Cami’s once again pacing when I enter the conference room. It feels like a continuation from the conversation we had before I left on maternity leave.
A very sad and disappointing continuation. The box I’m carrying, filled with new school year supplies and a care kit I scored from Homeless Services, suddenly feels too heavy to carry.
I set it down on the conference table, and ask, “Hey, how are you doing, Cami?”
I keep my voice bright and cheery, but I can already see the answer to my question in her appearance. Not well.
Her skin is completely broken out, and she has dark circles under her eyes like she hasn’t slept in days. She’s wearing an oversized UNC Charlotte hoodie, but I can tell she’s gotten even skinnier since we talked last. Her legs look like sticks, even though, according to her last check-in with the social worker who stood in for me over the summer, she’d found a part-time job at a local fast food chain.
“I’m dropping out,” she announces, barely glancing at the box of supplies I brought in for her. “I saved every penny I could from my summer gig, but it just isn’t enough. I’ve got to drop out and get a second job. That’s the only way I’m going to be able to save up enough money to get an apartment for Talia and me.”
My stomach sinks. “Cami, that’s not a good idea.”
“I knew you would say that!” Cami abruptly stops pacing and holds up her hands, as if trying to ward off my reasonable argument. “You think I should finish my degree. Just let my sister go into foster care. But you don’t know how it feels.”
She hugs herself, her shoulders hunching. “You don’t know how it feels to have somebody do things to you like that. I can’t let the system have her. I just can’t!”
My heart clenches with sadness for both her and her sister. Cami obviously cares so much about her half-sister even though they’ve never met. And considering her homeless circumstances, her advocacy has been nothing short of heroic. I admire her so, so much. But…
“Talia isn’t going into the system,” I tell her, ripping the Band-Aid as fast as I can.
Cami drops her arms, her whole body sagging with shock. “What?”
“I’m sorry.” I cross the room so that I can be within hugging distance as I tell her the heavily redacted version of the case worker’s story. “The social worker interviewed both your father and Talia, but she didn’t find any signs of abuse.”
“That’s because he coached her,” Cami insists. “He coached me the same way. Told me he’d kill my mom if I told anybody about our special time.”
Cami’s face contorts with pain and disgust. “That’s what he called what he did to me. Our special time. And when I talked to Talia, she said that’s what he called it too. I told her…” Cami shakes her head, her expression becoming mournful. “I told her she had to report him when the social worker came around, but I guess she was just too scared.”
I hold up a hand, a sour taste suddenly springing to my mouth. “What do you mean you talked to Talia? I thought you two had never met.”
“I mean, not before her mother died, but after that…yeah. I’m planning on raising her after they put our dad in jail. I didn’t want to be a complete stranger.” Cami folds her arms again. This time defensively. “Plus, her babysitter doesn’t keep that close of an eye on her when she takes her to the playground after school.”
“Oh, Cami…” I rub my forehead. “Please tell me none of these conversations took place after you asked me to have a social worker open a case file on Talia.”
Cami folds her arms even tighter and looks at the ground. “I had to let her know she wasn’t alone in this,” she mumbles. “That’s what I hated most when he would come over. The feeling that no one else cared about me. I mean, my mom was there, but she was always willing to look the other way if he gave her enough money for drugs.”
She looks back up at me. “That’s why I had to keep visiting her every day after school. Please believe me.”
I study her sharply for a few moments, looking for any sign of duplicity. But her logic makes sense from a victim’s standpoint, if not from a social worker’s. And though her father claims she’s only in this for the money, here she is after having saved up an entire summer, threatening to drop out because it wasn’t enough for a down payment on an apartment.
“I believe you,” I conclude in the end. “And I’m sure you only had the best intentions when you talked to your sister. But no one else is going to see it like that. If you talked to her, coached her in any way to make these claims against your father…”
“They’re not claims.” Cami’s eyes beg me to believe her. “He’s hurting her. I know he is. Not during the investigation probably. But definitely before and for sure now that they’ve cleared him.”
She unfolds her arms and points an accusing finger at me. “When did that happen, by the way? Where were you even?”
No, I’m not Too Nice Naima anymore. But it’s easy not to take offense at her accusing tone when I can see the kind of raw pain she’s in. “Out on maternity leave,” I answer gently. “But the case worker only informed him this morning of her findings, according to the notes.”
“This is bullshit. This is such bullshit. I have to go over there.”
Cami tries to push past me to the door, but I grab onto her arm. “Talking to your sister at the park is one thing. If you go over to her house, you’re going to give your father grounds to file a restraining order against you.”
“I don’t care!” Cami answers, trying to tug her thin arm out of my grip. “I can’t just leave her with him when I know what he’s going to do to her.”
“Okay, maybe you don’t care, but your next employer most definitely will if you have to explain why there’s an arrest on your record when they do a background check,” I answer, holding on to her arm as tight as I can. “You’ve worked so hard, Cami. You’ve withstood your own mother dying and given up all comforts to get this degree. But all your hard work and sacrifice won’t mean anything if you can’t get a job. And if you’re in jail, how are you going to support your little sister?”
Cami kicks at a chair and yanks her arm away. But I stay calm, setting the temperature, as I wait for my words to sink in through all that helpless rage.
I can tell I’ve reached her when her expression crumples from angry to despondent. “What can I do?” she asks me. “I’ve got to do something.”
I let out a sad breath and tell her the truth. “Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do now. Tomorrow morning, I’ll go to the head of the agency, and request for the case to be reopened, this time with another social worker assigned to it. I can cite a conflict of interest. Since the social worker who was put on the case attends the same church as your father. I might be able to argue bias.”
This is more than I should be telling any client about a case file totally outside of my department. But I’m rewarded for my lack of discretion, when Cami quickly nods. “Okay, okay. That sounds like a plan. He’ll leave her alone if he knows somebody is watching.”
“Great. So we’ve got a plan, but Cami…” I tilt my head to look her in the eye. “You can’t go anywhere near your sister. The best thing you can do is return to UNCC next month, keep getting good grades and set yourself up to land a full-time job that will provide you with enough money to take care of you and your sister after you graduate.”
I spend an hour going over the new plan with Cami and receive her promise that she’ll stay away from her sister this time. We even discuss putting in an Amazon order for her books after she applies for her second to last semester of classes.
But I’m conflicted as I walk her out to the car with the box of supplies. I’ve given her enough hope to return to school for her senior year, but the chances of my request for a second inquiry being granted is slim at best.
Even if my boss, who was so concerned about Carlos Marino’s reputation that he assigned a sympathetic church friend to Talia’s case, does grant my request for a review…it’s not like I’ll be here to see it through. By this time a month from now I’ll be in the Dominican Republic. And I’ll just have to hope that whoever I’m replaced with takes Cami’s case as seriously as I do.
I know I’m totally right to get myself and my baby out of this situation with Stone, but as Cami drives away in her nineties’ era Acura, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m doing her a huge disservice. Not to mention Talia.
I’ve finally figured out a way to get out from under Stone’s thumb, but I couldn’t feel worse.
Which is why I answer my phone, that night when Cami calls, even though I’ve just gotten Garnet down to bed.
“Hello?” I say. “Are you alright?”
“No, I’m not alright. I’m not alright at all!” Cami’s voice comes back watery and broken, like she’s stopped sobbing just to answer my question. “I did something. Something so, so bad.”
Alarm bells don’t just go off—they blare inside my mind. But I force myself to stay on my Calm Social Worker setting as I ask, “Cami, are you safe? Are you in need of medical attention?”
“No, but…but…” she starts sobbing so hard I can barely understand the words coming out of her mouth. Something about her father…and Talia…and seeing something he was about to do on her computer.