Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I clear my throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
With pursed lips, she jots a note on her pad. She’s got quite a poker face, this woman. Not to mention, dark, piercing eyes that remind me of the sixth-grade teacher who hated my guts.
“The school district is excellent here,” I add, even though she didn’t ask, and she jots another note. “If that changes, I’ll send Raine to the best private school in the area. There are a lot of them to choose from.” Another note. “But I’m thinking public school is a good idea to start with, so she’s surrounded by all kinds of people, you know?” Fuck, I’m stressed. I never babble like this.
Aubrey is playing with Raine in the backyard, while I’ve been guiding this court-appointed social worker around my house. If Aubrey were here, I wouldn’t be this nervous. She’d calm me down. But that’s not an option, apparently. The social worker wants to talk to her, separately.
After her close inspection of the main living areas, all of which are now squeaky clean and family friendly, thanks to the Amazing Aubrey, the social worker asks to see Raine’s bedroom.
“Right this way,” I say, trying, and failing, to sound relaxed and casual. Man, I’m sweating bullets.
“I noticed the Volvo in the driveway,” the social worker says behind me, as we head down the hallway. “Is that your car or Miss Capshaw’s?”
“Mine. I bought it yesterday, specifically for transporting Raine. If Aubrey—Miss Capshaw—drives Raine, I’ll make sure she uses that car, too.” When the woman jots another note, I add, “My sister sent me an article about how Volvos are one of the safest family cars, so that’s what I got.”
“Is your sister coming here today?”
“Oh. I . . . No. I didn’t know she was supposed to come. I can call her now, if you—”
“No, no. That’s fine. Your sister won’t be living here with Raine, correct?”
“No, ma’am. Just Aubrey and me. Miss Capshaw. My sister lives nearby, though. I can call her to come, if you’d like to meet her.”
“Do you plan for her to interact with Raine regularly?”
“Yes, ma’am. She loves Raine, and Raine loves her.”
“Then, yes, I’d love to meet her, if she’s available.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll text her right now and call if she doesn’t reply quickly.” I pull out my phone with a trembling hand and shoot off a text to my sister in all caps that begins with “URGENT!!!” before returning to the social worker with a tight smile. “Okay, so, this is Raine’s room here.” I motion to the doorway, but the woman doesn’t step inside. She’s too busy taking a note, apparently.
“What do you normally drive, when you’re not driving Raine?”
Why is that relevant? I’m deeply annoyed by the question, but I answer calmly, in a neutral and non-defensive tone, hopefully, listing off the three other cars and one motorcycle sitting in my garage.
“Do you wear a helmet when riding your motorcycle?”
“It’s required by law.” My heart rate quickens. Is my motorcycle a strike against me? Do good fathers not ride them? My own father rode one, but he was a horrendous father. Fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the motorcycle, although the way this is going, she’ll probably ask to see my garage, anyway. “I don’t ride it very often,” I blurt. “The motorcycle. And I’d be willing to get rid of it, if that would make a difference in the outcome. I certainly don’t want a motorcycle more than I want custody of my daughter.”
Seriously, I need to shut the fuck up now. It’s written all over this woman’s stern face: my babbling isn’t helping my cause. In desperation, I motion to Raine’s doorway, and thankfully, this time, she enters the room.
“It’s fit for a princess,” she murmurs, looking around. Is that a compliment or a dig? Damn, she’s got a better poker face than my buddy, Colin, and he’s the only one who can always beat me in cards, thanks to his stellar poker face.
I look around, trying to see the room through this social worker’s eyes, and, suddenly, it looks criminally over-the-top to me. Like I’m trying to buy my daughter’s affections. “I wanted Raine to feel safe and happy here.”
“I’m sure she loves it.” It’s the first kind words she’s uttered to me today. But then again, for all I know, she’s thinking, “Because little kids can be easily bribed.” So, I tell myself not to read into the seeming vote of confidence.
“If there’s anything you’d suggest to make this environment better for Raine, I’m all ears.”
The woman looks up from her pad and smiles politely. “I’m not here to make suggestions to you, Mr. Baumgarten. It’s my job to report whatever I see, and what I’ve concluded about it, and then to report my expert findings and opinions to the judge.”