Chapter 10
The caseworker told me in the hallway outside the ER room. She knelt down so her eyes were level with mine and said it plain. I wouldn't be going home with my dad that night.
She had a clipboard and a soft voice and she kept saying my name like she was trying to keep it from floating away. She said there was a safe place for me to sleep, just for the night, with a licensed foster mom named Mrs. Alvarez who lived twenty minutes from the hospital. She said Dad knew and he wasn't allowed to pick me up until the doctors and the county finished their checks. She said it wasn't my fault.
I didn't answer at first. The bandage on my leg itched under the thin hospital blanket and the fluorescent lights hummed over my head. Someone had brought me apple juice in a little box with a straw but I hadn't touched it. I kept thinking about the way Dad had looked at me that morning when he strapped the blue splint on and said it would keep me tough.
"Did I get him in trouble?" I asked her. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to.
She shook her head a little and put her hand, not on me, but on the arm of the chair next to me. "You didn't get anybody in trouble," she said. "You let the nurse help you. That was the right thing."
I stared at the white sheet. I kept seeing the nurse's face when she pulled the blue off. The way her mouth tightened but she didn't make a sound. I thought if I'd just said "Don't take it" louder, or held my leg still, she wouldn't have seen it and Dad wouldn't be sitting in a different room answering questions. My stomach knotted up and I felt hot behind my eyes.
"I shouldn't have let her see it," I whispered. "My dad gave me those colors."
The caseworker didn't correct me. She just nodded and let the quiet sit there for a second. Then she said Mrs. Alvarez had a daughter a little older than me and a dog that liked to sleep by the couch.
They let me wait in the ER hold room while they finished the paperwork. The room had no windows except the little square in the door and it smelled like cleaner. I sat on the edge of the bed with my legs dangling, the hurt one stiff out in front. The TV in the hall played something low and a cart rattled past every few minutes.
That was when the nurse from the clinic came in.
It wasn't the same ER nurse. It was her — the woman in the light blue scrubs with her dark hair pulled back tight and the ID badge clipped to her pocket. She had a big clear plastic bag in her hands and I knew right away what was inside. The bright blue of the splint showed through, folded now, the black straps coiled against it. She held it careful, like it was still something fragile.
She saw me looking and stopped in the doorway. "Hey," she said softly. "I brought your things so they stay with your chart."
She handed the bag to the ER nurse at the desk outside my door. I heard them talk in low voices. "Bagged as provided by parent per boy's statement," the clinic nurse said. "He was worried about it." The ER nurse zipped the bag closed and wrote something on a sticker and stuck it on. I watched the blue get a little cloudy through the plastic.
For a second I wanted to ask for it back. I wanted to hold it again, even though it had hidden the hurt. Those colors were still Dad's. But the bag stayed on the counter, not on my bed, and nobody offered it to me. The clinic nurse glanced back at me once more, her face calm the way it had been on the exam cot, only now her eyes were softer. She gave me a small nod before she left. I didn't wave.
Mrs. Alvarez came just after seven. She was a woman in her forties with short graying hair and a cardigan even though it was warm out, and she carried a duffel with my hospital papers and a pair of socks they'd given me. The caseworker walked me to the parking lot and helped me into the back seat. My leg throbbed every time the car went over a bump, but Mrs. Alvarez drove slow.
Her house was small and yellow with a porch light on and toys stacked neatly by the front door. Inside it smelled like rice and laundry. She showed me a room with two twin beds, one already made with a navy quilt. On the pillow she'd put a folded towel and a new toothbrush still in the plastic. "Bathroom's right there if you need it in the night," she said. "You can leave the door cracked and I'll leave the hall light on."
I sat on the edge of the navy quilt and didn't know where to put my hands. She didn't ask me about my leg or my dad. She just brought me a plate with chicken and rice and a glass of milk and set it on the little table so I could eat without moving much. She sat nearby and folded clothes and didn't stare.
When I was done she helped me brush my teeth at the sink. She didn't touch the bandage. She showed me where the hospital instructions were on the counter, with times for medicine and a number to call if the bleeding came through.
"Will my dad call?" I asked.
She paused with the towel in her hand. "Not tonight," she said, gentle but clear. "Tonight is just for resting. Someone will tell you what happens tomorrow after the doctor sees your leg again."
May you like
I nodded and felt that hot feeling come back. I climbed under the quilt and she pulled it up to my chest but not tight. The dog, a brown mutt, came and lay down on the rug with a sigh. The caseworker had said Dad was somewhere else, answering questions, not here. I stared at the ceiling and listened to the house tick. I kept thinking if I hadn't let the nurse pull the straps, I'd be in my own bed and Dad wouldn't be mad, and then I remembered the nurse saying "Let me see it" so quiet, like she already knew she had to.
Before she turned the hall light down, Mrs. Alvarez checked the bag the hospital had sent with me. The clear plastic with the blue splint inside was there at the foot of the bed, zipped shut, tagged. She set it on the dresser where I could see it but not reach it easily. It stayed there all night, bright even in the dim light, while I tried to sleep with my leg aching and the quiet pressing in from every side.
