“Dylan’s mother, Beth, has been known to DCF for around five years. She’s a single mom, and she genuinely loves her son, but obviously there are some concerns with his care that we are looking to address.”
“What kind of concerns?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know all the details, but Dylan has been very isolated. He hasn’t been in school, hasn’t attended any doctor or therapist appointments, doesn’t have any friends or acquaintances.”
I nod, swallow. “Okay.”
“The goal here is for him to be able to attend school, attend those necessary appointments, and hopefully get a diagnosis for his behavior—besides the mutism, he has some issues with anxiety. There might be some further concerns, but there’s been no medical confirmation yet. We’re also hoping that Beth will be able to receive the support she needs. Susan is hoping that this will be a case of voluntary placement, which means the courts won’t have to be involved initially, and reunification can happen as soon as it is deemed appropriate, ideally within three months.”
Three months. That suddenly seems like a long time.
I nod again. “That all sounds…” I don’t manage to finish that sentence.
“We don’t know how Dylan will react to this placement,” Monica tells me matter-of-factly, “as he’s never been away from his mother, but Susan is keen to discover how he behaves when he’s not in her presence.”
What does that mean?
I just nod. Again.
Monica continues in the same brisk, businesslike tone. “So the first thing we want to do is let Dylan settle in with you here, and then you can register him for school, ideally by next week. Susan will give you a list of the appointments made for him when they come through—they should hopefully all be local to the Hartford area. If you have any concerns or questions, any at all, you can call me on my cell or, if you can’t get hold of me, call DCF’s direct line. Does that all sound good?”
Monica is already rising from her chair, and I can’t believe this is it. She’s going to leave me with the complete care of a strange child after about five minutes of debriefing? It feels wrong; it feels criminal. I don’t know what I expected, but surely more than this. Surely there are forms to sign, phone numbers to be given. Shouldn’t I have a file of information on Dylan or something, rather than just be told things so casually?
“Yes, thanks,” I say, rising too, because what else can I say? “That all sounds good.”
The next few moments seem to pass in a blur. Susan comes in with Dylan, who still hasn’t spoken or even lifted his head. Monica stands by the front door while Susan explains to Dylan that she’s going to leave, but she’ll see him in a few days, and his mother will visit then, too. She tells him that I’m really nice and I’m going to take good care of him, and if he’s worried about anything, he can always tell me to call her, and she’ll talk to him or come visit.
Dylan doesn’t say a word to any of this; he doesn’t react at all. I wonder if he’s in shock, or if he really is that shy. I can’t imagine how utterly overwhelming this must be for him, especially if it really is true that he’s never been away from his mother. Beth.
And then they’re gone, with cheery waves and kind smiles, the front door clicking firmly behind them. I am alone with Dylan. I realize I don’t even know his last name. Surely, surely there should have been some sort of paperwork to fill out. I feel like I should have signed a paper, a contract, or that Susan or Monica should have given me a folder of information, anything. There’s so much I don’t know. Does Dylan have allergies? What kind of food does he like? If he’s selectively mute, how am I supposed to communicate with him?
He stands in the middle of the kitchen, his head lowered, his shoulders hunched, unable to look me in the eye. As I stare at him, my eyes suddenly fill with tears, because I can’t even imagine what he must be feeling, how frightened he must be. He’s only seven, and he’s just been left—practically dumped—with a strange woman in a strange house. I mean, what the hell? I feel outraged on his behalf, even though I know I can’t blame Susan or Monica or anyone at the Department