Page 20 of Twisted Trust
My tongue nervously darts out to lick the scabbed split on my lower lip and I force a smile. “But I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”
“We’ve had another complaint about you, Miss Jackson. Where is your son?”
As if on cue, Scott stumbles out of his bedroom and upon seeing Hillary, he immediately makes a beeline for me as his eyes fill with tears. “Mommy!”
I scoop him up as soon as he reaches me.
His small arms wrap tight around my neck and he buries his face into my shoulder. “He was sleeping,” I say coldly. “But I’m not the only one woken by your insane knocking so early in the morning.”
“It’s necessary in these situations,” Hillary says as her eyes roam over my face. “We were alerted to your placing your son in a very dangerous situation involving the discharge of a firearm?”
How the fuck do they know about that?
Was this Levi?
This must be his punishment for my sneaking out of the hospital.
Complain about me to CPS and then track them as they hunt me down for a visit.
Clever bastard.
“If bysituationyou mean when I was mugged yesterday, then sure. But I didn’t put him in any kind of dangerous situation by choice. I was mugged in a parking lot. Lost my keys, my wallet, everything. It’s a wonder I even survived.”
Hillary finally looks me in the eye. “Where was Scott at the time of the incident?”
“Right next to me.”
“I understand you were knocked unconscious.”
My gut somersaults. “For a time. But some kind passersby found me and called an ambulance.”
Although now that I say it out loud, I don’t exactly know how I made it to the hospital. I never had a chance to ask the nurse.
“Understandably, a mugging isn’t your fault. I trust you’ve filed a police report?”
“Mommy,” Scott whines as he lifts his head from my shoulder.
“What is it, baby?”
“I’m hungry.”
“I know, sweetie. I’ll fix you something onceHillaryleaves.”
Scott turns his big eyes to Hillary and scowls.
I’ve done my best to keep him away from the multiple dealings I’ve had with CPS over these past months, but he picks up on things I’d never even consider. “Go away,” Scott mutters.
“You’re welcome to continue your normal morning routine while we talk,” Hillary says sweetly, although I hear the glee in her voice.
If she thinks she’ll find something dodgy about how I prepare breakfast, then she’s way ahead of herself.
“Fine.” Keeping Scott on my hip as much as it pains my aching body, I move past the threadbare couch to the kitchen and quickly whip up a bowl of cereal for Scott.
Each time I try to put him down, he latches onto my leg and won’t let go, so I end up sitting him in my lap so he can eat.
“He seems unusually attached to you,” Hillary comments. “Any reason why?”
It takes all my self-restraint not to ask her if she’s thick. “He watched me get hurt yesterday. I suppose that would affect any four-year-old.”
