Chapter 2 - THE EXCUSES I HAD CALLED GRIEF
Drew had a healing fracture of his lower leg.
Not healed.
Healing.
The doctor estimated the injury was at least four days old.
Possibly longer.
There were other concerns.
Dehydration.
Weight below what his previous pediatric chart suggested.
Several bruises of different ages.
Nothing the doctor wanted me interpreting myself.
So I didn't.
A hospital social worker named Beth Alvarez came in.
She asked me who had legal custody.
“Rachel Foster. Their mother.”
“Anyone else regularly cares for them?”
I almost said no.
Then Sarah answered from behind me.
“I help sometimes.”
I turned.
“You do?”
Her expression tightened.
“When Rachel gets stuck at work.”
“How often?”
“Not much.”
I didn't remember Rachel ever mentioning that.
Beth noticed.
She wrote something down.
Drew would barely speak while Sarah remained in the room.
Once she left to get coffee, he relaxed.
Beth crouched beside him.
“Can you tell me where you hurt your leg?”
“The stairs.”
“Which stairs?”
“The downstairs ones.”
“Did you fall?”
He nodded.
Then looked at me.
“She said stop trying the door.”
“Rachel?”
His lips closed.
Beth didn't push.
Neither did I.
Lily had no serious injuries, but the staff documented how quickly she ate and how distressed she became when food was removed for a routine examination.
By afternoon, Franklin County Children Services and Westerville police were involved.
Rachel arrived at the hospital furious.
Not frightened.
Furious.
“You had no right to call anyone before calling me.”
I stared at her.
“Your six-year-old walked seven blocks on a broken leg.”
“He ran away.”
“He crawled.”
Her face shifted.
Then she looked toward Sarah.
Something passed between them.
Fast.
Familiar.
I saw it.
Rachel explained that Drew had fallen playing in the basement several days earlier.
She said she'd believed it was a sprain.
“Why didn't you take him to a doctor?”
“He could walk.”
Drew had told the hospital he couldn't.
Rachel said he exaggerated for attention after Aaron died.
I almost accepted the explanation out of habit.
Then Beth asked:
“Why did Drew say he was locked downstairs?”
Rachel laughed once.
“There isn't even a lock.”
That mattered.
Because nobody had told her Drew used the word locked.
I asked:
“Who told you what he said?”
Rachel looked at Sarah.
May you like
Sarah looked at me.
And for the first time in my marriage, my wife seemed like someone standing on the opposite side of a locked door.
