Sanctified

by Maggie Blackbird

  Double great. This old biddy had it out for him. Adam kept his arms unfolded. He stared at her rolled bun. He wouldn’t look anywhere else or shift in his chair.

  After five more minutes, and Adam refusing to twitch, the Hawk raised her head. She laid aside the pen vertical to the pad of paper, which she rested her skinny fingers on. “Why are you requesting approval to see your son?”

  Adam hadn’t expected this question. He continued to stare at her narrowed eyes tucked behind matching glasses. Again, he made sure to keep his voice even. “He’s my son.”

  “I know he’s your son, a son you lost to care, because you not only abused alcohol, but also committed a serious crime while under the influence. Tell me, why are you requesting approval to see your son?”

  She’d made a damned good point. He’d cut the old biddy some slack. The twelve steps of his recovery program, the Seven Grandfathers teachings of the Ojibway, and the anger management course he’d followed while in the iron house had prepared him for this moment.

  “Saved up enough money working on day parole. Gonna use the coin to rent a small apartment. Got a plan.”

  “What plan would that be?”

  With her shitload of questions, her unchanging cold stare that was a block of ice, The Hawk was in the wrong line of work. Adam should recommend she become a detective instead of a caseworker.

  “Good place for my kid.”

  “Mr. Guimond, you are going to have to be specific and find your tongue to elaborate. We are discussing the welfare of your child.” Her voice remained the same stern tone.

  She was good. Really good. Better than the too-many cops who’d hauled Adam into an interrogation room for questioning.

  “You got the info on me. Came up with a plan in the pen.” He squeezed his toes, a great way to destress when under scrutinizing eyes and effectively hide the flicker of anxiety twitching along his spine.

  “A plan?”

  “Yeah. Got my grade twelve. Went to twelve-step meetings. Was part of the aboriginal healing program. Took my anger management class and passed. It was my plan. To change. Become a true dad to my son.”

  “This is why you relocated from Winnipeg to Thunder Bay—again?”

  “My boy lives here. I wanna live here.”

  “Why else do you wish to reside here? As I said, you had better be more specific and talk.” She tightened her jaw and lifted her brow.

  Adam kept the smile itching to stretch his lips tucked deep inside him. She’d broke first. Confidence swelled in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he stood a chance at getting his son back. “After my last rubbie bit, I dropped my colors—”

  “This is not the federal corrections institution, Mr. Guimond. Proper English. Not street code.” Her voice rose an octave.

  He’d broken her again. So he set his hands on his thighs and leaned in a smidgen. Crowding her space was imperative to force her to lean back. He kept his stare rigid and spoke in the same low monologue. “During my second last incarceration, the mother of my kid told me she was pregnant. I wanted a better life for my son. Stopped drinking and left the gang. Went to rehab. My back was against the wall. No protection anymore. Other gangs wanted a piece of me still. Moved here to start a better life. Didn’t wanna get in any more trouble.”

  The Hawk failed to recoil into her chair. She remained a statue in her seat. “But you did when you first lived here with your son...”

  “I shouldn’t have moved back to...” Nope, he’d better not say the ‘Peg. “... Winnipeg after things fell apart here. That was a big mistake.”

  “Then why did you move back to Winnipeg, again, if you knew trouble awaited?” The Hawk’s tone shifted to her natural sternness.

  Adam kept returning her stare. “It was a mistake. Told you already. Things fell apart here.”

  “You mean your ex-fiancée, who’s been responsible for your son for almost four years now, ended your engagement and you couldn’t handle the rejection.” The Hawk’s mask of plaster cracked into a half-smile of part sneer and part triumph.

  So this was her game, huh? She did want Adam to fail. Authority. They were all the same. Good thing he’d come in here with the right kind of attitude and game plan. “My ex-fiancée had every right to do what she did. I started drinking again. She gave me the boot.”

  “What about your drinking now?” Mrs. Dale redonned her mask of plaster.

  “Kept sober while doing my time. Attended twelve-step meetings at the jail in Winnipeg while I was on day parole. A guy from the outside came in and chaired them. I’m still sober. First thing I did when I got into town was check where all the meetings are. Attending one tonight.”

  “And when your parole term is finished?”

  “I don’t plan on going back to drinking. I’m done with that.”

  Mrs. Dale clucked her tongue and crooked her narrowed brow in a we’ll-wait-and-see manner.

  She didn’t have to wait and see. He’d tell her right now. “My old boss lined me up a job here. Chain restaurant. He called his buddy here at the Thunder Bay chain.”

  “When do you start?”

  “He’s gonna call me. Once I find out, I’ll let you know what my hours are.”

  Mrs. Dale sat back in her chair.

  Confident, much? She could take her confidence and shove it. She’d lose. Nothing was stopping Adam from getting his boy back.

  “I see men and women like you every single day in my office, Mr. Guimond. I also visit the homes of people like you to remove your children whom you are not providing adequate care for. Do you know how many times people such as yourself regain custody of your children, and then lose them again?”

  “I thought the purpose here was to care for the kids until we...” He couldn’t say get our shit together. “... until we’ve taken care of biz, made our lives better?”

  “I will recommend to my supervisor one hour per week, supervised visits in the family room.” Mrs. Dale sat up in her chair and began writing again.

  One hour? One measly hour to see his boy after he hadn’t seen Kyle in almost four years? “Why?” The word flew from Adam’s mouth.

  He squeezed his toes. Careless. Fucking careless. Dammit, she’d broken him. Now she knew his weakness. How to get under his skin. He’d failed.

  “Mr. Guimond...” The Hawk’s half-sneer returned. Even her cold eyes glimmered. “I am considering the welfare of your child. Not your welfare. Your son has not seen you in almost four years. He recently celebrated his seventh birthday. This means he was extremely young when you were institutionalized. He has only known the care of his foster mother. Don’t you think reacquainting yourselves should be the priority so he can make the emotional adjustments he will require to have you back in his life? Or do you not care? Is this about what you want, instead of what your child needs?”

  Adam’s gut burned. She was right. This meeting wasn’t about who played a better game of chess. Kyle’s feelings came first. “Whatever you recommend,” he managed to grunt out.

  If he had one measly hour to give to his boy, he’d make their time the best hour possible.

  I’m coming, kiddo. Daddy’s here. He’s made a lot of mistakes. A lot of bad mistakes that you’re paying for, when you shouldn’t be. I won’t let you down this time. That’s a promise.

  He ran the tip of his tongue along the roof of his mouth. But from the day he’d kicked and clawed his way from the womb, whenever he challenged authority, he’d lost.

  * * * *

  Bridget slammed the door shut and stormed to the building. She smacked the button on her key set to lock the truck. Nobody had to tell her what this meeting was about. Nobody had to tell her Adam had raced back to Thunder Bay once the son of a bitch had finished his day parole. Nobody had to tell her he’d overlooked informing anyone about his intentions. Adam only thought about Adam.

  She stomped into Children and Family Services and huffed to the front desk. “I have an appointment t
o see Mrs. Dale. She’s my caseworker.”

  “One moment.” The receptionist picked up the phone. “Ms. Matawapit’s here... Okay... Thank you... I’ll send her right up.”

  The receptionist set down the phone. “Go on up. She’s waiting.”

  “Thank you.” Bridget stamped to the elevator and got in. She used her knuckle to punch the button for the second floor.

  Adam was going to try to gain full custody of Kyle, after she’d looked after the boy for almost four years, after she’d refused to allow Adam to take Kyle to Winnipeg, after agreeing not to call Children and Family Services on him when the bastard had fallen off the wagon. After all she’d done for the loser.

  The elevator doors opened. Bridget trounced to Mrs. Dale’s office and rapped on the door.

  “Enter, Ms. Matawapit.”

  Bridget opened the door and flounced to the chair in front of the desk.

  “I am grateful you could come on your lunch hour.” Mrs. Dale shuffled some papers. “What I have to say merits a face-to-face meeting. How is Kyle? Did he enjoy his birthday party?”

  The angry, raw heat faded. Mrs. Dale was a straight-to-the-point woman who never engaged in small talk. And like any proud mother, Bridget loved talking about her child. “I held his party at Sleeping Giant Park. The kids had a lot of fun. They swam and hiked. I even arranged to have his favorite hero show up—Laser from the Z Men.”

  “Wonderful.” Mrs. Dale tapped her pen against the desk. “I met with Kyle’s father yesterday for a full assessment. Mr. Guimond has relocated here. My supervisor and I agreed to one hour, once a week supervised visits for Kyle and his father.”

  The blood flowing through Bridget’s veins slowed. “I see... Does... does this mean, uh, does this mean—” She dug her nails into the arm of the chair.

  “Understand, Kyle hasn’t seen his father in almost four years.” Mrs. Dale’s normal sharper-than-her-pointed-nose voice warmed to a reassuring tone. Even her hard gaze softened, liquifying her cold gray eyes to melted clay.

  “This doesn’t mean he’ll gain full custody. He may never gain full custody. Transitions, especially those of Adam Guimond’s case, take a long time. A very long time.” The melted clay of Mrs. Dale’s eyes re-hardened to their natural concrete. Her thin upper lip twitched.

  All Bridget had to do was stay silent and let Mrs. Dale sabotage Adam’s chances at regaining custody of Kyle. Was this what the woman was insinuating?

  But Bridget was Catholic. Her parents, the church, and God expected her to handle the most important facet of her life with faith—a faith as shaky as her trembling knees and clacking teeth after what she’d endured at Adam’s recklessness.

  About the Author

  An Ojibway from Northwestern Ontario, Maggie resides in the country with her husband and their fur babies, two beautiful Alaskan Malamutes. When she’s not writing, she can be found pulling weeds in the flower beds, mowing the huge lawn, walking the Mals deep in the bush, teeing up a ball at the golf course, fishing in the boat for walleye, or sitting on the deck at her sister’s house, making more wonderful memories with the people she loves most.

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