Chương 3
“Just don’t separate them today.”
Judge Lawson studied me.
“What are you asking for?”
“Time.”
Rachel whispered my name, warning in it.
I went on anyway.
“Give me the temporary placement with every condition you think I need.”
“Daily check-ins.”
“Weekly inspections.”
“Parenting classes.”
“Therapy.”
“Whatever the law allows.”
“If I fail, you’ll have evidence that I failed.”
I looked toward the closed door.
“But if you split them this afternoon, Leo is going to spend tonight wondering which hallway lights are on.”
No one moved.
Judge Lawson picked up his glasses.
He put them on, opened the county’s placement report, and began reading from the first page again.
For the next eleven minutes, the courtroom contained nothing but paper turning, a ventilation fan rattling somewhere overhead, and five children waiting on the other side of a door for adults to decide what the word together was worth.
When Judge Lawson finally stopped turning pages, he left one hand resting on the placement report and looked toward Hale.
“Has the department completed the supplemental home inspection?”
Hale rose.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And?”
“The residence meets physical safety requirements.”
“Any disqualifying history?”
“No.”
“Any substantiated concerns regarding Mr. Vance’s conduct during supervised contact?”
Hale glanced at the county caseworker seated behind him.
“No substantiated concerns.”
Judge Lawson turned to the caseworker.
“Ms. Delaney, I’d like to hear from you.”
Caroline Delaney had been assigned to the children nine days after the fire, which meant she had entered their lives after two emergency workers, a hospital social worker, a county intake specialist, and the overnight foster family had already asked them variations of the same impossible questions.
She stood with a legal pad pressed to her chest.
She was somewhere in her forties, wore red reading glasses on a chain, and spoke as if she had learned through experience that every extra adjective could later become somebody’s exhibit.
“The department remains concerned about capacity,” she said.
“Mr. Vance’s home is appropriate.”
“His background is clear.”
“His supervised interactions have been appropriate.”
“He follows instructions.”
“He asks for clarification when he does not understand something.”
She hesitated.
“He asks a lot of questions.”
I almost smiled.
“That is not necessarily a criticism,” she added.
Hale looked back at her.
Judge Lawson said, “What is the department’s recommendation?”
Delaney inhaled through her nose.
“The department recommends the existing split-placement plan.”
A pressure I had been pretending wasn’t there settled behind my ribs.
Rachel’s fingertips touched my sleeve, not quite reassurance and not quite restraint.
Judge Lawson asked, “Why?”
“Because we have three licensed homes with demonstrated caregiving capacity.”
Delaney shifted her legal pad.
“One home has experience with sibling pairs.”
“One has infant placement experience.”
“The oldest child could be placed with his six-year-old sister in a therapeutic foster home with access to grief services.”
I looked toward her.
“Which sister?”
Her eyes moved to me.
“Mr. Vance, please let the court—”
“Which one?”
Rachel whispered, “Bernard.”
Delaney looked at the judge.
He nodded once.
“Maya.”
I stared at her.
“Leo and Maya together?”
“Yes.”
“And June and Ben together?”
“Yes.”
“And Ellie alone?”
The baby’s name sounded indecent in that arrangement.
Delaney’s mouth tightened.
“The infant would be in a highly qualified foster home.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Hale stood.
“Your Honor.”
Judge Lawson raised a finger.
I shut my mouth.
Delaney did not look angry.
That somehow made it worse.
“The infant would be placed separately,” she said.
“Initially.”
“Initially.”
“The department would prioritize sibling contact.”
“How often?”
Rachel’s hand closed around my wrist.
I stopped.
Judge Lawson asked it for me.
“How often, Ms. Delaney?”
“Current resources could support one supervised sibling visit per week.”
The silence that followed felt different from the earlier one.
It was not emotional.
It was arithmetic.
Seven days.
One room.
Two hours, probably.
Then three cars again.
Judge Lawson looked down at the report.
“Distance between placements?”
Delaney checked her notes.
“Leo and Maya would be approximately twenty-eight miles from the twins.”
“The infant placement is forty-six miles from the first home and thirty-four from the second.”
Judge Lawson’s jaw shifted.
“That complicates visitation.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And school?”
“Leo would likely transfer districts.”
“He just transferred after the fire.”
“Yes.”
“He has attended his current temporary school for how long?”
“Eleven days.”
A strange thought passed through my head.
Somewhere in that school was probably a desk with Leo’s name taped to it.
Maybe a cubby.
Maybe one teacher who had finally learned that he hated bananas or read slowly when strangers watched him.
Eleven days was nothing to an adult.
To a child whose house was gone, eleven days could be the closest thing left to permanence.
Judge Lawson turned several pages.
“The department’s psychological consultant states that sibling separation could aggravate traumatic stress symptoms.”
Delaney nodded.
“That is correct.”
“But still recommends separation?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“The consultant recommends preservation of the sibling unit if a safe, stable, adequately supported placement can be identified.”
Judge Lawson looked over the top of his glasses.
“And the department does not believe Mr. Vance qualifies as adequately supported.”
“That is our primary concern.”
He leaned back.
“What would adequate support require?”
Delaney’s face changed.
Not much.
But enough.
She had expected the court to choose between yes and no.
Judge Lawson was asking her to define the distance between them.
“We would need reliable childcare coverage.”
“Completed trauma-informed parenting instruction.”
“Demonstrated financial sustainability.”
“Medical care coordination.”
“Respite support.”
“An emergency plan.”
“Probably individual therapeutic services for Leo and Maya, developmental screening for the twins, pediatric continuity for the infant, and family therapy when clinically appropriate.”
I listened.
The list was awful.
The list was also finite.
Not easy.
Not cheap.
Not guaranteed.
But finite.
Judge Lawson looked at me.
“Mr. Vance, how many of those requirements can you satisfy today?”
I could have lied in spirit while staying technically truthful.
May you like
I could have made Mrs. Ellis sound younger than sixty-eight.
I could have made Luis’s temporary help sound permanent.
