty-something could have. Olivia wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so Mary assumed she didn’t have children of her own.

  “Patrick, I know this is a very hard thing for you to go through. We’re here to help you. I work for the city, and my job is with the Department of Human Services. That’s a place that takes care of kids like you. You heard my name, it’s Olivia, and I’m going to be the person who takes care of you—”

  “I don’t want to go to your house. I want to go to Mary’s house.”

  Mary patted Patrick’s leg. “She doesn’t mean you’ll live with her, she means—”

  “Mary, I can explain it to him,” Olivia said, politely. “Patrick, my job is to find the best place for you until we can find you a forever home, and I’ve found a wonderful family that would love to have you stay in their home for a few days, until we can find you another home.”

  Mary asked, “So this is just temporary?”

  Olivia nodded. “Yes, we maintain a roster of foster parents who are willing to take children on an emergency basis for a few days to a week.” She consulted the notepad on her lap. “We’re going to place him with Jill and Peter Canides, and they have three other foster children, all boys, so he can have fun. They’re a very active family.”

  Mary cringed inwardly, knowing how Patrick would feel. “Where do they live?”

  “An apartment in Belle North.”

  “Belle North?” Mary shuddered. It was a rough neighborhood on the other side of the city.

  Patrick shook his head, vigorously. “I don’t want to go to strangers. I want to live with Mary.”

  Mary saw an opening. “Olivia, you heard him, and if you’re only offering him a temporary placement, I can offer that as well. He and I discussed it, and he wants to stay with me. In fact, I’m going to—”

  “Excuse me.” Olivia held up her hand like a traffic cop, if a traffic cop had fake diamonds embedded in her fingernails. “Mary, you’re the family’s attorney, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.” Mary went into her purse, pulled out a business card, and handed it across the coffee table. “I’m representing Patrick in his special education case and we’ve made great progress, and there’s other litigation down the road—”

  “Are you a guardian ad litem?” Olivia glanced at the card, then put it down.

  Mary couldn’t say yes, since a guardian ad litem was a lawyer appointed to represent a child’s interest in a court proceeding. “No.”

  Olivia lifted a penciled eyebrow. “You’re not Patrick’s legal guardian, are you?”

  “No, he doesn’t have one, and none was designated in his grandfather’s will, but I intend to apply for temporary legal guardianship in Family Court. I’m going to schedule an emergency dependency hearing.” Mary had done her research online last night to get the procedure right. “I’d like to request kinship care today, with you, so that I can take both legal and physical custody of him this weekend. I thought that might be agreeable to DHS, because I know DHS prefers to place a child in kinship care whenever possible, rather than into the foster system.”

  “But you’re not a relative.”

  “No, he has no living relatives, and from what I read, kinship care extends beyond blood relatives, to individuals who are close to the child and are willing and able to step forward and take responsibility for him.”

  “Have you known Patrick a long time?”

>   “Not really, but we’ve grown close in a short time.”

  “How long have you known him?” Olivia’s eyes narrowed, but Mary couldn’t bring herself to answer, two days. It seemed like longer, but she doubted that counted.

  “We met only recently, but I know a lot about him and I’ve met with his special education teacher, and I am completely familiar with him, his school record, and his personal history.”

  “Kinship care is for blood relatives or those who have a significant relationship to the child.”

  “I have a significant relationship to the child.”

  Olivia turned to Patrick. “Patrick, how long have you known Mary?”

  Mary interjected, “It’s not about length of time. It’s about the quality of the time.”

  Patrick shrugged. “I want to live with Mary. She has a nice house and a nice car and she has great air-conditioning. The best ever!”

  Olivia smiled at Patrick. “That sounds pretty great to me! Is that why you want to go live with Mary?”

  “Yes!” Patrick nodded emphatically.

  Mary’s heart sank. “Patrick, that’s not the only reason, is it?”

  “Mary, please.” Olivia frowned, rising from her chair. “Patrick, excuse us, the adults have to talk in the other room. You stay here and watch TV. What do you like to watch on TV?”

  “Not Modern Family and not Big Bang.” Patrick picked up the remote and turned on the TV. The History Channel came on with black-and-white footage of a loud tank battle from World War II. Patrick raised the remote. “See? I know how to work it. I can work the shower too. I want to go to Mary’s house. I want—”

  “Patrick,” Olivia interrupted, frowning, “the house I have for you is wonderful and—”

  “I don’t want to go to them, I don’t know them.” Patrick’s eyes widened with anxiety. “I want to go to Mary!”

  “Patrick, that’s enough. Stay here. Mary and I are going to talk about this.” Olivia flared her eyes at Mary.

  “Olivia, okay, let’s go into the kitchen.” Mary led her into the kitchen, and Olivia followed on her heels and ended up standing uncomfortably close to her in front of the kitchen sink.

  “Mary, you’re not taking him just because you’re a lawyer with a nice house and a fancy car.”

  “That’s not the reason, and we get along very well. We like each other. He told me that.”

  “You mean you coached him to say that.” Olivia frowned, her penciled eyebrows coming close together, and Mary could see they had gotten off on the wrong foot.

  “That’s not true. He offered it.”

  “You should know better as an attorney. Patrick doesn’t determine what’s in his best interest. DHS does. If we let every ten-year-old decide where he wanted to live, they’d be following home whoever buys them cotton candy.”

  “That’s not what’s happening here.” Mary softened her tone, to make peace. “What’s happening here is that this is a little boy who has an anxiety disorder that requires being sensitive to the disruption and changes in his life.”

  “My file didn’t say anything about an anxiety disorder. Has he been diagnosed with that? Do you have that report?”

  “He hasn’t been diagnosed with that as yet, and I can offer him more than any foster home you place him in this weekend, which will only require moving again when I get guardianship.”

  Olivia folded her arms. “This isn’t our procedure at all. We have him in our legal custody and we take that commitment very seriously. To enter our kinship care program, you have to qualify, the same as any other foster parent, even a blood relative.”

  “Obviously, I do qualify.”

  “We don’t just take your say-so, and again, you should know that as an attorney. You can’t ignore our procedures. To qualify for kinship care, you have to make a proper application and undergo orientation and training. It takes three or four months before you’re certified. We have to conduct an in-home interview, covering why you want to be a foster parent, your family background, your employment, income, medical history and the like—”

  Mary knew all this, though she didn’t interrupt Olivia. It was covered in the DHS Handbook on Foster Care she had read online last night.

  “—and you need to undergo a medical exam yourself, a check for a criminal history, and child abuse clearances. You have to attend an orientation session and complete two full days of training sessions. Just because it’s kinship care doesn’t mean it’s a lesser standard.”

  “You’re offering him a foster family with three other kids, in a lousy neighborhood. Can’t you see that I can do better than that right now, at a critical time for him? Can’t common sense prevail?”

  Olivia bristled. “I am using common sense. We provide a safe, stable, and nurturing family experience when a child is in crisis. We can’t be certain you provide that to him until you qualify.”

  “Be real, Olivia. He just lost his grandfather, whom he adored, and you don’t know this, but he was assaulted a few weeks ago at school. He’s still suffering the effects of that, he’s confused and scared, and he’s changing schools at the same time. Plus in the next few weeks, criminal charges will be brought against the man who assaulted him and—”

  “I don’t need to be lectured to.” Olivia scowled. “This is what happens every time a lawyer gets involved. You’re all alike. You throw your weight around and expect everybody to jump to your tune. You don’t respect any rules at all.”

  Mary masked her anger. “No, Olivia, what I expect is for you to use your brain and your heart to understand what that little boy is going through, and try to make his life easier, not harder.”

  “It’s not about the easy answer, it’s about the correct answer. Any kinship home must be in full compliance with DHS foster requirements.”

  “Let me just keep him until I go to court and make it all legal. It’s the least disruptive for him.”

  “Sorry, that’s not our procedures and that’s not going to happen.” Olivia stiffened. “If you need me to call the police, I’ll do that.”

  “No, don’t.” Mary felt resigned. She had expected to lose today because she knew the law wasn’t on her side, even though she was in the right. Justice didn’t always matter as much as the law, which was ironic.

  Suddenly, Patrick yelled from the living room, “I don’t want to go to strangers! I don’t want to go to strangers! I’m not going! I’m not going!”

  Olivia glowered at Mary. “This is your fault. You encouraged him to resist our placement.”

  “No I didn’t, I swear. He’s telling you what he honestly wants.”

  “He doesn’t get to call the tune, and neither do you.”

  Mary took one last shot. “You’re ignoring him in favor of your procedures. You’re placing form over substance.”

  “This conversation is over. We’re going back in that living room and when we do, you’d better get on board. You’d better tell him that coming with me is the only choice.”

  “Then it’s not a choice.”

  Olivia ignored the statement. “If you don’t get with the program, I’m going to make you leave the premises. Don’t think I don’t have the authority to do that.”

  “I’M NOT GOING!” Patrick hollered at the top of his lungs, his tone turning angrier. In the background, the TV blared the tank battle.

  Olivia gritted her teeth. “Mary, you’d better tell him to come with me.”

  “Fine, I will.” Mary resigned herself to the fact that she had lost the battle, but she knew she’d win the war. She followed Olivia out of the kitchen but when they reached the living room, they both froze, shocked.

  Patrick was standing in front of the coffee table, tears filling his eyes.

  And in his hand was a gun, aimed at them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “I want to go with Mary!” Patrick hollered, over the blaring TV. A tear rolled down his cheek. His skinny body trembled, and the gun barrel wavered as he held it in a double-grip, arms
outstretched.

  “Patrick, please put the gun down,” Mary said quietly. She had to defuse the situation. She didn’t think he would shoot. She didn’t think he had it in him. She had no idea where he’d gotten the gun. She didn’t know if it was loaded. It looked old and clunky, and she wondered if it was Edward’s from the war.

  “No, please!” Olivia screamed, putting her hands up. “Please, don’t shoot! Oh my God!”

  “I want to go with Mary!” Patrick’s eyes spilled over, but he held on to the gun. “I’m not going to strangers! I don’t play ball!”

  “I know, honey.” Mary took a careful step toward him. “I understand. Please put the gun down.”

  “Patrick, listen to her!” Olivia shrieked. Hands still up, she edged backwards toward the kitchen. “Put it down! Put it down this instant!”

  Mary took another step toward him. “Honey, look on the coffee table. There’s your Pops’s wallet and watch. Pick them up, and put the gun down. You don’t want to forget about the wallet and watch, do you?”

  “I’m not going to strangers!” Patrick swung the gun in Olivia’s direction. “I’M NOT GOING WITH YOU!”

  “Help!” Olivia shrieked, then bolted into the kitchen.

  “Honey, put the gun down.”

  “I want you.” Patrick lowered the gun, then put it on the table, bursting into tears as he gathered up the wallet and watch. “I want my Pops…”

  “I know, sweetheart.” Mary rushed forward and gave him a big hug as he collapsed into her arms, trying to speak while sobs wracked his small frame.

  “I want my Pops back … I want my Pops back … I want to go with you … I want to go with you…”

  “I understand, honey.” Mary scooped him up and sat with him on the couch, pulling him onto her lap, and Patrick cuddled up, burying his tear-stained face into her neck and clutching Edward’s wallet and watch to his chest.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry … my Pops told me not to touch his gun … I don’t want him to be mad … I wasn’t going to shoot it … I don’t know how…”

  “It’s okay, sweetie. I know you wouldn’t have shot anybody.” Mary heard Olivia talking in the kitchen, but between the hoarse, choking sound of Patrick’s sobs and the rat-a-tat of the tank battle on the TV, Mary couldn’t make out what Olivia was saying.