Page 39 of One Last Secret

Jasmine looks around at the carnage. Her lips thin, but she takes my point. “I’ll go outside. But Iwill—”

“It’s not always necessary to get the last word in,” I interrupt.

Jasmine gives me an ugly look, but she stays silent as she leaves the house.

“Lock that fucking door!” Celeste shouts.”

“Celeste, there is no call for that language! Evelyn, please lock the door.”

Once the door is locked, Celeste calms. She sets the coaster on the coffee table and crosses her arms, sticking her lower lip out in a pout. “I’m not going.”

This sort of age-regressive behavior is quite common in older children and even adults who have suffered serious emotional trauma. That idiot social worker has worked Celeste into a state of extreme terror. I understand that the system exists to protect children, and I don’t have an issue with it or even with their preference for placing children with relatives, but I do wish the process involved building trust with the children and taking time to determine what is best in each case rather than reading a report and finding the solution that checks off the appropriate boxes.

“Please sit,” I tell Celeste, gently but firmly.

She shakes her head.

“I’m not asking you to go, I’m asking you to sit so we can talk.”

“We can talk while I’m standing.”

“Not while you’re this worked up. Sitting will tell your mind and body that you’re calm and allow you to—”

“Well, I’m not fucking calm, Mary.”

“—to think logically about what’s happening,” I finish. She starts to protest again, and I lift my hand. “I’m not saying I’m sending you anywhere. I’m only saying that we need to talk about this like adults. Threatening a person with violence whether you intend to follow through on that threat or not is not an appropriate way to handle this. The fact that the woman you threatened is the social worker assigned to your case makes it worse. The last thing you want is to convince her that you’re a danger to yourself and others.”

That gets through to her. She blinks and looks between me and Evelyn. I sit in one of the upholstered chairs and look expectantly at her. She slowly sits on the couch, but she moves her gaze away from us and bites her lip to keep from crying.

“Do you know your grandparents?” I ask.

“Barely. I remember they came to visit when Mom died, and they called Dad a bunch of names and said they were going to take me away from him.”

“They’re your mother’s parents.”

“Yes. And don’t give me the bullshit about ‘Oh, well they just lost a daughter, and it’s hard.’ That doesn’t give them the right to take me away from my Dad.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I agree. “But this is a different situation.” She stiffens, and I add, “I’m not saying I agree with the court decision to place you with your grandparents, but—”

“This was acourtdecision? Why wasn’t I involved?”

“I think you should be. And I will speak to the social worker and tell her that you must be advocated for. There should have been an interview with you prior to any decisions being made as to your care. We’ll ensure that the process is followed properly. But youcannotlose your temper like this. If they believe you’redangerous, you’ll be placed in a juvenile mental health facility. Trust me, you donotwant to end up there.”

Evelyn shudders and crosses herself. Celeste pales a little. I feel bad for frightening her, but I’m not telling an untruth. Facilities like that are not designed to help their charges, merely to contain them. Celeste’s mental health already rests on a knife edge. Sending her there will cause her to tumble down an abyss from which she may never leave.

I stand. “I’m going to talk to Miss Jasmine. Stay inside with Evelyn. Please do not panic. Evelyn and I both care for you very much, and we willnotlet anything happen to you.”

She nods. “Okay, Mary.”

Evelyn smiles gratefully at me. As I head for the door, she says, “I’m going to make myself some coffee. If you promise not to go crazy and throw it at me, I’ll make some for you too.”

Celeste chuckles softly. “Okay.”

I step outside and see Jasmine speaking to the officers in low voices. When she sees me, she crosses her arms and says haughtily, “Well?”

I smile sweetly at her. “May I have your supervisor’s number, please?”

She rolls her eyes. “You can have any number you want, but I’m taking Celeste with me today.”

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