“She came to the house. Cindy’s mother. I let her in. Let her take the baby for the afternoon. I trusted her.”
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “It’s not right.” He reached out and adjusted the salt and pepper shakers on the counter. Finally, he turned to me. “Here,” he said, holding out his hands for the baby. I knew he had two kids of his own, a boy and girl.
I held Grace Elizabeth close. The CPS workers stood in the corner, watching, the woman looking nervous. I kissed the baby on the forehead, breathed in her hair. I handed her over to Don, and he carried her out to the sedan, strapped her into a car seat in the back seat. I stood on the porch, watching, my heart pounding: a battle raging inside of me. Wanting to run and take her back but also trying to heed Don’s warning about everything going on record.
“Caseworker will be by later this afternoon,” the woman called over her shoulder.
And then they all climbed into their cars and drove off. Don rolled down his window and raised two fingers as he turned out the driveway. Tires crunching the gravel, then silence.
As soon as they were out of sight, I realized I’d made a terrible mistake.
Unfit. That’s what they would call me. And Grace Elizabeth would be gone, too, just like that. Just like Cindy.
No.
With Cindy, it was so quick, there was no way to fight it off. Cindy seeing the deer and grabbing my arm and gasping, Kenny, and then the deer leaping into the passenger-side window from the bank, its hooves against the glass, and me slamming on the brakes and the rain, the car sliding on the asphalt and the back end going up on the berm and then over and over.
This time, it didn’t have to be like that. I could fight for Grace Elizabeth and I would. And not in some court.
You will see that in all of the animal kingdom, creatures protect their young in the most senseless ways. They will throw themselves in harm’s way. They will fight, wing and claw and tooth. The stegodyphus spider, for example. When her young are old enough, she rolls over and lets the babies climb on her and eat her. What I mean to say here is that it isn’t unnatural for a person to do everything in his power to protect his young. It isn’t wrong.
The caseworker showed up a few hours later, just like they said she would. By that point I’d already formulated a plan and made substantial progress on it, but I was careful not to let on. I had the Bronco loaded with everything I could think of, starting with weapons and ammunition. Three shotguns: 16-gauge, 20-gauge, and the sawed-off Lincoln kept next to her bed her whole life. Four rifles: a .22, a thirty-aught-six, a .308, my .243. Then there was the smokestick that she sometimes took out in late season. And of course I had the Ruger.
Grace Elizabeth’s clothes and diapers and three pictures, one of just Cindy and one of Cindy and me and one of the three of us. Blankets and matches and towels and soap. Formula, canned goods. All of my cash, which was quite substantial because I’d never spent my signing bonus with the military, or much of the other money I’d made when I was overseas. I’d come home and cashed it all and locked it in Lincoln’s safe because if there was one thing I was sure of in those days, it was that you couldn’t trust the banks.
Two books, I grabbed at the last minute and put them under the passenger seat. The Holy Bible and Lincoln’s well-worn favorite, The Book of North American Birds.
I’d done all of this by the time the caseworker pulled up. I was almost ready, but like I said, I played it cool.
Linda was her name, and she was nice enough. It was likely I could get Finch back, she said, provided that I could clean the place up and, more importantly, demonstrate that I was stable and reliable.
“In the vast majority of cases,” she explained, “the state likes to see parents and children together.” She paused, tracing the hem of her jacket sleeve. “Your case is somewhat tricky because you and the mother weren’t married. You must understand: that makes things a little more difficult in terms of legal matters. Not impossible, mind you. It’s just that it adds a layer of complication.”
“What do you mean, a layer of complication?”
“I mean that we need to determine paternity. The gist of it, unfortunately, translates to more time.”
“How much time?” I hadn’t slept and I was seething by then, angry not only at Judge and Mrs. Judge and CPS, but also myself. For letting Finch go.
“Well, it depends, of course. Typically, reunification takes between six and eighteen months.”
“Eighteen months!” Grace Elizabeth would be walking, talking, feeding herself. I’d miss all of it.