The unanticipated question took me aback for a moment. “Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“I think some folks just don’t like poor people.”
The last time I spoke with a CPS worker, I was twelve. I went to the Center afterward, upset and frustrated. Ironically, the investigation came during one of my mom’s most lucid and involved times. No neglect had been occurring then. Not even close.
That day, Rosa sat me down and delivered a hard truth. Many adults, even well-meaning ones, confused poverty with neglect.
Michelle leaned back in her chair. She didn’t have an answer. I imagined working for CPS made her see things the same way as Rosa.
“Thank you for telling me that.”
“Are we done?” I asked.
“I know you want us to be.” Her eyes held genuine sympathy. “But I’d really like to talk to your brother.”
“He’ll probably be feeling better tomorrow.”
Based on her answering nod, I couldn’t tell if talking to him at school on Monday would satisfy her, or if there would still be a home visit.
I wanted to cut class and head home to check on things, but I worried it would cause too much suspicion. I doubted that Principal Hardcastle enjoyed having CPS come to the school any more than I did, so it seemed like the best course of action was to continue as if it were a normal day.
Lunch was a bright spot. I usually ate with my friend group, other honor students I only hung around with at school, or sometimes with kids from the Center. But Deck insisted I eat with him and Eliazar that day. He kept making dumb jokes and buying me cookies, trying to get my mind off the CPS visit. Being around him made me feel better. Deck always did.
I raced home that afternoon to find Johnny and my mom sitting at the little table working on a jigsaw puzzle. Puzzles were the only normal hobby my mom had. She had raised my brother and me on them. Some of my favorite childhood memories were taking thumbs-up photos in front of ones we finished together.
More importantly, Mom looked sober, and the trailer looked spotless. They’d even hosed down the exterior.
I laughed as I walked through the door. “All we need to do is put some cookies in the oven, and it’s basically a sitcom.”
My mom stood and gave me a long-drawn-out hug. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that this morning, baby girl. You know how sorry I am—”
“Mom!” Johnny and I yelled at the same time.
“We agreed no more apologies after last time, remember?” I reminded her gently. “Johnny and I don’t need them, and it onlyhurts you and us more when you make promises we all know it’s hard for you to keep.”
“Fuck, I’m so—… I mean, I just wish…”
I held her close, wincing at her bony frame. “It’s okay, Mom. We know you’re trying.”
My breath left me with anoomphwhen Johnny slung his long arms around both our shoulders, smooshing us into a tight huddle. “What Cori said,” he agreed.
“How did it go today?” my mom asked me once we sat back down.
“Good. She asked the usual questions, so I’m guessing she was just going through the motions. Checking a box. But I couldn’t get a read on if she’ll come here, or if she’ll wait and talk to Johnny in school next week.”
“Well, we’re ready if she comes,” Mom said. “And cookies sound good. I think I’ll go get some of that rolled chocolate chip dough from the corner market.”
“Get two rolls,” Johnny said, grinning.
We made cookies and finished the puzzle. Michelle never came by. Not that night, and not over the weekend. Mom stayed home even though she kept fretting about needing to “work,” something Johnny and I didn’t dare ask too many questions about.
On Monday, no one came to talk to Johnny in school, and again, no one came to the house.
No one came the rest of the week, either.
The CPS visit began to feel very much in the past.
