"We found letters among Jake's things." Avery's brow furrows in confusion. "They're addressed to a Sofia Eaves. I assumed that would be the mother."
I check the name on the file. "No, it's Bridgett Smith."
Avery rubs her temples. "Then who is Sofia Aves?"
The family all look at each other with troubled expressions. Who their late relative was writing to is not my concern, but it does mean he kept secrets from his family, and having a son seems to be one of them.
"As you've heard, Bridgett, the mother, was killed in a car crash three days ago. She has no family. She and her son were living in a rented room above a laundromat in Charlotte." I don't addthat when I went to retrieve Sam's belongings, we found mold in the apartment and a strange smell that turned out to be maggots living in an overflowing trash can.
"What can you tell us about her?" asks Avery.
"She worked as a waitress in a local diner and left the boy with her landlady while she worked. The landlady and her work colleagues say she never mentioned family or your Jake."
The family share a look, and I can tell they're as confused as I am. They claim they didn't know about the child, and I want to believe them. They seem nice, especially Shona with the pie and kind eyes. But my line of work has taught me not to take anything at face value. People aren't always what they seem. And if they did know about Sam, and they left the mother and son in a single room together, with damp and mold festering in the corners, then it leads me to question whether they really do want him. Our goal is always reunification of the family, but if there's a compelling reason why he'd be better outside the family, then I have to explore that. Perhaps he's better going into foster care. He's six years old; there's still a chance he could be adopted out.
I rub the back of my neck, knowing that's unlikely. This family is the best chance he has of avoiding a life in the system.
"It's hard to understand why he wouldn't tell us," Shona says. "We could have helped them."
"He can't have known," says the father. "I taught my boys to own up to their responsibilities. Jake would never have left his son and the mother of his child in a destitute situation."
He grasps the back of the chair, determined to believe the best of his late son.
The silent man reaches into his pocket and produces a notepad; he scribbles something on it and slides the pad across the table to me.
I peer at the note.
Are there bank records of child support?
I glance up at the silent man as realization dawns. He can't speak. Whatever accident gave him that nasty scar took away his speech.
"Good question," I say aloud. "I don't have access to the deceased's finances."
It's not something we'd usually look into, but I feel for this family, trying to come to terms with their own loss and put the pieces together about their surprise young relative.
"I can look into it."
I make a note, thinking about the strings I'll need to pull to get hold of Bridgett's bank records. But I'll do what I can to help this family. If Bridgett knew Jake Monroe was the father and named him on the birth certificate, surely she would have requested child support payments. The courts would have chased him for her.
"Did you find anything among Jake's belongings?" I ask.
Avery shakes her head. "Nothing that I remember, but I wasn't looking for traces of a son." She balls her fists. "It's just not like Jake. If he'd known he had a child, he would have done the right thing. He would have wanted to be part of the boy’s life. I'm sure."
I've seen enough cases in my time to know that not all men want to acknowledge their offspring. But I don't want to shatter the family’s image of their loved one. Who knows? Perhaps he was one of the good ones.
"What's the process now?" Shona asks. "We've got a spare room we can get ready for him."
She's eager, which is a good sign for Sam.
"He's coming out of the hospital tomorrow, and I'll bring him straight here."
There's a murmur of surprise, and I feel for the family. They're about to get their lives rearranged to take in a boy they never knew about. But at least Sam will have a home and people to care for him.
"I better get the spare room cleared out."
Shona pushes her chair back from the table and leans heavily on the table to stand up. She's frail for someone in her late fifties, and I wonder again how she'll handle a rambunctious boy under her roof.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway makes her stop in her tracks.
