concerns you might have. And I’m sure you’re curious as to how Dylan is getting on.”
I stare at her in disbelief, filled with sudden, vehement loathing for this woman who keeps pretending to be on my side. “Curious?”
She nods, a flicker of apology in her eyes. “I’m sorry. That was the wrong word. I’m sure you’re very concerned about Dylan’s well-being, and how he has adjusted to his placement.”
Susan maintains eye contact, that calm, unflappable look still on her face despite her lapse, and suddenly I can’t steam ahead anymore, buoyed by self-righteous rage. She’s sympathetic, she’s so very understanding, and yet, at the end of the day, she still wants my son to be with someone other than me, and she has the power to make sure that happens. Being angry about it accomplishes nothing.
I pull out a kitchen chair and sink into it. “How is he?”
“He’s doing really well, Beth. Ally—that’s one of his foster carers—was very encouraging and enthusiastic when Monica, her social worker, spoke to her last night. She said he’d settled in really well, had a bath and was ready for bed.” She smiles at me as tears fill my eyes.
I know I should feel relieved, and I am, of course I am, but at the same time, I fight a sweeping sense of hurt, even grief. How could Dylan settle in with someone else so quickly? What if I really am that crap a mother, that the second he’s with someone else he adjusts? Or what if Susan is lying? Or Monica, or Ally is? Maybe this Ally has him locked in a basement, chained to a chair. How the hell am I supposed to know?
I drag my hand across my damp eyes. “What now?” I ask in a clogged voice.
“Now I can explain to you what happens next.” Susan speaks gently, but even so, I think I hear a thrum of satisfaction, maybe even triumph, in her voice, like an expensive engine purring in the background. She thinks she has me submissive and docile now, and maybe she does in this moment, but I’m not signing anything yet.
“So what happens, then?”
Susan settles more comfortably in her chair. “What we talked about yesterday is you agreeing to a voluntary placement for Dylan. What this means is that you would agree for DCF to have custody of Dylan and continue the placement with this family. You would still keep your parental rights, and you would be able to decide any important issues for him—about religion, or school, or medication, for example.”
“But if I can decide all that, why does he have to be taken away from me?” I stare Susan full in the face for a moment and for the first time I see her look discomfited, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes like a shadow. She masks it quickly, smiling again, shifting once more in her chair, but I wonder what she is thinking. What I am missing. I realize I need to always be on my guard. No matter how sympathetic Susan seems, I can’t trust this woman. Ever.
“We talked yesterday about you getting the support you need,” she says after a second’s pause. “And Dylan as well. Both are paramount.”
“What support do I need?” I am curious to hear the answer, even as I resent having to ask the question. Why should Susan decide what I need? I know what I need, and it’s my child back.
“I’d like you to take part in the Positive Parenting Program, as a start.”
I stare at her with blank suspicion. “The what?”
“It’s a course for parents who are involved with DCF, although others can take part in it, too. I think it would assist you in developing some helpful strategies with Dylan, so you are able to parent him more effectively without getting burned out or frustrated.”
So she does think I’m a crap mother. “Anything else?”
“I’d like to see you take advantage of some counseling,” Susan suggests, her gaze steady on my face.
“Counseling?” I practically growl the word. “Why do I need counseling?”
“Just about everyone can benefit from some form of counseling, Beth, and I believe you’ve been dealing with a stressful situation for some time. Counseling could help you be a better mother. I’ve had some, you know. Many people have. There’s no shame in it at all. It’s just one more effective tool in dealing with a difficult situation.”
I drop my head into my hands, because I’m not sure I can take any