I can’t do this.
I can’t lie to a social worker.
I can’t even lie to my dentist about flossing.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
“Coming!” Gabriel called, his hand finding mine.
His palm was warm, steady. Mine was sweating.
Great. Now I’m going to shake hands with a social worker with my disgusting sweaty palm, and she’s going to think I’m nervous because I’m guilty of something.
We walked to the door together. Behind us, I heard frantic whispers.
“Get the balloons!”
“I’m trying!”
Pop.
“QUIETLY!”
“How do you pop a balloon quietly?!”
“I don’t know. Figure it out!”
Gabriel’s hand tightened on mine. A warning squeeze.
Right. Act normal.
Be normal.
You’re a normal person answering your door normally.
Gabriel opened the door.
A woman stood on our doorstep. Mid-forties, professional pantsuit in navy blue, clipboard, sensible shoes, and an expression that suggested she’d seen everything and was not impressed by any of it.
She looked like she could smell fear.
She can definitely smell my fear.
I’m radiating fear.
I’m a fear beacon.
“Dr. Lyon?” She extended her hand. “I’m Carmella Rodriguez from Child Protective Services. I apologize for arriving early. My previous appointment was canceled, and I thought I’d see if you were available.”
Oh my God, she’s APOLOGIZING for being early.
She’s being nice about ruining our lives.
This is worse.
This is so much worse.
Nice people are the most dangerous because you can’t hate them for destroying everything you love.
