Page 8 of Going All In

Linda watches Julio climb the stairs and waits for the bedroom door to close before she turns to me and motions to the living room. We sit down, and she folds her hands in her lap, looking at Brad, and immediately, I know what’s coming.

Julio was right.

“Holly, thank you as always for everything you do. It’s always a joy to work with you. And you know we’ve loved being foster parents for so many years.”

I nod, waiting. Being a social worker teaches you to be comfortable with silence, to allow people to finish their thoughts rather than jumping in with your own words to fill the space.

“We’ve made the tough decision that we are going to retire from being foster parents, at least for the time being. Our daughter is pregnant with her first child, our first grandchild, and we want the freedom to go see her and be involved in their lives. We may one day be in a position to take on short-term foster placements again, but for now we need to step back.” Linda lets out a relived sigh, like a weight has been lifted, and sits back.

“When will you be retiring? That is, when do you need me to find another placement for Julio?” My voice is calm. I squeeze my hand around my pen, so it doesn’t shake.Please, please give me time to find him a good home.

Brad and Linda look at each other. Brad clears his throat. “We can take care of Julio through the end of the year.”

Shit.The likelihood that I’ll be able to find a placement for Julio between Thanksgiving and New Year’s is slim. I can’t bear to think of him in a group home for the holidays. I realize I’m gripping my pen so hard my knuckles are turning white and force myself to ease up. Foster parenting is a voluntary position, so I can’t force them to keep him any longer. I just wish things were easier for him. He’s the sweetest kid, and he deserves a wonderful home.

“That sounds fine. Thank you for letting me know. Have you told Julio? Or would you like me to help share the news?”

* * *

I hold in my tears until I’m in my car and pulling out of the driveway. Julio was the same stoic little kid I’ve known for four years. He knew what was coming— he’d overheard them earlier, after all—and he just nodded his head with a sad expression on his face.

I wish, not for the first time, that I could take him home with me. It’s a hazard of the job. I became a social worker because I wanted to help kids, but the reality is that you can’t always help in the way you want.

The entire thirty-minute drive back to the office, I sit in silence, tears drifting down my cheeks, barely even looking at the Schuykill River. I’ll pull it together before I go back into the building, but here in my private space, I let the emotions flow. I cry for Julio. For the kids whose parents don’t want them. For the kids who have no parents. For the ones whose parents desperately want them but aren’t able to take care of them.

I’ve been a caseworker for the Department of Human Services since I graduated with my master’s in social work. The longer I do this, the more I realize just how blessed I am.

I pull into the lot of the DHS building and find an empty parking space. My phone buzzes with a notification as I pull into the spot.

JJ

Drinks tonight?

She’s insane. So much for the girl who was hungover on our couch a few hours ago. But after this home visit where I got a bomb dropped on me, I need a drink. A big one. One that can make me forget this entire fucked-up situation.

Because I can only ignore Maddox’s morning texts for so long. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to talk to him.

4

MADDOX

Isend my morning text to Holly, hoping she’s willing to talk today. It’s been days since The Dinner, as I’ve been calling it in my head. Every morning I send agood morningor ahave a good dayor something else benign. And every day I get crickets. I cross my fingers as I hitSend.

Holly

Good morning, beautiful.

Good morning

So. My mom and your dad.

Yeah.

You okay with it?

Your mom seems great. It seems like she makes my dad happy.

But are you okay with it? I know it’s only been a few years since your mom died.

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