Chapter 2 - Not Our Problem
The social worker asked Melissa to wait in a separate consultation room while a pediatric ER doctor examined Sarah. Christopher stayed with our daughter. I stood by the vending machines with my phone in my hand, too tired to trust my own balance.
I called Carolyn back first.
Our neighbor answered on the first ring. “How is she?”
“They’re checking her now.”
Carolyn let out a breath that sounded old. “James, I stayed with her until your brother came. She wouldn’t leave the driveway. Every time I tried to get her onto my porch, she said she wasn’t allowed to go anywhere else.”
“How long was she out there?”
“At least five hours. I took my trash out around seven-thirty, and she was already sitting by your garage door.”
I pressed my knuckles to my mouth. Melissa had told the nurse Sarah had “run outside” after an argument. She had not said five hours.
I thought of the calls I’d made from Minneapolis. Twenty to Melissa. One to Norma.
She’s not our problem anymore.
At the time it had sounded monstrous. In the ER hallway, it became specific.
Christopher came out of the exam room and handed me a paper cup of water. “There are bruises on both forearms. One older, one fresh. Cut lip. Bloody nose. No fracture.”
I stared at him. “Older?”
“She covered one with those friendship bracelets she always wears. Rachel noticed the skin line.”
He leaned against the wall. My brother always looked calmer when he was angriest. “Sarah says Melissa locked the mudroom door after taking her phone. Then she left.”
“Left where?”
“Norma’s.”
The cup bent in my hand.
A few minutes later, the social worker introduced herself as Dana Mills and took us into a small family room with a fake landscape print on the wall. She spoke in the careful, level voice people use when they know one sentence can split a household open.
“Because of Sarah’s age, her injuries, and what she disclosed, I’ve made a report to DCFS,” she said. “Until they complete an initial safety assessment, Sarah should not be alone with her mother.”
Melissa sat across from me, her knees together, chin high with a kind of offended dignity I had once mistaken for strength.
“So that’s it?” she said. “I’m being treated like an abuser because my daughter lies when she’s upset?”
Dana didn’t flinch. “Your daughter is afraid to be near you.”
Melissa looked at me. “James, say something.”
I did. It just wasn’t what she wanted.
“Why was she outside for five hours?”
For the first time, Melissa’s expression wavered. Not because she was sorry. Because she hadn’t expected Carolyn to count.
Dana said Sarah would be discharged to a safe caregiver. Before I could speak, Sarah’s voice came from the doorway.
“Can I go with Uncle Chris?”
May you like
I turned. She was wrapped in a hospital blanket, her small fingers twisting the edge of it.
She hadn’t asked to go home.
