Page 23 of Confined Space

I open the door.

"Hello?" My voice is scratchy from lack of sleep.

"Ms. Coral Pierce?" The woman is taller than me and thin. She’s dressed in a pantsuit that probably costs more than my monthly rent. Her blond hair hangs to her shoulders in a layered feathery fashion. Her ice-blue cold stare, pinched lips, and forehead that barely moves lets me know she’s angry with me. I sense hate coming off of her.

"Yes." I’m proud I don’t have a quiver in my voice when I answer her.

"My name is Ramona Dunlap with Arizona Child Protective Services. I'm here because we received a call that you were not taking proper care of your son, Archer Pierce." She holds up a piece a paper in my face, showing me an anonymous complaint filed against me.

“That’s a lie,” Georgia exclaims as she steps toward us.

"What? That’s not possible." I step back in shock, and Ramona barges right into my apartment. I turn to look at Georgia before I close the door. “It’ll be okay. Thank you.” I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want to involve her if I can help it.

My apartment is clean. I have food in the fridge. I have no clue what this woman is hoping to find, or why someone would file a complaint against me.

I hate to leave her alone in my apartment, but I’m not going to talk to her in my bathrobe.

“May I please get dressed, then we can discuss this?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She turns to look down her nose at me.

“Please wait here.” I signal the living room and point out the sofa. I rush to get ready, brushing my teeth fast and throwing my hair up into a messy bun. I grab a pair of old bib overalls and slip on a tank top over my nursing bra.

Walking out into the living room, I find the woman looking around my kitchen. She’s inspecting everything.

"I don't understand why you were called. I have plenty of food. I love and adore my son, taking care of him always."

"This has nothing to do with your love for your son. The complainant stated that you neglect your son and go out partying. Using your money to feed your habits. Because of that, we will be drug testing you. I have a cup here. I need you to give me a sample right now, and I have to watch you to make sure you don't use anyone else's urine."

"Are you joking? I work in the ER three nights a week. I'm not on drugs." I hold up my arm in the hard brace. "I don't even take the pain meds I was prescribed for this because I'm nursing."

"Speaking of which, I need to see your son."

"He's in bed, sleeping."

"May I see him?"

"Okay." I direct her to our bedroom, and she takes it all in and Archer sleeping. He’s still in a travel crib. My own bed is unmade because I just woke up.

"Does he have his own room?" she asks me once we get back out to the living room.

"No, this is a single-bedroom apartment."

"For now, while he's small, it's okay. But eventually you will have to get him his own room. Here is the cup. Let me check your bathroom. You can keep the door open partially so I can hear you."

I'm embarrassed and mortified by the fact she must listen to me pee. I fill the cup to the line and slip it into the bag she handed me. She puts it into a case and discards her gloves. After I wash my hands, I take a moment to calm myself. This is ridiculous that I'm being investigated. I step out of the bathroom and find her standing by my small dinette.

"Ma'am, why is this happening? I swear I don't have anything to hide.”

“I’ve already met with and have been notified by your landlord that you are about to be evicted from your apartment if you can't pay the rent by this weekend. Is that true?"

"Yes. I was in a major car crash and my car was totaled. I was out of work for a week. My savings have dwindled down, and I'm barely making it," I confess. I hate telling her everything, but I don't want her to come back later and say I lied. I know in my gut this isn’t going away so easily, but I hope it does.

"If you are evicted, I will have to assume you can't care for Archer and will have to consider removing him from your custody. Have a nice day." She drops a paper on the counter and walks out. On legs of jelly, I walk to the door and lock us in before sliding down it as my knees give out. I can't lose my son, not after everything I've been through to keep him. All the loss. The pain.

Tears roll down my face and my head falls back against the door. I've been fighting since the very moment he was conceived.

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