“What happened?” I’m still furious he didn’t warn me, but I want to know the story.
“A couple of my guys and I paid a visit to Genevieve this afternoon and brought along Patrisha Roberts from the Department of Family Services.” Ice clinks in a glass. A TV plays in the background. “Let’s just say Genevieve wasn’t too receptive to our arrival. She didn’t want to be cooperative, but she didn’t have any other choice. She had to let him go with us. She’s been pitching fits ever since.”
“Did they examine him yet?”
“They did. We don’t have anything official yet, but I’ve talked to the doctor.”
“And?”
“His arms are covered in what are pretty clearly fingertip bruises. They’re in various stages of healing. There’s other bruising on the back of his thighs. Don’t you worry—I made sure to tell them everything you said about them—how he might be bumping into things and putting them there himself. All that. Anyway, doesn’t really matter, because I’m pretty sure he’s not breaking his own bones.” That’s where he stops. He has to.
“What? Broken bones?”
“X-rays are pretty standard practice with multiple bruises on a child’s body like that and especially in those patterns. They found three old fractures on the CT scan. One on his shoulder. Two on the ribs.” He gives me a moment to let the information sink in. He doesn’t need to tell me that the shoulders and ribs are the most common spots for bone breaks in child abuse. “That’s not all they found, though. There’s also scarring on his upper thighs suggesting he might’ve been burned in some way. His body’s a pretty big mess. Genevieve’s insisting that all the injuries are self-inflicted and claims she had no idea about the broken bones, but family services launched an official investigation against her and placed Mason in emergency foster care until they figure it out.”
“They placed him in foster care?” I understand the investigation. That goes without saying, but usually kids are allowed to stay with another family member during it if at all possible.
“We didn’t have any other choice. Genevieve’s parents aren’t an option because her dad has dementia, and her mom provides round-the-clock care for him. John’s parents are out of the country and can’t even be reached.”
How did they remove him so quickly? Things never move that quickly with family services. “What about her siblings?”
“Both out of state.” He pauses, then adds, “And neither of them are willing to take him.”
“So where’d they place him?”
“He’s in one of our best therapeutic foster homes on the west side. He’ll be there until we figure out what’s happening with him and if it’s safe for him to be at home.”
The thought of him being with strangers breaks my heart. All I can think about is Harper and what it would do to her if she were suddenly jerked away from my care and placed in a house with strange people somewhere else. She’d be terrified just like he must be. Poor Mason.
“Now that a formal child abuse investigation has been launched, we can move forward with assigning a court-appointed special advocate like we intended to do from the beginning.” There’s no hiding the pleasure in his voice. Was that his motive all along?
“You’re still looking at him like he did this? He’s an abused kid. He’s messed up in ways we probably don’t even know yet. It will take a long time to unpack everything he’s been through and the extent of the damage.”
“It’s all the more reason he might’ve been responsible for it. If his mom is doing all that crazy stuff like you say, then there’s a chance he might have developed his own twisted and sick tendencies. That’s what happens sometimes when kids have to live with warped parents. Sorry, I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s good news for the case.” All of it makes my stomach hurt. Where’s the justice in any of this?
I want to be the one to hold Mason’s hand through all the difficult interviews and examinations that lie ahead of him. There has to be some kind of formal training to be his court-appointed advocate, so I should get started on it immediately. I have no idea how I’ll squeeze it into my schedule, but I’ll find a way to make it work. “When can I start the CASA training?”
“We can’t request that you be the CASA anymore. It would be a conflict of interest since you were the one that tested him and were involved in the initial child abuse report. There’d be a bit of a confirmation bias, you know?”
I didn’t have anything to do with filing a suspected child abuse report, but I don’t bother correcting him. “Who will it be?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’ve got my feelers out on one potential.”
Guilt hangs over me like a thick overcoat. My excitement over my discovery is gone and replaced with a sickening dread. How did I let myself get so caught up in this?
TWENTY
GENEVIEVE HILL
Nothing’s right with Mason gone. The house is empty. Flat with no life. Feels like it did after John died. The life energy just sucked out the door right along with him.
I don’t have any idea where he is. They won’t give me an address, like he’s in some witness protection program or something. Which would be fine. I’d love to go into witness protection right about now, just not separate from my son. They’re going to regret doing this if I have any say about it.
Not knowing where he is or if he’s okay makes my skin crawl. It’s like a thousand ants are burrowing underneath my skin and having a parade. None of my lotions make it better, but that’s because it’s not out there. It’s inside me. This disgustingness, and I can’t get it off.
I pour myself another glass of wine and stare at my phone like I’ve been doing for the past two hours. I wish there were an easy answer, but there’s not. There never is.