We’re nearing the end of a big deadline for getting an order for five hundred UpDown Seats shipped to a major department store chain, and the machines have gone quiet, when I hear loud voices in the office. “You can’t think that I did this!”
“We just need to look over your children, Mr. Whittington. If you would show us someplace that we could go that’s private . . .”
I look at Trey and Alice. They’ve turned toward the office and are listening.
“But why do we have to do this here?”
“Because you’re not at home. We went by your house and no one was there. Please get your wife on the phone and have her bring your children here.”
Trey is the nosiest of the four of us in my department—even nosier than I am—so he walks to the doorway and peers into the front office area. He comes back a few minutes later. “I heard him on the phone with his wife. He said they’re from Child Protective Services. You were right, Alice.”
“They want to see the kids?” I ask. “Why?”
He shrugs, but just then, Cole comes bounding through the workroom with two female caseworkers on his heels. They go toward the break room. “I want to know who called you,” I hear him say.
“We’re not at liberty to give you that information.”
He stops at the break room door. “She fell right here, yesterday. She was skipping, and she slipped and hit her head right here on the door casing. There were multiple witnesses!”
“We just need to see her, Mr. Whittington. Where is your wife?”
“She’s on her way. I told you.”
“And she has the children with her?”
“Yes.”
We all try to go back to work, but none of us can ignore what’s going on in there. This could be dangerous. Someone at her preschool must have reported to them that she had the knot, and since her father is being charged with abuse, of course they had to take it seriously. But I saw this. I know he didn’t do anything wrong.
I abandon my work area and go to the break room, knock on the door. Cole looks up at me. “Yes, Miranda?”
“Um . . . I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing.” I look at the CPS workers. “I just wanted to say that I was in here when his daughter hurt herself yesterday. That’s exactly what happened. She was skipping and tumbled into the doorway. It was no big deal. She didn’t even cry for long.”
The women don’t look like they want to hear that. “Thank you. We’ll talk to you again if we need you.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be right out here.”
In a few minutes, Cole’s wife comes in, clutching the hands of both of her daughters so tightly that her knuckles are white. Her face is ashen, and I can see the fear in her eyes. She goes into the break room, and the social worker closes the door behind her.
We all go back to work, whispering. “They’re blaming him? They won’t even listen?”
“Do you think they’ll take the kids?”
“Surely not. It’s just a bump. All kids get bumps.”
But after a few minutes, I hear Cole’s wife’s voice, rising up from the other side of the wall. “No, you can’t! Please!”
The children start to cry, and I hear Cole begging the caseworkers. “Please, listen to the witnesses.”
There’s an exchange of voices again, all talking on top of each other, then the door opens and each of the caseworkers comes out holding one of the screaming children.
I stop what I’m doing and step toward them, horrified.
“What do we have to do?” his wife cries, reaching for her children. “Please . . . who can we talk to?”
“We’ll have to go before the judge for a shelter hearing,” one of the women says over the child’s screaming. “I’ll let you know when it is.”
“You’ll let us know?” Cole asks, trying to block them. “This is ridiculous. These are our children. The government can’t just come in here and take them!”
The younger daughter, the one with the knot, screams, “Mooommmmyyy!”
Cole’s mother emerges from the front office as the caseworkers get out the door, and all three follow them out. I look through the window and see a struggle, but the women get the children into their car. I touch my chest as the sounds of their cries seem to linger in the air, even after they’ve driven away. I look out the window and see Cole’s wife collapsing in the parking lot. He picks her up and holds her. Mrs. Whittington rushes back in as if there’s someone she can call.
“We have to go after them!” Cole’s wife screams. “We have to go get them!”
He lets her lead him to the car, but as he gazes into the distance, I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking that he’s lost all control, that his life has entered some kind of new dimension, where nothing makes sense and everything is upside down.
I know that look because I’ve worn it myself.
They get into the car, and Cole backs out of the parking lot and drives in the direction they went. I hope he finds someone there with common sense.
I’m crying by the time I turn to my coworkers. Alice is weeping, too, and everyone on the floor is staring at the front door.