Page 19 of Coast

I saw the recognition on her face even before she answered, “Yes, I’m a caseworker with the ICWA, Indian Child Welfare Act. You sat beside us. What can I do for you?”

“How’s Tracker and Paxton adjusting?”

Her eyebrows scrunched together, and by the expression on her face, I was expecting to get the spill about not being able to talk about them. I totally understood privacy acts, but I didn’t want all the details about their case, which I didn’t need considering it wasn’t hard to figure out the circumstances that had the two boys going into the system after conversing with Tracker. I just wanted to know if the two of them were doing okay.

I was shocked when she looked around, then stepped off the sidewalk and moved closer.

“I shouldn’t be saying anything to you, but you did help that day. After talking with you, Tracker started cooperating instead of fighting me every step.”

“So he and Paxton are doing okay?”

“We’re having to wait for a foster family with room to take on two. Temporarily we’ve had to split the boys between two fosters until one becomes available. Neither boy is happy, but Paxton is doing somewhat better with the arrangement than Tracker.”

“So two more kids get lost in the system. What bullshit.”

“They’re not lost, Mr.?”

“Cortez.”

“Like I was saying, they aren’t lost, Mr. Cortez. We do the best we can to keep siblings together. The system isn’t without flaw, and sometimes circumstances place us in a bind. As soon as a foster family becomes available, Tracker and Paxton will be placed in the new home together.”

“So, in the meantime, two boys, brothers no less, who have relied on each other for their entire lives, are the ones expected to adjust and deal with another shitty situation thrown at them by adults. Adults responsible for their care and to protect them.”

“Mr. Cortez, the boys are placed with wonderful foster parents. They will be taken care of. I promise.”

“Miss, Mrs...”

“Mrs. Stone. Cassandra Stone.”

“Mrs. Stone, I’m not laying fault on you. When I said lost in the system, I didn’t mean physically. I meant mentally. At least in Tracker’s and Paxton’s case. I’m not naïve to think their circumstance is the first your agency has dealt with. But they are the first I’ve interacted with personally. If only for a few minutes. I’m astute, Mrs. Stone. I was trained to be by the military. I don’t have to read the file on Tracker and Paxton to know they are or were, I should say, the kids of a drug addict. There probably isn’t any father listed on their birth certificates because she never knew who they were. She kept the kids because she figured she could get more government assistance to keep her habit taken care of. She wasn’t interested in whether they ate, were clean, nothing to do with them mattered. So, two boys banded together to watch after each other. The majority left to Tracker because he’s the oldest. Hell, they probably had to take care of their mother when she binged. Now they are two mixed-race kids, expected to accept their fate when they don’t feel they fit in anywhere. And now, they don’t even have each other to lean on. I saw the defeat in Tracker’s eyes the other day. The longer he is separated from Paxton, the worse he will act out. And you and I both know what happens then. He will be rotated in and out of a dozen or more foster homes until he hits eighteen and kicked to the curb.”

“Where you a product of the foster care system, Mr. Cortez?”

“No, but I could have been if it wasn’t for my great grandfather...” I pointed to Kiyaya in the car listening to mine and Mrs. Stone’s conversation. “...and a dad who fought for me. Society isn’t kind when you are the minority. Sometimes it isn’t kind even when you are the majority. I’ll admit there were times I struggled balancing the two sides of me, but I had support and people around me who didn’t care about my mother being a doper, they didn’t care my skin was darker—they taught me it was a flaw in the other person if they couldn’t get past my ethnicity. I’ve dealt with what Tracker and Paxon will have to face, whether in foster care or after they age out. So please make sure they get reunited soon because they are going to need each other.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen, Mr. Cortez.”

“Great. And sorry for the rant. I guess the boys left an impression on me.”

Mrs. Stone smiled. “It happens. Have you ever thought of applying to be a foster parent, Mr. Cortez?”

I chuckled and looked down at the cut I wore, then back to Mrs. Stone. “I don’t think Washington would approve of turning kids over to a biker.”

“You never know until you apply.” She glanced at Kiyaya, then back at me. “It was good chatting with you, Mr. Cortez.”

“You, too. And again, sorry for going off on a rant.”

“That means you care, Mr. Cortez. Caring is what makes for a good foster.” Mrs. Stone turned and walked toward the entrance of the store.

When I got in the truck and closed the door, Kiyaya spoke, “She’s right.”

I started the truck and backed out of the spot. “About what?”

“You care.”

“That may be, but I think it takes more than caring to be a good foster.”

“Could be. But caring makes for a great human,” Kiyaya said, then turned and started looking out the side window.

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