by Roz Nay
I pick up the soup spoon as Sully sits across from me at the table, my hand trembling as a lift a mouthful of food to my lips. I manage to swallow a few spoonfuls of chicken, vegetables, and rice, when there’s a loud knock at the front door. Sully looks at me for a second before he gets up and moves out of the kitchen, Gravy trying hard to be the first one into the living room. I stand, too, but hover with my hand on the kitchen doorframe. The only person I want it to be is Morris with Will. But it’s never going to happen. Alex has full control.
Sully opens the door, and Chase is standing there. He looks tired. In the week and a half that’s gone by, he’s lost a lot of his beefiness.
“All good?” he asks, looking mostly at me, but I can tell he now knows the question is redundant. “I thought we should have a team talk.”
“Of course. Come in.” Sully steps aside for him, but there’s a stiffness to his welcome. For a second I wonder if, deep down, they still feel like they’re competing.
Chase moves through the living room and straight toward me, where he puts a hand on each of my shoulders, stares into my face, and then wraps me up in a hug. I exhale into it. For all that he’s been through himself, he’s still clinging to some kind of positivity about the world. Not everyone is good, he’s learned, but those who remain need to be looked after.
“How are you holding up?” he asks me.
“How’s Will?”
He nods, his mouth bunched reassuringly, and then he walks me back to my seat at the kitchen table. Sully follows, and so does Gravy.
“How’s Alex?” It’s impossible for me not to ask after her, and perhaps that’s one of the cruelest parts. I love her, and she hasn’t changed. Again and again she insists that it’s me against her. The only thing that’s evolved over the years is that the fights she forces me into have gotten more catastrophic.
“Alex is contained.” Chase sits down next to me, his face grim and knowing in a way it wasn’t back in June. “I think of her now as a viper, and my apartment is the tank. And I have to just grin and bear it all, trying not to let my disgust show.”
“You’re watching her carefully? Like we talked about?” Sully leans by the fridge with his arms crossed.
“I’m watching everything,” Chase says. He puts a hand on my knee. “And Will is beautiful, by the way. He knows she’s not his mom.”
“He does?” Everything inside my body convulses, a great dragging ache of love.
“You want some soup?” Sully asks him. “I’ve made tons here, and Ruth is … she’s not very hungry.”
Chase looks at the bowl on the table that is losing heat. “I can’t eat, either,” he says. I think he means generally. “But I’ll take a glass of water.”
Sully pours him one, deposits it in from of him.
“How are we shaping up?” Chase says, stretching. He looks like he’s slept very little, but still he’s approaching the week like it’s a run-up to a sports cup final.
“I’ve hit a wall,” Sully says, shooting a guilty glance at me.
“Fingerprints on the coffee tin?” Chase asks.
“We ran those and they’re on there. But so are ours. She could argue we moved the tin knowingly. Or that she moved it without knowing what was in it.”
“The texts and voice mails?” Chase drinks his water like he’s spent days in the desert.
“Nothing Eli said or did incriminates anyone. There’s no specific mention of the drugs at all. That’s good for Ruth, but it’s also good for Alex.”
“Shit,” says Chase. He puts his hand on my knee again. “So what can we prove? The abortion?”
“Yes. But obviously that’s not a crime. And her lying about it to you, Chase, is just a domestic issue.”
“The attack on Eli?” Chase says.
Sully shrugs. “It’ll be hard to prove. A known felon’s word against hers. We’re keeping those charges on the table, just to fluster her.”
Chase sighs. I watch the side of his head, my gaze blurry as if I’m outside my body.
“I have a question,” Chase says, “and it might be a stupid one. But are all drugs the same?”
Sully frowns. There’s a chasm of life experience between them. “Not really, Chase,” he says gently, as though he’s talking to a child.
“It’s just … Alex mentioned this case from work where cocaine was involved. And a kid, too. And there’s something about all of it that just doesn’t sit right.”
“What case?” Sully’s arms tighten across his chest. “Did she say?”
“The kid was called Buster. Buster Floyd, I think. The way she spoke about it was … just weird.”
Sully moves to the table and sits down. “I know the Floyd case,” he says. “I was in court when Morris presented it to the judge. The parents are troubled, but yeah, it was drugs that cinched the case.” He stops drumming. “And to the very end they swore they had no knowledge of the drugs. They swore they were clean.”
“You’re not saying…” Chase’s runs out of voice.
But Sully’s breathing is quicker; his energy’s up. “Even if I was, it would be near impossible to prove. Wouldn’t it?”
I look from Chase to Sully, my eyebrows raised.
“Do you still have Eli’s tin in evidence?” I ask, the fog in my head clearing for the first time in nine days. “When I got here, it had ten thousand dollars rolled up in it, and exactly twenty-four ounces of coke in separate dime bags.” Both men stare at me. “It was a very precise amount. How much is in the tin now?”
Sully’s eyes widen. “Less than that, I think. I mean, the money’s all there. But … Jesus. I’d have to check the report.” He stands up, sits down again. “Ruth, where does Eli get his product from?”
I hesitate.
“It’s okay, Ruth. You’re not going to get in trouble,” Sully says.
“From a buddy in Philadelphia.”
“Okay, that’s a start. That’s good.” He stands up again, patting his pockets as if checking for car keys. “I can use that. Maybe Eli will get a little chattier.” He looks uncertainly at each of us. I’m going back to the station. How about we meet back here later tonight?”
“Sounds good,” says Chase. He half stands, glancing over at me as if he’d maybe like to hug me.
“Can you bring Will over when you next come?” I ask, squeezing his hand for an instant. “Say you’re taking him for a walk? And bring him here?” I know my pitch is squeaky. I can’t help it.
“You know I can’t.” Chase bites his lip.
“They have to be sanctioned visits, Ruth,” Sully says softly. “We’re doing our best.”
“The only thing she’s letting me do is stay back with Will while you have your conference thing in three weeks.”
“It’s too long away,” I say.
“Hang tight, Ruth.” Sully’s voice is more confident than it was an hour ago. “We’re going to get your son back.”
* * *
It’s five o’clock when Sully gets home again. For hours, I’ve been sitting in his living room with the television on, although I’m not sure what it is I’m watching. Mostly I’ve been staring at a patch of wall above the screen, or out the window at the neighbor’s fence, which is starting to build up to a festive Halloween, that calendar holiday where families celebrate skeletons, ghouls, and disguise, as if none of it will ever pervade them.
When Sully rushes in, Gravy wakes from where she’s been asleep on my foot, and her tail thumps once. She begins the long process of standing. Sully’s carrying a huge pizza box, on top of which are a couple of sheets of flat white paper, pinned underneath his thumb. Probably the receipt for the takeout. He turns off the TV, sets the pizza box on the couch, and crouches in front of me, still in his jacket and shoes.
“What?” I say. “What’s the matter?”
“I have to tell you two things.” His eyes are deep brown like oak. “I’m so sorry I fell in love with your sister. It completely messed up my judgment.”
�
�I know,” I say. “I’ve already told you it isn’t your fault.”
“And two”—he passes me the white sheets of paper from on top of the pizza box—“look what I found.”
I open them shakily, scan them as fast as I can. They’re documents, headers over the top that look official and medical, data in a printout below. “What are these?”
He bumps his fist once against my knee in tiny triumph. “They’re the key, Ruth. It’s early days, but they really could be everything.”
ALEX
Chase has never been so interested in my job. Since he apologized last week for not understanding it, he now asks me question after question about cases and procedure. I’ve slowed down on what I tell him—mainly because it’s confidential—but I also have to be careful. As harmless as he is, he could blunder in and ruin everything. But I like that he’s invested. It took him long enough.
When he’s in the apartment, he’s also extra attentive of Will, but he’s been father-figure-obsessed with the notion of Ruth’s pregnancy since the get-go, so probably it’s all just an extension of that. If he asks to take Will out alone, I don’t let him. Even if I feel a little worn-out from the demands of new motherhood, that child is not leaving my sight. If he goes outside, I’m the one who’ll take him.
It’s quiet around the loft, though, now that Chase’s job has started to pick up again. He’s having to attend meetings at the Spirit Ridge with clients from other resorts, and it’s not like I have a job to go to. Morris signed me off work for a month the same day he placed Will at the loft.
“We’re employing you as a foster parent now, Alex. That’s your job. And word to the wise, you might find it’s more full-time than ever.”
“What about my caseload?” I asked, letting his warning roll off me.
“Minerva or the other protection workers will cover it.”
I made him promise he’d oversee the decisions Minerva made. Since then, I’ve thrown myself wholeheartedly into the important job of being a parent. Day and night, it never stops—as it shouldn’t, if you’re doing it properly. I get two hours’ sleep in a row through the nights, but I’m certain the deprivation won’t last forever. Will is a fussy baby—hungry, fitful, sometimes inconsolable—and Chase, who hovers a foot behind me and Will through most of the days, is noticeably absent during the night shift.
We’re a tight-knit unit, Will and me. I’ve relocated to the living room. My bed is now exactly where Ruth’s was, Will’s bassinet right next to the coffee table. I spend nights with him, pacing the room, staring out the window into the night sky. It’s a privilege, motherhood. I’ve earned it.
Morris comes by every week with more breastmilk he’s collected from Ruth, as all good social workers should with a newborn baby they’ve removed. It’s a steady conveyer-belt supply that I throw away as soon as he leaves. I can’t even bear the smell of it as I pour it down the drain.
“How are we feeling about visits?” Morris asks me each time he comes over, and this week is no different. He’s sitting on the couch, drinking lukewarm tea while I stand with Will in my arms. “The baby’s three weeks old now. Are we thinking we’re ready to set something up with Mum yet?”
I wish he’d stop asking. And he can stop saying “we” like there’s some kind of team. Or referring to Ruth as a mother.
“Morris, visits are not a good idea. You know what my sister is like. You’ve met her. She hasn’t changed all of a sudden.”
“No, but she’s … she appears to be doing quite well. You know, with the right supports in place. And protocol states that birth mums are allowed access to—”
“I know what the rules are, Morris, but they don’t apply if the birth mother is unsafe. If they’re not involved in—you know—drug dealing. Or if the father of the child isn’t a domestically violent ex-con who’s broken all the conditions of his parole. Have you forgotten why we removed Will in the first place?”
“No.” Morris sets down his cup, licks his teeth. “Okay, you’re probably right. In extreme cases, we can still argue that—”
“This is an extreme case. Don’t let Ruth guilt you into anything.”
“Sully’s pushing pretty hard is all. He’s advocating.”
“Well, don’t let him!” It infuriates me that Sully moved Ruth in, that he’s the one supporting her. I have to admit I didn’t see that coming, but I should have. He loves to be the knight in shining armor, and Ruth is the real damsel in distress. I’ve tried texting Sully, but he only replies to one message in ten. Sorry, can’t talk now. I’m busy with work. It’s fine. Ruth can have him. I have what I need now.
On the couch, Morris shifts uncomfortably. “Are you sleeping, Alex? You look tired. And can I ask, why have you moved your bedroom out here? Is everything with you and Chase okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” I jiggle and bounce from foot to foot. Why won’t Will nap? He’s had his formula.
“Alex, if your living situation changes at all, that’s a paperwork issue. Family Services will need to know about it. We’d need to approve the new residence.”
“I’m not moving out. Why the hell would I do that?” I roll my eyes mid-sway but Morris doesn’t see it.
“The family conference is scheduled for next week,” he goes on. “It might be a bit of a tricky one.”
I stop swaying. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, there were no drugs located during the police sweep of this apartment. Eli Beck won’t give any indication whatsoever as to the nature of his current relationship with your sister. Which means we can’t prove his intention to co-parent. If anything, he seems rather surprised by the pregnancy at all.”
“They’re together,” I say, sitting down and bouncing Will on my knee. He starts to cry. “Eli’s here, isn’t he? I mean, he’s in police custody here in our town. They’re together and he’s violent.”
“That’s the other thing.” Morris shifts uncomfortably against the cushions. “He’s certainly here, but I’ve got wind that Beck might be pressing countercharges. Something about an attack in this apartment. Of course, it probably has no basis, and we’ll try to throw it out, but—”
“But what?” I prod at Will’s mouth, trying to make him stop fussing.
“It might be our word against his.”
I laugh, but it comes out shrill above the clamor Will is making. “You’re saying the judge will take a convicted criminal’s word over mine?”
“I don’t know. I can’t say who we’ll get. Hopefully it’ll be Vickers, but … Look, are you doing okay? Is there anything I can help you with? Anything at all?” Morris stands, reaches out for the baby, but I turn my shoulder and take two steps away.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’ve got this. I’m a natural.”
He waits, watching me. “If you need respite, Alex, you can ask for it. There are budgets in place for that kind of thing.”
“I don’t need it. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Right. Right, okay.” He glances at his wristwatch. “I’ll push off, then. You have the new breast milk, yes? You should probably pop that in the fridge.”
“I’ll get to it.”
“We’ll see you at the office for the conference next week.” He zips up his coat. “It’ll be standard, I’m sure. I didn’t mean to worry you. Everything will be just fine.”
“I know,” I say.
He walks to the door. I don’t see him out.
* * *
I’m up at 3:00 a.m. It’s as if Will heard everything Morris said earlier and has decided to add even more pressure. I pace by the bay window, the sky outside dark and shadowy. I’ve warmed up formula for Will in the microwave, but when he sucks at the bottle, his little nostrils flare momentarily—a sign he’s unhappy. Well, it’s the middle of the night, who isn’t unhappy? I stifle a yawn and cast a glance toward the bedroom where Chase is sleeping soundly.
“Come on, Will,” I say. “You’re hungry. You have to eat.”
He’s holding on to t
hat goddamn clothespin. She gave it to him to taunt me, even though letting him grip it is one of the surefire ways to soothe him when he cries. I hate that thing, but whenever I try to prize it from him, his tiny fingers only tighten.
As I watch him, he spits out the nozzle of the bottle. When I try to ease it back into his mouth, he turns his head so that yellow drags of formula streak his cheek. He’s stubborn, his little neck twisting, so I sit him up and pat him for a while on the back. The light is wispy around us, and I feel almost delirious. How long is this going to take? Suddenly I hear footsteps outside our door. Someone taps softly. Who is it at this hour? Is it Sully, coming to tell me he’s on my side after all?
I get up, still holding Will. But when I open the door, it’s Ruth standing there on the mat, her eyes dark sockets of pain. She’s so thin she’s almost unrecognizable, as if in three weeks she’s melted down to the wick. She’s pasty, too, her hair unwashed. This is the real Ruth, in all her scarecrow ruin.
“You can’t be here,” I say. “It’s the middle of the night. It’s not a sanctioned visit.”
“Hi,” she says, trancelike and sweetly, and it takes me a second to figure out she’s not talking to me. “Hi, my little bear.”
I’m holding Will out like a display item, and the two of them have locked eyes. I half turn away, breaking their contact.
“What do you want, Ruth? The family conference is in seven days. You can make your complaints then.”
“You’ll be the one making complaints,” she murmurs, soporific, hypnotized.
“What does that mean? What are you talking about, Ruth? And what did you do with the drugs?”
“What drugs? I thought you knew nothing about them?”
She tries to take a step into the loft, but I barricade the door with my foot.
“You can’t be here. You know that.”
She can’t take her eyes off Will. Her left hand reaches out for his knee.