“What happens now?” I ask like I don’t already know every step of the process.
“They’re waiting to have her examined by the doctor. Once that’s happened, there’s going to be a formal interview. She—”
“Will you—”
“Yes, I’m going to be there for that. Every second,” he assures me. “Once they’ve done all that, then they’ll release her to me until they decide whether or not to open up a formal investigation. The social worker said it will probably only be two or three days until they make their decision. I know it’s not ideal, Casey, but at least she’ll be with me, and it won’t be long until she’s back home with you. We’ve just got to get through this one step at a time. She’s going to be okay.”
“Yeah, but she’s never slept over at your house.” She’s never slept anywhere besides home. Harper has a thing with beds. A big thing. She’ll only sleep in her own bed. Anything beyond day trips is impossible.
“She’s nine, and we’ve been saying since her birthday that it was time to start trying to teach her how to do it again. Well, it looks like now is the perfect time.”
“But I’m not going to be there, and you know how she gets.”
It won’t be the first time we’ve tried getting her to sleep somewhere else. We’ve been working at it since she was a toddler. I can’t count the number of times we’ve taken her out of town thinking that if she had something fun and exciting to look forward to in the morning, she’d go to sleep. It was the same result every time—she cried all through the night, and nobody slept. Our last attempt was at the Nashville Adventure Science Center. None of us got an ounce of sleep, and we were zombies the next day. We even tried just getting her to sleep in the guest bedroom at our house once, and she went ballistic, ended up biting her wrist.
“It’s okay, Casey. I’ve got this. I’ve got her,” Dad reassures me.
“I know you do. I just hate when she’s upset and I’m not there to help her through it.” I move my shoulders, trying to let some of the nervous tension out. “I just don’t understand how this is possible. How can a random person from Walmart make a report that they saw something happen, and they automatically yank my kid away from me?”
But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, the realization smacks me in the face again that they just did the same thing with Mason.
Mason.
And Genevieve. I can’t believe she did this.
I incessantly stab Genevieve’s Ring button and smack her front door. I drove straight here when I got into town. It’s not like there’s anywhere else to go. Harper’s at Dad’s, and they’ve launched into Operation Get Harper to Sleep Somewhere other than Her Own Bed. I’m not allowed at Dad’s until they determine whether they’re opening an official investigation.
And it’s all Genevieve’s fault. I kick the bottom of the wooden door. “Genevieve! Genevieve!” I scream, pounding on it. “I know you’re in there.” Her car is parked in the driveway. I kick again. “And I know what you did.”
She finally opens the door in a slow, dramatic fashion, breaking into a surprised smile at the sight of me like she didn’t know I was the one out here. “Why, hello, Casey. I wasn’t expecting you,” she coos in a honey-coated drawl.
I point at her. “You’re a monster, you know that?” My entire body tenses, every muscle tight. I want to slap the grin off her fake face. “I don’t care how many community service awards you get or how many committees you serve on; I know exactly who you are.”
“I’m sorry, Casey. Something seems to have gotten you real upset.” She puts her arm on the door and makes a grand sweeping motion with the other. “Would you like to come inside and have some tea? You look like you could use some tea, sweetie. You’re a little peak-id. Why don’t you come inside and have a seat before you get yourself any more worked up?”
I grit my teeth, clenching my hands at my sides. “My daughter has nothing to do with this, do you understand me? You want to punish me, fine. Go right ahead. Punish me all you like, but don’t punish her.”
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Nobody’s being punished.” She shakes her head in mock disbelief.
“Yes, you do!” I point at her. “You made that report about what happened in the parking lot. I know it was you.” I still can’t wrap my brain around her filing a retaliatory child abuse report. That kind of stuff only happens with nasty divorces. Regular people don’t do that, but she’s not a regular person. Savannah is right—she’s vicious.
Genevieve takes a step forward. “Did they come and take her out of her house even though she didn’t want to go? Give her an exam by some strange doctor she didn’t know?” She takes another step forward, standing in front of me on the porch. Her chest inches from mine. I instinctively move back. “Or how about this? Once she was finished being scared out of her mind, did she get to come home?” She cocks her hip. “They didn’t let Mason come home. Nope.” She shakes her head. Turns her plump lips up in disgust. “He can’t come home to me or stay with any of my family members who could love on him and help him feel secure during this time of need. No, my son is in a home filled with a bunch of messed-up kids that’s probably run by people who are only there to collect a check every month, so excuse me if I’m having a hard time feeling sorry for you.”
“This is different and you know it,” I snap.
“Really? Is it? Seems about the same to me. You saw bruises on my son’s arms, so you felt compelled to let someone know just in case I was hurting him.” She steps closer, and I stand my ground, refusing to move back this time. I won’t let her push me around. “I saw you practically twist your daughter’s arm off in a parking lot, so I felt compelled to let someone know”—she shrugs—“you know, just in case you were hurting her.”
“I would never hurt my daughter.”
“And I would never hurt my son.”
“That’s not what your daughter says,” I blurt without thinking. Surprise fills her face. It feels good to throw her off, and I can’t help smiling.
She lets out a startled laugh. “My daughter?”
“Yes, I’ve been talking to Savannah, and she has some very interesting things to say about you.” It’s a direct hit, and I give her the smuggest look I can find. My hands go to my hips.
“My daughter?” She raises her perfectly threaded eyebrows. “You’re going to listen to my daughter?” She bursts into laughter again. “Please. That girl has been in and out of the loony bin since she was twelve years old.” She reads the shock on my expression. “Oh, you didn’t know that? Did she forget to tell you that part of the story?” She pops out her lips. Nods a few times. “Yeah. More than once. So many times I lost count, in fact,” she says like it’s nothing. “That’s how it gets to be when you have a daughter who’s manic and goes into psychosis whenever she has one of her little episodes, but I bet she probably forgot to tell you that too, huh? She’s strange like that, my Savannah. Always has liked keeping secrets to herself. Did she mention that she had electroconvulsive shock therapy twice?”