One day when the paint had dried, he received a call from the home-study social worker, and she was in, and she was out, and it was a new wait, a wait again. The study had been fast as a bubble bursting. Then an evening went long and loose again. They were waiting again, sitting through time.
He began to track time in clients. He would write them down and cross them out like days on a calendar, and because there were more of them than days in the week, it began to feel as though their family was closer.
He met with his client Abraham.
He met with his client Maria.
He met with his client Tyrell.
“Because a pupil is rightless,” Tyrell said. “That’s why. And I’m, no please. Do not. Do not say that word one more time.”
“What word is that?”
“College.”
“Does that word offend you, Tyrell?” Jeremy asked.
“Sure do.”
“And why is that?”
“Because it’s a scam,” Tyrell said.
“A scam.”
“That’s right, Mr. Jordan.”
“You think college is a scam.”
“No, did I say that?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Damn.”
“You seem to feel frustrated, Tyrell.”
The boy shrugged. He was a big boy, but young. It made his hands look smaller as they wrapped around each other, twisting in his lap.
“Why do you feel frustrated, Tyrell?”
“Because it’s a scam.”
“What is?”
“Saying it,” Tyrell said.
“Saying ‘college.’”
“That’s what I said,” he shouted.
Jeremy tried to think of what a father would say. He would need to have more words for his son. He needed them now.