LACEY WAS A LARGE WOMAN, her upper arms like boiled hams, she dressed meticulously. She wore bright blue shoes, and she kept her hands well, she had pride in her dainty extremities. She had a large folder open on her desk, the morning light shining directly on it like an annunciation—Shevaunne’s life: the record, exclusively, of her misery, her addiction, her failure. Normal people did bad things and didn’t get caught and those bad things could be forgotten or forgiven and then they evaporated. But people like Shevaunne could never shake them off, the folder got thicker and heavier, the gigabytes or whatever on the computer swelled like over-hydrated cells. The good that Shevaunne did—there must be some, the simple act of not abandoning her son at the interstate rest area while she got high—these were not accounted for.
Somewhere, Ben reckoned, the Department for Children and Families must have a folder on him, a faded green folder such as this, with a label on the side, Benjamin L. Comeau. And inside, a photograph of his blank child’s face, his shuttered eyes, the clear skin of his seven-year-old self. There would be the story of Benben, their version, succinct, factual, reports from doctors and shrinks, foster parents, schools, assessments from a dozen caring women like Lacey. He’d really been no trouble, he’d adjusted, a bright boy, scholarship material. He wondered if Lacey had already found the file, read it; if it would somehow count for him or against him in his bid for guardianship of Jake. He was in the system, once and always, its ward, its product.
Lacey regarded Shevaunne. “You’re aware that you missed your last drug test.”
“I had the wrong day, I, ah, I wrote it down wrong. It was my fault, yeah,” Shevaunne nodded, licked her lips.
“And your P.O., Officer Feldman, wasn’t able to find you at the address listed here in Concord.”
“I moved in with Ben. Ben, here. In April. May? Was it May, Ben? And I meant to tell Feldman. It’s just been, you know, I’m staying out of town, Ben lives out in Lost Nation. I’m out there so I can stay clean.” She began to jiggle her left foot.
“And will today’s test be clean?”
Shevaunne glanced at Ben, he did not reciprocate. “Yeah, I’m clean.” Then she bit her lip. “But I had a little toke and a beer.”
“As long as it was ‘little.’ But it shouldn’t happen again.” Lacey flipped to another page. “And where is Jake at the moment?”
Shevaunne’s drifting gaze suggested he could be anywhere, in the car by himself, under a bed.
Ben leaned in. “He’s at the daycare. Little Feet.”
“And he’s enrolled in school this fall?”
“Yes,” said Ben.
“Where?”
“East Montrose.”
Lacey nodded, returned her attention to Shevaunne. “He was supposed to start last year. You had him registered in Concord. Why didn’t he go?”
Shevaunne looked at the floor. “I forgot.” A long moment passed, Lacey purposefully leaving the space. At last Shevaunne looked right at Lacey, “I know I’m a shit mother. And that’s why I’m here with Ben, so he can be Jake’s guardian. I mean—in case—” she gave a little laugh. She was very convincing, thought Ben. “We all know what’ll happen to me. Eventually.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I’ll stay clean and go back to school and get my GED, and what? Work in Dollar General? Sure.”
“People do. People have jobs, they raise their children.”
“People,” Shevaunne made a little noise, possibly a laugh. “Junkies are not people.”
“To this office you are, to the legal system you are.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Nothing to do with sweetness.” Lacey shuffled more papers. “It says here ‘Father’s whereabouts unknown.’ Any ideas?”
“Dead. Or jail be my guess.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Sure,” Shevaunne obliged, and Lacey dutifully picked up her pen. “Junkie Dickhead.”
Lacey simply put the pen down, swung back to Ben. “And, Ben, anything going to come up in the background check?”
“I’ve got bad credit, some legal stuff.”
“What legal stuff?”
“Fraud, trespass.”
“Any convictions?”
Ben shook his head. “Not yet.”
“But pending?”
“It’s on appeal.”
“Can you give me the case details?”
Ben shifted in his chair. “Guy called Paul Steiner. Didn’t like how I logged his land.”
Lacey continued: “Otherwise, I see four years of military—Marines, right out of high school?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Honorable discharge. Right? And between then and now?”
“Alaska, Colorado. Just worked whatever jobs. But I’m from here, guess I was always going to come back here.”
“Your own business, the logging. And how’s that—aside from Mr. Steiner?”
“Pays the bills. Mostly.”
“Stable?”
“For logging. For ’round here.”
“Why do you want to be Jake’s guardian?”
He wasn’t a relative, he wasn’t a family friend; he was a guy from Shevaunne’s sketchy life. A creep, a predator, potentially. He couldn’t, therefore, use words like “love.” On the other hand, Lacey was aware that he was Jake’s only real shot at staying out of the over-crowded foster system if Shevaunne fucked up. If. When.
Ben said, “Just give him a home he can count on, regular meals, school. A quiet, safe place.” He raised his eyes to hers, just a moment, before dropping them again. “What I didn’t have.”
Lacey fluttered her pretty hands over the folder, shutting it. “And you’re aware that Jake suffered trauma with a previous male in his life?”
“I assumed. Something made it so he won’t talk.”
“You should be aware of the severity of the incident.”
Shevaunne stood up, moved to the window.
“Jake was placed in foster care two years ago,” Lacey began. “Shevaunne lost custody for 18 months. He had been found wandering along the railway tracks, poorly nourished, covered in lice and bed bug bites.”
There was more, Ben could tell.
“Shevaunne?” Lacey glanced at Shevaunne, as if for permission. Shevaunne shrugged. So Lacey turned the file toward Ben, her pretty painted nail arrowing to a specific paragraph.
Please don’t, he thought, please don’t let there be—
Lacey’s manicured index finger arrowing to the words. Ben read. He read. He sat back in the chair.
Lacey folded her pretty hands, moving on. “The guardianship hearing will probably take place in a few weeks. We have to go to court and make a clear case because Ben isn’t a relative. Until then, Shevaunne, you’ve got to see your P.O. and go to meetings and submit to your tests and those need to be clean. If we have to take Jake away before the hearing, it will endanger Ben’s bid for guardianship. You could lose your son for good this time. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Ben said.
Shevaunne still had her eyes out the window and Lacey shut the file. “We have the home visit scheduled for two days’ time. Is that still convenient?”
“Absolutely.”
Outside, Shevaunne and Ben got in the truck.
“I still don’t get it,” she said.
Ben put the keys in the ignition. His hands were trembling; he did not want her to see.
Shevaunne went on. “I keep trying to figure you out.”
He finally found the slot, jammed the key in, the engine roared.
“Like, come on, Ben. If you wanted to fuck me that would be one thing. Don’t ya wanna fuck me?” She glanced at him almost coyly, shifting her arms so her breasts squeezed upward.
Suddenly, he lashed out, his hands at her throat, his thumbs pressing upward against her jaw. He felt her life, he felt the pulse, her neck thin as a chicken’s, the delicate bones, the pale blue veins of her. She tried to pry him away, but he held her until she gargled and fretted and little flecks of white spit gathered at the corners of her mouth. Then he let her go. “I would never fuck you. You make me sick.”
“Be sick then,” she held his gaze. “But I need my bump.”