“Can I see the letter, ma’am?”
Mrs. Haskell picks her way over to the table, riffles through more papers, and returns with a sheet of my own notebook paper containin’ a handful of lines that, even from a distance, I recognize as Mama’s scratchy penmanship. I pluck the page from her fingers, turn from her, and begin readin’.
To Whom It May Concern,
I’m writing in regards to my daughters, Carey and Jenessa Blackburn . . .
It’s as far as I get before the waterfall blinds me. I wipe my face with the back of my hand, pretendin’ I don’t care that everyone sees.
“Can I keep it, ma’am?”
Without waitin’ for an answer, I fold the paper into smaller and smaller squares before shovin’ it into my jeans pocket.
Mrs. Haskell nods. “That’s just a copy. The original is in your official records. We need it for the hearing, when your case goes before the judge.”
I jut my chin at the man on the bench, who’s watchin’ us, squintin’ through the latticework of cigarette smoke, his form spotlighted by the wanin’ sunlight.
“I know who he is, and we’re not goin’ with him.”
“I have permission from Child Services to release you into his custody.”
“So we have no choice?”
Mrs. Haskell sits down next to me, lowerin’ her voice.
“You have a choice, Carey. If you refuse to go with him, we can place you in foster care. Two foster homes. Our families are pretty full right now, and we can’t find one that can take both of you at present. In light of your sister’s condition—”
“She’s not retarded or nothin’. She just don’t talk.”
“Even so, her, um, issue requires special placement. We found a home for Jenessa, but they’re just not equipped to take two children right now.”
Nessa’s thumb finds her mouth, and her hair, soaked with sweat, falls in a curtain across her eyes. She makes no move to smooth it away. She’s hidin’ in plain sight.
“I can’t leave my sister alone with strangers.”
“I don’t think it’s the best idea, either. We like to place children with relatives whenever possible. Taking into account Jenessa’s bond with you, I think it would be detrimental to her emotional wellbeing to separate the two of you. It’s already going to be a big adjustment as it is.”
I glare in the direction of the man on the bench, this man I don’t know and barely recognize. I think of runnin’ away, like maybe we should’ve done as soon as we saw them comin’. But we have no money, no place to go. There’s no car to pull the camper, since Mama drove off with it, and we can’t stay here. They know where we are now. They know everythin’.
I think of tellin’ her what Mama told me about him, because there’s no way she’d make us go with him, if she knew. But I look down at Ness, disappearin’ before our eyes.
I can’t leave my sister.
“How much time do we have?”
“Enough time to pack up your things. You’ll need to pack a bag for your sister also.”
She leaves us sittin’ there, with the late-afternoon sun dapplin’ the forest floor as if it’s any other day. I watch her reach into the bin by the foldin’ table, then walk back over. She hands me two of the shiny black garbage bags folded up like Mama’s letter. I slip out from under Jenessa, balance her on the tree, and proceed to shake each bag into its full size. We all stop and watch the birds scatter into jagged flight at the unnatural sound of plastic slappin’ the air.
“Just take the necessities. We’ll send someone back to pack up the rest.”
I nod, glad to turn my gaze toward the camper before my face melts again. How could Mama do this to us? How could she leave us to fend for ourselves—leave us at all—without explainin’ or sa-yin’ good-bye?
I hate her with the fury of gasoline set on fire. I burn for Jenessa, who deserves better than this, better than some screwed-up, drug-addicted mother, better than this chaos that always seems to find us, rubbin’ off on us like some horrible rash.
Ness is my shadow as the trailer door creaks on its hinges, this old piece-of-crap ve-hic-le we’ve called home for almost as long as I can remember—definitely as long as Ness can remember.