I scrambled to catch the dolls before they fell. “I just thought – ”
“Yeah, I know what you thought.” Jenelle sneered at me.
Mercy made a small squeaking sound.
“We’re just fine, right?” Jenelle repeated. Her tone of voice said she wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.”
Slowly, staring at the floor, Mercy nodded.
Jenelle gave me a defiant stare. “See? I got this.”
“All right, then.” I stood up.
“Mommy.” Mercy tapped on Jenelle’s wrist, whispering frantically. “Can we play with the dolls later?”
“Never mind those dolls. I’ll get you all the dolls you want when you come home to me. We can play like we did when you were just a baby, remember?” Using two fingers as “legs,” she walked her hand in a circle. “Let’s go see the pandas now!”
I picked up my notebook from on top of the toy box, fighting the urge to shake my head.
“Don’t be scribbling any nasty little notes about me in there,” Jenelle said loudly. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
I ignored her. J is resistant to including social worker in play. Prefers to go without toys for daughter than to use toys I recommended to her.
She’d said she cared about Mercy more than anything in the world – that everything she did was for her daughter.
So far, I wasn’t seeing it. Her pride was preventing her from doing what was best for the girl.
And if she kept this up, I wouldn’t be able to recommend that Mercy go home to her.
Two – Jenelle
“Time’s up,” the social worker said. “It’s time for Mom to go. Mercy, you can play here for another minute while we talk to your mom.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. I couldn’t believe how quickly the time had flown. Mercy and I had played every game we could think of – that didn’t involve the obnoxious social worker and her shitty toys.
I wrapped my arms around my baby and held her tight. “You mean the world to me, baby girl. I’m going to fight tooth and nail to bring you back to me.”
She may not have understood all of what I was saying, but she got the point. She hugged me back, squeezing as tight as her scrawny arms would allow. When we let go, we were both teary.
“Bye, baby,” I said. “I’ll see you later this week.”
Keeping my head down so no one could see my emotions, I headed for the waiting room. Twice-weekly visits were all the time I had with Mercy now. Twice-weekly visits with my own daughter!
This was disgusting, and I hated every minute that I had to spend away from Mercy. My baby belonged with me and nobody else. Her dad had never been in the picture – a loser I went to high school with. He’d transferred schools shortly after I told him I was knocked up. Never saw a cent from him to help with Mercy.
For the past seven years, it’d been me and only me taking care of her. No one understood how hard it’d been. The sacrifices I’d made. They were all so quick to criticize, and who were they to talk? Half of them didn’t even have kids, and the other half were raising them with a partner.
They had no idea what it was like to be all on your own.
In the waiting room, the foster couple stood up to greet me. An older couple, maybe in their fifties. White, like both social workers. They wore fancy clothes that made me self-conscious about the skin-tight outfit I was wearing. I was on my way to my shift at the club after this. I dressed more conservatively for my work at the grocery store.
“Hi,” the woman said, reaching out for my hand. “I’m Linda and this is Stephen.”
I ignored the attempt to connect, just as I’d done with the social worker earlier. She – Sylvia – had seated herself at the table, along with her supervisor, Max.
“All right.” Linda drew her hand back. “We’re happy to take care of Mercy for as long as you need. She’s a very sweet girl.”
“That’s for damn sure.” My hands clenched into fists. She was sweet and well-behaved because I’d raised her that way. And who gave me credit? Nobody.
“She’s the only foster child we have right now,” Stephen said, “so we can devote a lot of time to her. We’ve been helping her with her homework – the school in our district seems to be a little faster-paced than the one she was going to.”
“Right.” More like, “we know you never helped her with her homework and she was falling behind.” I didn’t have time, working seventy hours a week. I barely had time for these visits, but I had no choice. I had to get my baby back.
Stephen’s face fell slightly, like he was disappointed that I wasn’t more enthusiastic. Did he expect me to be grateful? To thank him? He could think again.
“Mercy’s eating right?” I asked curtly.
“Um… yes.” Linda looked confused by my sudden change of subject. “We eat healthy. Organic, when possible. We had spaghetti Bolognese last night, for example.”
“She hates tomato sauce.” I glared at her. “She says it tastes like ketchup. She didn’t eat much, did she?”
The couple exchanged a look. “Actually, no,” Stephen admitted.
“She’s shy. She’s not going to tell you these things. You have to watch out for her.” And I should know. I was her mother. “I have to get to work.” I pulled my purse onto my shoulder.
“Okay.” Linda and Stephen looked a little shell-shocked. “Nice meeting you.”
“Uh-huh.” I didn’t return the comment.
I blew out of the door, a cloud of anger floating behind me. I just couldn’t believe I was in this situation. Mercy had been taken from me, and I was going to have to attend court-mandated parenting classes. As if I didn’t know how to parent!
I jammed my keys into my car door, my chest tight. I’d done my best to put on a happy face for Mercy’s sake, but I’d felt like screaming at those people even more than I actually had.
Fucking Chandra. I could’ve killed her for putting me in this position. The fact that she’d cancelled on me at the last minute– I never would’ve left Mercy alone if it weren’t for that. Date night over babysitting her niece. I hoped she felt good about her choice, because I was never going to let her see Mercy again. Never!
And then there was the nosy-ass neighbor who’d seen me walking through the hall. That old lady from apartment 230 staring down her hooked nose at me, asking me if I was going to work and if I had someone babysitting. It was like she could see right through me.
She was the one who’d called the cops on me. She didn’t even know if Mercy was in there. For all she knew, I could’ve actually had a sitter like I said I did. She didn’t know shit about me or about Mercy, and she stuck her big fucking nose directly in my business.
I thought my baby girl was fine on her own. And she would’ve been! It was only a couple of hours, once. Any other time, I would’ve gotten a sitter. I tried to that night. I’d had no other choice.
And no one understood. They all sat and judged me like they were so perfect. Anyone would’ve done what I did!
All of a sudden the cops were calling me at the strip club, saying they’d had a report of a seven-year-old on her own. I had to leave work to go explain myself to them. I thought that would be it, but no. CPS workers kept dropping by over the next couple of weeks, taking notes in their little books as they judged me with their dead-eyed stares.
There was a court hearing, which was all a blur of one person after another telling a judge how Mercy was “in need of protection.” Protection from me! Then that nightmare of a day when the cops came and took her away. I couldn’t see or hear anything through my screaming and crying. It felt like my soul was being ripped out of my body.
Noticing the speedometer was creeping up to eighty, I forced out a breath and eased off the gas. The last thing I needed right now was a speeding ticket. God, I couldn’t even imagine.
I had to stay positive. Couldn’t let my anger take over me. I had to look at the bright side of things. Like the foster parents – they seemed nic
e enough. They weren’t mean or abusive, like foster families I’d heard about.
But how could I be grateful for the people who were keeping my baby from me? My jaw tightened again, and my foot bore down on the gas. The car jumped forward, earning me a honk from someone in the other lane. I flipped them the bird as I sped ahead.
Fuck them. Fuck all of them. The worst of the bunch was that obnoxious little social worker, Sylvia. All prim and proper, with her delicate features arranged in a permanent sneer. Her nose was so far up in the air, I was surprised she could even see ahead of her. She wore her blonde hair in a sleek ponytail, not one single strand out of place.
She made me sick. The way she kept insisting she wanted Mercy to go home to me… I could see right through her. She thought Mercy was better off with that old couple. She wanted her to stay with them.
I’d nearly missed my exit off the highway. I swung across two lanes, not caring about the screech of brakes behind me. Although I slowed the car to a normal pace, I was still breathing raggedly by the time I pulled into the parking lot at the strip club.
I needed to put on a happy face, or I wasn’t going to get any tips. With no tips, I’d barely make anything. I’d miss making rent, and I’d get evicted, and then I’d really have no chance of getting my baby back.
Breathe, Jenelle, just breathe. I took a big gulp of air and let it slowly out. I needed a night off so badly. There was no way I could flirt and joke with the customers tonight, not in the foul mood I was in. But what else could I do?
I would’ve killed for a hit of a joint. That was my go-to stress relief before Mercy was born – not that I knew what real stress was back then. But I’d stopped during pregnancy, and now I had to stop again. The court could order a drug test anytime.
I wondered how that social worker relaxed after work. It had to be so stressful, keeping kids away from their parents. She probably went on vacation four or five times a year, Jamaica or Thailand or Greece. She probably went with her husband. No, she was single. Maybe her boyfriend – or her high school friends. She seemed like one of those people who stuck with the same crowd for life, never expanding their horizons or bothering to look farther than the narrow slice of the world that was initially presented to them.
With her clear lack of empathy, I wondered why she’d become a social worker at all.
I gazed longingly at my glove compartment. Half a joint was still there from before all the bullshit had happened. I’d feel so much better after one hit – maybe two.
Surely the court wouldn’t drug test me anytime soon. One or two tiny hits would be safe.
But no. I couldn’t let myself do that.
For Mercy’s sake, I stepped out of the car.
Three – Sylvia
Two in-agency visits, two home visits, and I was finally finished typing up the case notes for the day. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to bring some moisture back into them. The hour of staring at the computer screen had dried them out.
“Drinks?” Max asked, spiking his hair up with his fingers as he shifted his weight between his feet. When no clients were around, his flamboyance came out.
We’d hit it off immediately when I started at this job six months ago. It didn’t take me long to figure out he was gay, and when I subtly dropped a reference to a girl I’d dated, that made us even closer.
We spent a good part of the day working together, but there was always more to talk about. These days, we went for drinks together two or three times a week. It was great to unwind with someone who understood exactly what I went through at this job. Although he was my supervisor, we were on a level playing field as soon as we left the office.
We didn’t agree on everything. In fact, sometimes we clashed a fair bit. But in general, I was happy to be able to call him a friend.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It sounds great, but I’m tired.”
I couldn’t get that one woman’s face out of my mind – the harsh young features and the anger that contorted them. She’d stood out from the rest of the irresponsible parents I dealt with. She’d been my last appointment of the day, which was probably why I was still thinking about her. I didn’t look forward to seeing her twice a week for the next few months.
“When you’re tired, that’s when you need a drink the most,” Max said. “Come on, you’ll wake up once we get there.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Hanging out with him was always a good time. “I’ll just have one.”
“That’s what you always say.” He linked his arm through mine as I stood up.
Ten minutes later, we were at the bar that did our favorite happy hour. Five-dollar beers and half-price appetizers – it couldn’t be beat. It wasn’t the fanciest place, but I still considered it a hidden gem in our neighborhood.
We grabbed our usual table, and the owner brought two beers over automatically. “Sweet potato fries with chipotle mayo?” she asked.
“You know it.” I grabbed my drink.
Max and I quickly got down to doing what we did best – talking shit about our clients. “That one man this morning should never be allowed near a child,” I breathed. “Did you see how uncomfortable he was with his daughter? He was trying to have a full-on adult conversation with her.”
“Who could blame him? I doubt he ever tried to engage with her before she was taken away. Now he’s trying to make the effort and he doesn’t know how to do it.”
“Why even bother?” I shook my head. “Just let the kid go.”
“I’d guess he’s trying to make himself look good to his wife. Maybe she’ll leave him if they don’t get the girl back.”
“That makes total sense. You’re like a psychic.”
“It’s no sixth sense.” He laughed. “You see the same things over and over on this job. You’ll get there eventually.”
He was probably right. My last job had been helping seniors find services like meal delivery and home healthcare. After a while, I could almost predict what a client needed from watching them walk into the office.
After the organization was restructured, I’d wanted something more interesting than sitting in an office all day. I’d sure found it. Sometimes this work was a little too “interesting.”
The owner set our sweet potato fries in front of us, and I reached for a handful. I hadn’t even realized I was starving. “Could we get the bruschetta, too?” I asked. “And some guacamole?” I knew Max would eat half of whatever I ordered, and that we’d end up splitting the cost.
“Someone’s feeling better.” Max grinned.
Sitting back in my chair, I shrugged. “Guess I needed to eat. What’d you think of that woman this afternoon, Jenelle Emory?”
“A good person in a bad situation,” he said. “She’s doing her best, but sometimes that’s not enough.”
“You think?” I raised an eyebrow as I munched on a fry. “She seemed pretty awful to me.”
“She loves that little girl from the bottom of her heart.”
“I’m not disputing that, but she was going to leave her alone for an entire night.”
“Because her childcare was canceled at the last minute.”
“Then she should’ve skipped her shift.” That was obvious.
“And lost out on the paycheck? You saw in her file she’s been having trouble making rent.”
“Then she needs a better job.”
“Right, I guess she should go down to the job store and get one.” Max rolled his eyes.
He was always too sympathetic with these people we worked with. They’d put themselves in their own situations, if you asked me. They made bad choices and then they were surprised when they ended up with bad results.
“She could try harder to find one,” I said. “She seems reasonably intelligent. There’s no reason she couldn’t work in an office or something.”
“She has a high school diploma. Do you know how many office jobs require a bachelor’s these days?”
“She could do something.”
&n
bsp; “I’m sure she’s cashing people out at a grocery store and bartending at a strip club for seventy hours a week because she doesn’t feel like looking for something better.” Max’s voice was flat.
The bar owner returned with my two plates of food, and I pushed the guacamole toward Max to share. He was the one who got frustrated with me when we butted heads like this. I was used to dealing with soft-hearted people who couldn’t understand how the world worked.
I bit into the bruschetta. “Ooh, this is better than usual.” I took a moment to savor the flavors bursting through my mouth. “That woman could ask her family for help. She could call her friends…”
“Not everyone has a good relationship with their family. And with the amount she’s working, I doubt she has much time for friends.” Despite his audible irritation, he took a chip and loaded it with guac.
“You’re making excuses for her.”
“And you’re blaming her for a situation she didn’t create.” Max gazed at me sternly. “We can’t control everything in our lives, Sylvia.”
“We create our own destinies, and that woman just doesn’t like what she chose. She didn’t have to have a child at all.”
Max scoffed. “You might feel differently if you were in her shoes. People have limitations that aren’t so easy to shake off.”
“Are you going to start talking about privilege and stuff?” Now I was the one rolling my eyes. I’d learned all about that during my bachelor’s, and I still didn’t believe in it.
“No,” Max said. “I’m not going to get through to you. I never do. It’s a waste of my breath.” He set down his fork with a clatter. “God, you could act like you have half a heart.”
Okay, he was angrier than I’d realized. “Sorry.”
We were quiet for a moment, sipping our drinks and eating our food. This wasn’t the first time I’d annoyed people with my loud-mouthed opinions. They were uncommon, especially within the field of social work. A lot of people I worked with were touchy-feely types who spent all their time feeling sorry for our clients. To me, that time would be better spent thinking of ways the client could get their shit together.
Half A Heart Page 2