Page 87 of Margo's Got Money Troubles

“I need to do a physical exam of Bodhi to make sure there are no bruises or lacerations or other signs of abuse,” she said brightly.

“Oh,” I said, “as we were talking, he definitely pooped, let me get him changed.”

“That’s okay,” Maribel said. “I can change him. I’ll need to look under his diaper anyway.”

She held out her arms for me to hand over my shitty child. I almost couldn’t make myself do it. I followed her as she knelt on the ground to change him on his changing mat, which was awkward given her pregnant belly. There was poop on my arm. I snagged a wipe to clean it off as surreptitiously as I could. It was a major blowout, and it was clear Maribel didn’t have a ton of diaper-changing experience. She wasn’t using the wipes efficiently and was fighting hard not to gag. I could not imagine this was good. Why had she not allowed me to change him? It was such a weird power move. I’d not been breathing normally for some time and there were purple spots in my vision.

After she’d finally gotten him clean, she pointed to a bit of diaper rash. “What’s this?”

“It’s diaper rash,” I said.

“Have you been doing anything to treat it?”

I told her I’d been putting Boudreaux’s Butt Paste on it and explained he’d begun eating more solids. I thought his poop was more acidic.

“This is diaper rash?” she asked again.

“Yes,” I said. What did she think? That I’d been burning his little butt cheeks with a curling iron?

After that, she wanted to talk with me at the dining room table. Jinx took Bodhi. Suzie had come out of her room and was watching everything, silent and sad-eyed. She and Jinx disappeared into the living room with the baby, and I could hear Sesame Street in the background. I tried to relax. At least we were farther away from the closet.

“And what does Jinx do for work?” she asked.

“He’s retired,” I said.

“What did he used to do?”

I could not see how this was germane to Bodhi’s safety, but I didn’t want to seem difficult. “Um, he was a professional wrestler?”

Maribel looked up, skeptical. “For real? Like with WWE?”

“Actually, he was kind of independent,” I said. I knew that made it sound worse, like he wasn’t legitimate. But there was no way to explain that he could be independent only because he was so famous.

“Any substance abuse problems?” Maribel asked.

I worried I would throw up. “Me?” I asked, stalling. I didn’t know what to do. I knew Ward had told me to lie to Dr. Sharp at the home visit, but this was a different situation.

“No, your father. Have you had any substance abuse problems?”

“No,” I said.

“But your father has never had substance abuse problems even in the past?” Maribel pressed.

She had to know. There was no other reason for her to be asking, I realized. Plus, there were about two decades’ worth of tabloids and wrestling blogs reporting my dad was in rehab; all she’d have to do was google him. “In the past, yes,” I said. “But he’s in treatment and he’s doing really well.”

“So you think he’s clean now?” Maribel asked. “I’m going to ask both of you to provide a urine sample.”

I had no idea if methadone would show up on a drug test. I was guessing it might. “He’s currently on methadone,” I said. “So that may show up on his urine test.”

“Oh, so he’s on methadone?” The tone in Maribel’s voice changed. “How long has he been on methadone?”

I hesitated. If she asked to see proof he was in treatment she’d see the dates, so I couldn’t imagine lying. The truth didn’t sound great, though. “About ten days.” I wanted to explain about him being clean, then his back going out, the ER doctors, the vicious cycle of chronic pain, but it felt like I’d swallowed a chunk of ice.

“Ten days?” Maribel asked, even though she’d heard me perfectly fine.

I nodded, and she was quiet for a bit, busy writing things down. I stared at the ceiling. It felt like the whole world was ending.

“Do you use any illegal substances?” she asked.

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