like she is giving me a Snickers or booking me a spa day, not taking away my only child.
I sit in that stuffy little room, with Dylan warm and heavy on my lap, and stare at her in disbelief.
“I never meant it like that.” My voice is shaking.
Susan is placid, her hands folded on the table in front of her, her smile so very sympathetic, and yet I hear a matter-of-fact flintiness in her tone that fills me with a surreal terror. This can’t be happening. All I did was shout and grab his wrist. I love him!
“I’m recommending this course of action for your benefit as much as Dylan’s,” Susan says. “You need support, Beth. Support you’re not able to access while you remain Dylan’s primary caregiver.”
“I’m his mother.” My voice trembles.
Susan nods in agreement, still unruffled. “We want you to be the best mother you can be to Dylan, and we also need to make sure Dylan is safe and well, with his needs attended to—”
“Of course he’s safe and well!” He is asleep on my lap.
Susan cocks her head as she gives me one of her sorrowful smiles. “You know this isn’t the first call to the Department of Children and Families that has been made on Dylan’s behalf.”
“Yes, the other one was made by Dylan’s father,” I practically spit. Indignation feels like a stronger response than cringing fear. “Against my wishes. He’s not even in the picture anymore, as you already know, so—”
“And another by the elementary school, where Dylan should currently be attending.”
“I’m allowed to homeschool.”
“Yes, you are.” Susan lets out a little sigh before resuming. “Over the course of my association with you and Dylan,” she says, choosing each word with irritating care, “I’ve spoken to various people, and they have registered some concerns.”
“People? What people?” This is the first I’ve heard of any such people and their concerns, and I quiver with anger and outrage—as well as fear. Who could possibly know about my life? Who is ratting on me? “My neighbors, I suppose,” I state flatly, because who else could it be? It’s not like I have friends.
“I’m not at liberty to disclose who has made the complaints, but I have heard about some incidents of shouting.”
“I’m not allowed to shout?” I demand, although perhaps I should have denied the shouting altogether. It’s not as if I shout that often, and every parent loses her temper once in a while. “You do realize one of my neighbors has Alzheimer’s and the other one drinks his body weight in beer on a daily basis? These are your witnesses to my so-called shouting?” Each word quivers with emotion, but at least I got it all out with some semblance of calm.
“We’re building a whole picture here, Beth,” Susan says in a soothing voice I decide I hate. She holds her hands palm-up as if I’m aggressive and need to be placated. She’s also using her “patient” voice, and saying my name too much. I’m sure someone teaches all that as part of how to be a social worker, and I loathe every bit of it. “A whole picture of you and Dylan, and your life together. And I’m afraid that the picture I’m seeing raises some definite concerns about his well-being.”
I thrust my chin out, determined to be defiant, even though I know that attitude doesn’t work. It will only hurt me, make Susan judge me even more, tick some box on her form. Mother displayed worrying signs of aggression. “Like what?”
“Like the fact that you have not taken Dylan to any of his medical appointments or psychological assessments in the last eighteen months.”
“I took him to the pediatrician, and he said he was fine.”
“Yes, that was one opinion.”
“And that’s not enough? How many doctors do I have to take him to before you’re satisfied?”
Susan ignores my question. “It has become clear to me,” she says in that same, calm voice, “after speaking with both you and Dylan, and observing your life together, that you love each other very much.”
“Yet you want to take him away from me.” I speak bitterly, trying to keep the tears from springing to my eyes. I don’t want to cry. I can’t be that weak. My arms tighten around my son.
Susan’s expression remains blandly sympathetic as she continues, “Over time, it has also become apparent that Dylan does not have any peers, or friends, or any social interaction outside of the home. He doesn’t speak or interact with