voice, and after a second, seemingly appeased, Emma nods and slopes out of the room.
It’s only when we hear the click of her bedroom door shutting that Nick turns to me. “Progress,” he says, and I nod.
Yes, progress, even if in the smallest of weary increments. It still counts.
The next week passes in a flurry—Josh back to school, Emma getting an interview at the music store, Dylan’s last CBT session, and Beth’s visits, both of which go better than before, if only just. I can’t keep from feeling that Beth has somehow mentally checked out; there is a distance to her demeanor and expression that makes me uneasy even as I do my best to dismiss it. I’ve become paranoid about everything; I know I need to relax.
The Tuesday of her last visit, the day before her court hearing, I ask if she wants a cup of tea after she brings Dylan back. It’s a little after five, and dinner is in the slow-cooker; shadows are gathering outside and there’s a crust of hard, icy snow on the ground, typical January weather.
Dylan has run off to find Josh, who has humored him more than usual lately, doing puzzles or playing with Lego, and Beth stands in the middle of the kitchen, seeming isolated and adrift.
“A cup of tea would be nice,” she says, surprising me.
I put the kettle on the stove and take two cups out, while Beth simply stands there.
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” I ask sympathetically, because of course she has to be. Mother on trial. I feel, in a way, as if I’ve been on trial, at least in my mind, these last few months, but Beth’s situation is so much more nerve-wracking and real. “I’m sure it’s going to go well, Beth. You’ve done everything you’ve been meant to, haven’t you? The parenting course…”
“Triple P.” She gives me a twisted sort of smile. “I’m the only one who completed it, actually.”
“Are you?”
I frown, and she explains, “Angelica dropped out before Christmas. She’s got a two-year-old and was pregnant—she must have had her baby by now. She’s only sixteen, but she’s decided to surrender both children to the state.”
“Oh…”
“And the other parent in the course was Diane, who is in her forties, a single mom with an adopted son. She missed the last session and she’s considering terminating her parental rights, too, although maybe not.” She gives me a wry look. “Some company I’m keeping, eh?”
I’m not sure what to say, so I focus on making the tea. “I’m sure they had good reasons.”
“Yes,” Beth agrees after a moment. “They would have to, wouldn’t they? Anyone would.”
“What about the other things you’ve done?” I ask, deciding a change in subject might be best. “You were having counseling…?”
“Yes, that has been helpful.” She looks away, and I decide it’s too invasive to ask any more about that.
“And the observation sessions with Dylan? Those went okay?”
“They did what they were meant to, I think,” she says after a pause, her voice flat.
I decide to drop my line of questioning. “Tea’s ready,” I say as cheerfully as I can, and I bring the cups to the table.
We sip in silence for a few minutes as shadows gather outside. From upstairs, I hear Josh say something and then Dylan laugh, and I smile at Beth, but she’s not looking at me. I’m trying not to feel unduly concerned, but she seems incredibly preoccupied—but then she would, wouldn’t she? The court hearing is tomorrow, after all.
“You love him,” she says abruptly. “Don’t you?”
Startled, it takes me a second to respond. “You mean Dylan? Yes. I mean… yes, we’ve all grown fond of him. Very fond.” She nods slowly, and I can’t tell if that was the answer she was looking for, but what else could I have said? Besides, I do love him. He’s quirky and shy and wonderfully sweet. “We’ll all miss him, of course,” I add, but she doesn’t seem to hear me.
“I should go,” she says abruptly, standing up even though her tea is only half-drunk. “It’s getting late.”
“Oh… all right.” I stand up, as well. “Do you want to say goodbye to Dylan?”
She glances up towards the ceiling, as if she can picture him in his room, playing with Josh, and then she shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. He’s busy. Happy.”
“Anyway, you’ll see him tomorrow,” I say with conviction. “This time tomorrow he’ll be back with you.” Which gives me a pang of bittersweet sorrow. I really