“That’s what I thought,” Mary said, relieved. “So what happened this weekend?”
“He got into a fight with an older boy at the Crisis Center. Apparently Patrick had a wallet with him?”
“Yes, it’s his grandfather’s wallet and watch.”
“The older boy took the wallet and scattered the pictures. There was a tussle, with Patrick trying to get the wallet back, then it turned into an altercation.” Abby shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning unhappily down.
“Why did they allow this?” Mary could imagine how upset Patrick must’ve been. The wallet was all he had left of Edward.
“It happened before they could stop it. I went over at five o’clock, but they had already called DHS. Also Patrick started throwing up almost as soon as he got there. At first they thought he might have the flu, then they realized it was emotional.”
“I could’ve taken him home with me this weekend. I could’ve saved him from all of this.” Mary realized that she wasn’t thinking about Anthony anymore. “He just lost his grandfather. Do they not understand that? Were they told that?”
“They knew and I reminded them. By the time I got there, they had reestablished order and taken the wallet and watch for safekeeping. But there is a silver lining.” Abby smiled, bouncing back. “I interviewed Patrick and we had a very good conversation. He says hi.”
“Awww.” Mary swallowed hard. “Can I see him?”
“I think it would be better to wait, given the hearing. He really likes you. He understands that you’re going to try to get him. He hopes that he can come and live with you. He wants to go to the new school, whatever you’re setting up for him. He trusts you.”
“That’s wonderful.” Mary felt a guilty twinge, torn in a way she hadn’t been before.
“It is.” Abby’s smile broadened. “I’ll testify that he wants to live with you and that he should. I do not believe he is dangerous in any way. I feel very confident about our chances in the shelter care hearing.”
“Thanks, Abby.” John looked up from his laptop. “Okay, ladies, moving right along, it’s time to call Susan Bernardi, the child psychiatrist. I’ll get her on FaceTime. Hang on.”
“Thanks,” Mary said, as John hit a few buttons on the laptop and she pulled her chair closer, to see better. Abby slid a legal pad and pen from her messenger bag and put it on her lap.
“Hi, Susan,” John said, to the speaker on the laptop. “Susan, meet Mary, and you know Abby.”
John turned the laptop around so they could see Dr. Susan Bernardi on the screen, and Mary thought she was a striking older woman, with a chic wedge of sterling-silver hair. Her dangling silver earrings emphasized a long face with high, elegant cheekbones and hooded gray-green eyes. She sat draped in a pinkish-gray pashmina in front of a bookshelf full of professional journals.
“Hi, all.” Susan smiled, the movement blurring her image for a moment. “I’m running late, so I’ll jump right in. I interviewed Patrick last evening. I learned enough to identify his issues and testify at the shelter care hearing. Time and circumstances didn’t permit me to talk to all of the people involved or have a psychologist do testing that I would typically include in a comprehensive risk evaluation.”
“We understand.” John started taking notes on a legal pad. “Fill us in.”
“Patrick struggles with anxiety and depression, understandable after having lost his grandfather. It’s clear that he had a close relationship with his grandfather. To suddenly lose that anchor in his life presents a major challenge for him, considering his age.” Susan took a sip from a flowered mug of coffee. “Also he lacks a support structure of siblings, extended family, or friends. He feels scared and vulnerable because he’s alone, also understandable.”
Mary nodded, knowing it was true.
“He worries about what’s going to happen to him and where he’s going to live, also normal in the circumstances. He wants to live with Mary, he’s clear on that.” Susan smiled at Mary. “He likes you. He especially liked the way you yelled at Olivia.”
Mary smiled, but didn’t interrupt.
“He’s worried about losing the artwork that was in his bedroom at home. He has some special red pens that he doesn’t want to lose. He kept talking about some photographs of his grandfather. He’s worried he’s not going to get them back. Mary, do you know where they are?”
“I have them,” Mary answered. “I packed them with his clothes. I have his artwork too.”
John interjected, “Susan, did you get a chance to look at the artwork I scanned for you? The one where the kid is stabbing somebody?”
Susan nodded. “Yes, I did, and you also told me Mary’s explanation, and I asked him about the drawings and he explained that they were his superheroes, among them, his grandfather. I don’t believe that the drawings demonstrate that he is a violent child. That’s just not my take on him.”
John made a note. “What about the gun that he pulled on the DHS caseworker and Mary?”
Susan nodded. “We talked about the gun a great deal as part of my safety evaluation. He did not know how to use it, he thought it was unloaded, and he did not know where the bullets were. He was not allowed to touch the gun, it was expressly forbidden by his grandfather. Patrick is very worried that he’s going to get in trouble for even touching it. The gun was his grandfather’s from the war, a souvenir.”
Mary nodded, relieved, as Susan continued.
“One has to employ a more nuanced analysis, in my view. I have to look at questions like, why did he grab the gun? What was he afraid of or whom was he protecting? Did he not want to be taken out of the house? Did he view himself as the ‘man of the house’ and feel that he had to protect it? When I consider all of the circumstances, I don’t see him as a dangerous child. He’s a victim, not a perpetrator or aggressor. That will be my testimony at the hearing.” Susan consulted her notes. “Apart from his grieving process, he has Generalized Anxiety Disorder. He worries about being bullied, making mistakes, and the like. He’s fearful, he’s nervous, and he’s in a depressed mood. In addition, there was a fight yesterday at Einstein between Patrick and another foster child, who took his grandfather’s wallet and watch.”
John interjected, “Abby told us.”
Abby nodded, looking up from her note-taking.
Mary said, “I would be interested to hear Susan’s view, too.”
Susan nodded. “Obviously, seeing his grandfather’s personal effects mishandled and strewn around was very upsetting to him. Patrick didn’t aggress on the boy, but wanted the wallet back. He withdrew after the altercation with the other foster child. He’s shut down and probably has been for some time. Children who have experienced trauma get triggered by being in situations where they do not feel safe. They will only drive him deeper into his shell.”
Mary had felt the same way about Patrick.
“Patrick is an intelligent and sensitive child and he feels every bump along the road. He would absolutely not benefit from being placed in residential care with hard-to-place kids. It’s too rough-and-tumble for him.”
Mary felt terrible, hearing the report. It was what she had expected, but it felt worse to hear it confirmed by a professional.
John looked up from his notes. “Susan, would that be your testimony?”
“Yes, John. There’s no doubt in my mind that placement with Mary would be preferable. He needs quiet, he needs structure, and he would do best without other children around.” Susan checked her notes. “Now, to his dyslexia. You understand that’s not my expertise, but anxiety goes hand-in-hand with dyslexia. He’s embarrassed that he can’t read. He’s worried that other foster children will find out and tease him. I problem-solved with him, and we came up with some things he could do to help himself calm down. I taught him how to take slow deep breaths, and he said he likes to draw, so I suggested he do that, too.” Susan checked her notes again. “Next point. I got an earful about Patrick’s vomiting. I explained to them that the vomit
ing is symptomatic of anxiety. I advised them to give Patrick some alone time during his stay. I prescribed him an anti-emetic and advised them to keep him hydrated.”
“Thank you so much,” Mary said, relieved.
“You’re welcome. He’s a skinny little guy, and we don’t want him to end up in an emergency room for dehydration.”
Mary hadn’t even thought about dehydration. She was going to have to learn a lot if she was going to take him on.
John looked up from his notes. “Did you talk with him about the physical and sexual assault at school?”
“Just briefly, and that it wasn’t the purpose of this evaluation. He did say that Mr. Robertson hit him in the face, and I didn’t take it further. It was neither the time nor the place, and you had told me that criminal charges are pending. I didn’t want to contaminate his testimony. This is not my first time evaluating a child who’s been physically or sexually assaulted.”
Mary thought that was sad, but didn’t say so. It was awful to think that innocent children were horribly treated by those entrusted to love and care for them. She had always known it was true, but that was as an academic matter. Seeing it up close made it real, and if she could just save one of them, she should. Shouldn’t she?
John asked, “Susan, do you have a diagnosis for him?”
“Yes, he has an Adjustment Disorder with a depressed mood arising out of the loss of his grandfather and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I think he also has mild PTSD as a result of the assault at school. I would recommend psychotherapy. He would benefit from structured activities that involve a cognitive behavioral approach, that is, specific strategies to reduce his anxiety.” Susan seemed to read from her notes, her tone turning more professional. “I would recommend role-playing to improve social interactions with other children and help him with bullying, shyness, avoidance, and social activities. I think it would be important to create opportunities to improve his flexibility and general social skills. He’s never even been to a birthday party.”
John looked up. “Do you think he needs medication?”
“No, not at this point. I think he would respond to talk therapy. I think his prognosis is excellent, given the right therapies, support, and placement.” Susan’s gaze shifted to Mary, her features softening. “I think Patrick will do very well with you. You’ll be giving him a great head start and he’s a wonderful candidate for permanent adoption. I have a list of referrals for therapy for him, and I wish you the best.”
“Thank you,” Mary said, grateful.
Abby called out, “Thanks, Susan!”
“Yes, thanks, Susan. Good-bye.” John hit the button and the laptop went dark, leaving Mary to her own troubled thoughts.
“I’m going to go now.” Abby put her pad away, with a happy sigh. “I feel so legit when Susan agrees with me, she’s one of the best.”
John rose. “I think we’re all on the same page for the hearing. Let me walk you out.”
“You don’t have to.” Abby turned to Mary, grinning. “He’s such a gentleman, isn’t he?”
“He is.” Mary stood up. “Thank you so much.”
“No worries.” Abby hoisted her purse and messenger bag to her shoulder. “I hate carrying files.”
“Let me help.” John hustled over, lifted her tote bag, and handed it to Abby.
“Thanks.” Abby went to the door. “I’ll let you know if there are any changes or DHS moves him again.”
“Thanks,” John and Mary said, in unison, then Abby left the office.
“Mission accomplished.” John went back to his desk with a satisfied smile, stretching his arms. “We’re all set.”
“Yes, we are.” Mary sank into the chair, masking her mixed emotions.
“First, we finalize the paperwork for filing.” John spoke as he typed. “Then we outline Abby and Susan’s direct-examination. Next, we outline your testimony and rehearse you, then practice your cross. We’re right on track.”
“Great,” Mary said, but she had never felt so confused. She wanted to take Patrick, but she was worried about taking him because of Anthony. For once in her life, she had no earthly idea what to do. She was running out of time to decide.
“Onward and upward!” John said, tapping away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Mary and John worked through lunch, but all the time, her mind was racing. She couldn’t stop thinking about Anthony’s wounded expression last night or the pained tone of his voice when he asked her where he fit in her life. She knew in her heart that she put him first, but even she couldn’t square that with her taking Patrick, against his express wishes.
She felt more nervous as the papers they needed to file got closer to final. Every time she thought that Anthony was right, she would remember Patrick. How lost and alone he was, and what a sweet child. She flashed on the horrible scene when the police had taken Edward’s body from the house, and then, even worse, when they had taken Patrick.
The sun was falling in the sky outside John’s window, and he was typing the cover letter to file their papers. Documents, Xerox cases, Family Court forms, and empty styrofoam cups of coffee cluttered his formerly neat desk. His hair had been finger-raked into rough layers, and his shirt sleeves had been folded up to the elbow.
Mary sat in the seat across from John’s desk, staring at a draft of their papers without really seeing them. Everything had been set in motion. They were nearing the point of no return. She had to make a decision.
“Okay.” John looked up at Mary with a weary smile. “I think we’re good to go, don’t you?”
“Um,” Mary said, looking up from the draft.
“Is there a problem? Anything you want to correct or change?”
“No, it’s perfect. You’ve done an amazing job. I couldn’t be more grateful.” Mary set the draft down, feeling a wave of guilt.
“But you’re mad at me, aren’t you?” John cocked his head. “Is it because I kept asking about the gun?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Look, this is a tough situation, I know, I’ve been there.”
“Is this what it was like for you, with your brother?” Mary realized that John had never returned to the subject of being his brother’s guardian or given her any details.
“Yes,” John answered, without elaborating. “But don’t worry, we’re in excellent shape. Abby and Susan’s testimony will buttress yours in every particular. That means we hold three aces, including you.”
Mary took the hint that he didn’t want to talk about his brother, but she didn’t feel like an ace.
“You don’t seem very happy.”
“I’m not.” Mary had to come clean. “My fiancé, Anthony, isn’t behind my taking Patrick. I didn’t get to talk to him about it until last night because he was out of town, and I didn’t think he would feel that way. He thinks it’s going to be difficult for me to give Patrick up, when the time comes.”
“It will be difficult to give Patrick up, but you can do it. I thought your plan to get him over the hump made sense. After he gets therapy and programming for his academic delays, he’ll be a great candidate for permanent adoption.”
“When I came in this morning, I was worrying that this wasn’t the right thing to do, that my fiancé was right. But then, when I heard Abby and Susan, I knew I was doing the right thing.” Mary felt a wave of shame, her neck flushing.
“You don’t have to go forward if you don’t want to.” John’s expression softened behind his glasses.
“But I want to, mostly.”
“That’s not good enough. Tell you what. Let’s call it a day.” John closed his laptop, stood up, and began rolling his left sleeve down, brushing it into place and buttoning it at the cuff.
“What about filing the papers?”
“We don’t have to file today.”
“When is the latest we can file?”
“Monday morning, it’s an emergency hearing. I’ll call chambers.” John unrolled his right sleeve, brushed
it down, and buttoned it at the cuff, too. “That gives you tonight to decide. Let me know if you want to keep going. Or stop now.”
“How can I stop now?” Mary rose. “What about Patrick? And the experts we set in motion? And you, you’ve been working so hard. You gave up your whole weekend, you dropped everything. I don’t want this all to have been for nothing.”
“That’s not what matters.”
“I know. Patrick is what matters.”
“So does your fiancé.” John picked up his laptop, walked to a file cabinet near the door, and leaned against it. “Look, you have to make a very difficult choice. It’s understandable to have reservations. It’s not prudent to ignore them. I should’ve listened to my doubts more than I did.”
Mary didn’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt him, if he wanted to open up. She could see that the words didn’t come easily to him, and neither did making himself so vulnerable.
“It’s your decision, Mary. Make it carefully. I’ll see you here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I’m coming in anyway.”
“Thanks,” Mary said, but John was leaving the office. She followed him out and watched him walk down the hall, his posture typically ramrod straight as he passed the empty offices. Judy and Lou had left a long time ago, and the firm had gone quiet and still, in the waning light of day.
Mary wondered what it was that he wished he had done differently with his brother. She heard a ping as the elevator cab arrived for John and still she remained motionless, alone with her decision. Then she realized she wasn’t alone, and there was an opinion she hadn’t sought yet. In fact, it was a veritable collection of opinions, and they wouldn’t hesitate to let her know what they thought she should do. Truth to tell, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to shut them up.
The thought cheered her, and she hurried to her office for her purse.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Mercy Street was one of the skinniest streets in South Philly, lined with mismatched rowhouses and parked cars. The cars were longer than the rowhouses were wide, presenting a notorious parking problem that the residents solved in their own way, via self-help. Mary double-parked in front of her parents’ house, the unwritten prerogative of every South Philly resident, all of whom knew each other well enough to be on a first-name basis not only with their parents, but with their automobiles.
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