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“I’d like you to take part in the Positive Parenting Program, as a start.”
I stare at her with blank suspicion. “The what?”
“It’s a course for parents who are involved with DCF, although others can take part in it, too. I think it would assist you in developing some helpful strategies with Dylan, so you are able to parent him more effectively without getting burned out or frustrated.”
So she does think I’m a crap mother. “Anything else?”
“I’d like to see you take advantage of some counseling,” Susan suggests, her gaze steady on my face.
“Counseling?” I practically growl the word. “Why do I need counseling?”
“Just about everyone can benefit from some form of counseling, Beth, and I believe you’ve been dealing with a stressful situation for some time. Counseling could help you be a better mother. I’ve had some, you know. Many people have. There’s no shame in it at all. It’s just one more effective tool in dealing with a difficult situation.”
I drop my head into my hands, because I’m not sure I can take any more. This conversation feels like a minefield. I need someone to interpret everything Susan says, and that reminds me of what Mike said.
I lift my head. “I want a lawyer.”
Susan blinks once, before she nods, reluctant but acquiescing. “If you decide to contest the order of temporary custody, then the court will assign you an attorney for the preliminary hearing. But I am really hoping we can come to an agreement without all that.” She leans forward, her eyes crinkled with compassion. “Beth, nothing has changed. I’m still on your side. We don’t need to take this to court.”
The thought of lawyers and courts frightens me, because it’s so unknown. I picture a stony-faced judge and a tribe of suited lawyers, a courtroom full of rustling, whispering spectators. I don’t know if it will be like that, I doubt it will, but the point is, I don’t know. All I have to go on is Judge Judy and Law & Order.
“So, if I agree to this voluntary placement,” I ask, “when would I get Dylan back?”
Susan pauses, seeming to choose her words with care. “Since this would be voluntary, you can have Dylan returned to you at any time—”
I lurch forward. “What?” After all the legal mumbo jumbo, I can’t believe she just drops this bombshell on me. I can just say I want Dylan back, an
d then I have him? “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“Unless,” Susan continues intractably, her expression still so calm, “DCF determines that such a course of action would not be in Dylan’s best interest, and takes legal action.”
I flinch at that, although I try not to. “And would you?”
Susan purses her lips. “I cannot make that judgment at this time. But a voluntary placement is for a maximum of ninety days, and you would get a date for a court hearing after thirty days. It’s my professional opinion that a minimum of six weeks’ placement would be most beneficial for both you and Dylan.” She draws a breath before continuing, “The important thing to remember, Beth, is that everyone wants him back with you as soon as possible. Everyone.” Susan looks at me earnestly, and I think she believes she’s telling the truth. I just don’t know if she really is.
“So, if I sign this thing, Dylan has to be in placement for at least six weeks, or else you’ll take legal action against me.” I speak flatly. “Right?”
Another one of those tiny, telling pauses. “I think you need to give this course of action a chance. Yanking him in and out of care is certainly not in his best interest.”
“I don’t want to yank him anywhere. I want him to stay with me. If anyone’s been yanking my son…” I pause, not wanting to be too aggressive, but the implication hangs there between us.
Susan doesn’t reply, but I have all the answer I need. No one is going to just let me take my child back, now that they’ve got him. It’s so unfair, I want to scream and rage, even as I struggle not to burst into tears. I’m so alone in this. I mean, who really is on my side—Mike from the UPS store? It’s so ridiculous, it hurts.
“What would be best,” Susan says, “is if we agreed on a length of time in the voluntary placement contract. Then we both know where we are.”
A contract? It’s the first I’ve heard of that. “So I do need a lawyer, then.”
Susan lets out a little sigh. “If you’d like to use the services of a lawyer to negotiate the voluntary placement contract, then yes, but that will not be provided by DCF or the court. I can recommend a volunteer legal service, but they don’t always have someone available immediately. And I want to reiterate, Beth, that I’m on your side, and I’m happy to explain everything to you, and make sure you understand it completely, before you even think about signing anything.”
My head hurts and I press my hands against my temples. I can’t take any more of this. I really can’t. “I don’t know,” I half-mumble. “I don’t know.”
“This is hard,” Susan murmurs, “I know it is.”
But she doesn’t really, not like I do. She might have had this conversation a thousand times before, but she’s never been on this side of the table. I still can’t believe I’m on this side of the table.
I want to go back twenty-four hours—just twenty-four hours!—and still be in that aisle at CVS. Dylan is melting down about Twizzlers, and this time I don’t shout, I don’t grab his wrist, and, best of all, there’s no incontinent do-gooder calling the DCF hotline. If only…
But it’s pointless to think like that. It just hurts, and I need to focus on the here and now. I can’t waste time on regrets, not when so much is at stake.
