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With a knot in her stomach, Valerie proceeded with the delinquency hearing—knowing full well that it was a front for the real reason Abraham was there. She’d already signed the dependency petition that had come from the attorney general’s office that morning; Abraham would be removed from his home. C.P.S. was going to take him directly from the court.
Quietly, almost imperceptibly, Carla took her son’s left hand. Clasped, their hands fell beneath the table, out of Valerie’s sight. She stared at where they’d been, heart pounding.
Abraham’s left sleeve had risen slightly when his mother had taken his hand.
“We’re here because you missed school yesterday,” she said, reaching deep inside for the composure to continue this long enough to get what information she could. “What happened?”
“I was sick.” His voice was strong. Clear. If he lied that well, things were worse than she’d thought.
“Abraham?”
“What?”
“Could you look at me, please?”
He glanced up, but wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“You were sick yesterday?” she asked.
“Yes.” No wavering there.
“Why didn’t the school know about that?”
“I thought they did.”
Valerie looked at Carla Billings.
“I forgot to call,” the woman said, her voice uneven. “I’m sorry.”
Valerie had the right to remove Abraham from his home. But she also knew it was critical to give him more of a reason than broken probation. She couldn’t bring up the smoking. Couldn’t tell him what they both knew—that his mother was prostituting in her bedroom while her son was at home.
“What was wrong with you?” she asked him.
“I had the flu.”
She turned back to his mother. “Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Did he have a fever?”
“No. Not that I could tell.”
She nodded. Looked at the folder. Then back at Abraham’s mother. “You didn’t check?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Did you see a doctor, Abraham?”
The boy was sitting up so straight, he wasn’t even touching the back of his chair.
“No, ma’am.” He looked at her when he answered. At her, not her eyes.
“Are you better today?” she asked, compelled by something that was not yet clear to her.
Carla Billings reached over to her son, rubbing his back.
Abraham flinched. So it was more than just the hint of a bruise she’d seen when the boy and his mother had clasped hands.
