She trailed off, looked out the window, and brushed a finger over her lips. Bobbi saw she’d taken to carrying a purse, a leather bag that sat on the floor beside her. Carrie had not been a purse-carrying woman when she’d left Roy with a toddler and an infant and headed to California.
Still looking out the window, Carrie said, “I was just remembering – we went to the grocery store once, me and Roy and the kids – Mason was just, I don’t know, he was like a couple months old, I guess, but Hailey was almost two, or so, and she wanted one of the things in those machines. You know? The little red machines and they spit out the plastic bulb thingies and the little toy is inside? And in this one was this little pink teddy bear thing, and she loved it. Cutest little thing. And we took it with us, but then the next day I dropped her at Anita’s house, so I could, um, go to work, and I forgot the little pink bear. Holy shit – sorry, I mean, my God, did she freak out. She wanted that bear. Had a full-on meltdown. Would not let it go. All day she’s upset about it. And this little house… the way she’s acting, it sounds just like that. Like she’s freaking out, the flowers in the flower boxes have wilted, and somehow Anita blames me for the whole thing.”
Carrie turned toward Bobbi, her face open, expecting a solution to it all.
Then Carrie said, “I mean, you know about Roy, right? He’s a lot of things – he’s not a liar, though.”
Bobbi didn’t answer. Roy had managed with the kids for a while but was a bad drinker, made a beer run one night and got pulled over just as he was arriving back home. Cops found out he’d left his kids inside, alone.
The kids were asleep and okay, but the cops field-tested Roy, arrested him, and called child services. Here was a guy with a clear drinking problem, leaving his small children alone at ten o’clock at night while he went out for more alcohol. And, at the time, was driving with a suspended license. Roy went to court, was ordered to attend parenting classes, didn’t, got pulled over again for driving drunk two years later, this time with no license, the kids in the car, also late at night, and the kids went away. They were given temporary placement with Anita, his mother, and that placement had endured, even after he got out of jail for felony DWI and aggravated unlicensed driving.
Now Carrie had returned, having seen the light, and wanted her kids back. But, four years had gone by. The kids were secure in a loving home.
“I believe Roy observed his daughter was stressed,” Bobbi said finally. “And what you’re talking about – little Hailey, two-year-old Hailey crying about the tiny little teddy bear – it was like her heart was broken, right?”
“Oh, she was devastated. I mean, yeah, just heartbroken. Like she’d lost everything.” Then Carrie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re taking Anita’s side, aren’t you? I can see it.”
“I’m on Hailey’s side. My point is, two-year-olds haven’t learned to regulate their emotions. Losing that little toy was as bad as an adult losing their job, or their house; there’s no real sense of scale when you’re two, and that’s what we help teach them.”
Bobbi edged a little closer in her chair. Carrie had always had a hard time making eye contact, but she looked over as Bobbi said, “As the parent, you say, you know, ‘There, there, it’s alright – I’ll get the teddy and bring it back in a little bit.’ Or, you try to offer an alternative toy, or you distract them with a game or something. Right?”
“Yeah.” Back to brushing her lip again with her finger, biting her nail.
And now, carefully, “So, when there’s that situation, and the parent is not doing those things, if the parent is drunk, maybe, dismissive, and they shout, ‘What are you bawling at? Get out of here.’ Then the child is not learning how to cope, how to self-regulate. And that can continue on.”
“Roy wants them back, too.”
It took Bobbi a moment. “What do you mean?”
“He got in some big fight with Anita. I mean, like I said, he wouldn’t lie about nothin’, not when it comes to the kids…”
“Carrie. Forget Roy. He’s burned too many bridges. You have to focus on what you need to do. Don’t listen to him, don’t talk to him if you can help it. You’ve got your own work cut out for you. You want healthy, happy kids?”
Carrie nodded, her mouth working, like she was on the verge of tears.
“Then keep it straight. Keep your eye on the prize, and remember that those two kids are all that matters. You’ve got a long road ahead, but you can do it.”
The tears fell, and Carrie’s chest hitched with a sob, but it was all good growth, Bobbi thought. She wanted Carrie to succeed, completely and wholeheartedly, and thought Carrie was developing the chops to do just that. But there was no sugar-coating anything; her kids were going to be messed up from the three years they’d spent alone with a drunk father, even if they’d gone to Anita eventually.
“I know you’re grateful to Anita,” Bobbi said. “It’s tough to have your ex-boyfriend’s mother be the one who your children are with every day, saying goodnight to them, tucking them in.”
Full crying now. “I’ll never forgive myself for it…”
Bobbi decided not to remark on forgiveness. They had a plan for Carrie, and it was working. Her therapist could work on the forgiveness part.
“My parents took in foster children,” Bobbi said instead, trying to reel Carrie back in.
“Oh yeah?” She sniffed and took a tissue when Bobbi handed her the box.
“I’m actually the only biological kid my parents had,” Bobbi said. “And I was a surprise.”
Carrie wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and faced Bobbi a bit more directly.
Bobbi said, “I had foster sisters and brothers. Eight, all together.”
“At one time?”
“Different times. My parents only took on three foster children at one time. Most of my growing up was with my two foster brothers.”
“Were they, you know, screwed up? From their, um, biological parents? Or were they okay?” Carrie looked hopeful – their good news could mean good news for Hailey and Mason.
“Carrie, you’re back. That’s what’s important. And Hailey is young, just eight years old, and you’ve got a wonderful adventure ahead of yourself.”
“Because I heard this thing, um, on Dr. Phil or something, that by age five, kids are like hardwired or something. And I left when Hailey was four…”
“There’s a lot of development in the first five years, sure, but we’re still changing right through our whole lives. Look at you.”
At last, a smile.
“You’re doing it,” Bobbi said. “You got this. Okay?”
Carrie sniffed, blew her nose again, nodded. “Okay.”
* * *
Brit Silas was calling. Mike realized he’d fallen asleep in his clothes again. Come home last night after the casino and run-in with Cody Blackburn, laid down, and went out like a light, apparently.
“Brit, what’ve you got?” His mouth tasted funny.
“Mike, the River Street house is a total mess. We’re talking eighteen different individual sets of fingerprints, and that’s so far – my two best guys are still there. Oh, and that’s with all the cleaning the real estate agency claims they did on the place. That woman, Bilger, she shows up non-stop, checking on everything.”
“But the attic?”
“Nothing in the attic. First of all, it’s 120 degrees up there. Literally. That doesn’t mean my crime scene didn’t do the work; they did. But there are no prints, save for one partial we found and matched to a set I’m sure will be eliminated once we get everything in from the previous owners. But this was a family, kids – and kids have friends over… It goes on and on.”
Mike swung his legs over the bed and sat up, tried to get the knots out of his neck – they seemed to be worse, like he’d slept hard the wrong way. “Doorknob?”
“Front doorknob, nothing, probably wiped down by Bilger’s people. Rear basement doorknob, six, maybe seven different prints, never got cleaned. Skin oils are non-volatile, so again, we’re looking to eliminate these as family and friends. That’s going to take a while.”