Chapter 10
The morning light in the inpatient room was different from the exam bay. It came from a real window, not fluorescents. I woke up and didn't know where I was for a second. Then I remembered the bed rails and the band on my wrist and the fact that no one had opened the door in the night.
The CPS caseworker came in after breakfast. She wasn't the same as the lady with the soft voice from yesterday. This one was younger, with a clipboard and a county ID that swung when she walked. The surgeon was with her, still in scrubs, but his gloves were gone.
We talked for a minute about how I slept. I told her I slept okay. That wasn't true exactly. I'd woken up three times and stared at the door to make sure it stayed closed.
She pulled the chair up close to my bed, not like a doctor, like someone who was going to tell me something I needed to get ready for.
"We found your mom," she said. "She was reachable this morning."
My chest did something weird. It went tight and then loose at the same time. I didn't mean to move but my hands pulled the blanket up a little higher.
"Where?" I asked.
"She was at work. She said she got a call last night that you were at urgent care because you fell at the park. That's what she was told."
I knew who told her. I didn't say his name. The caseworker looked at me to see if I understood what that meant. I did. He'd told her a different story so she wouldn't come.
"He told her fall," I said. My voice was small.
"Yeah," she said. "He did."
I felt two things at once and I hated that. Part of me was mad she believed it for even a night, and part of me was so relieved she was even a real person I could call, that she hadn't just disappeared. I stared at the corner of the tray table. My eyes got hot. I didn't cry, but I had to breathe through my nose slow so I wouldn't.
The surgeon leaned against the wall by the window. "Do you want to talk to her?" he asked me. "We can call right now. On speaker, so Ms. Rivera can be here with us. Is that okay?"
I nodded. I didn't trust my voice for a second. Then I said, "Yes."
Ms. Rivera dialed from her cell and tapped speaker. The room was quiet except for the beep of my monitor. It rang twice.
"Hello?" My mom's voice came through, a little out of breath, like she'd stepped outside at work.
"Mrs. Alvarez? This is Marisol Rivera with County Child Welfare. I'm here at Memorial Children's with your son and Dr. Patel. Are you in a safe place to talk for a few minutes?"
A pause. "Yes. Is he okay? They told me urgent care. His dad said he fell, that he was fine—"
Her words came fast. I looked at the phone like I could see her.
"Mom?" I said.
"Buddy? Baby, are you okay? Where are you?"
Ms. Rivera looked at me, then at the surgeon, then spoke carefully. "Ma'am, I need to tell you what we found here so we're all working from the same facts. Your son was brought to the emergency bay last night. He has a large handprint bruise on his upper arm. The doctor documented four finger marks and a palm. That's not consistent with a fall at the park. It looks like someone gripped his arm very hard."
Silence on the phone. Just wind and maybe a parking lot in the background.
"What?" my mom said. Her voice changed. "A handprint? Who— who gripped him?"
The caseworker didn't fill it in for me. She waited. The surgeon had told me before that I got to say what happened in my own words when I was ready, and no one would put words in my mouth.
I swallowed. My hand went to my chest without thinking, the same way it had in the exam bay.
"He grabbed me," I said. "At home. I didn't want to go and he grabbed my arm and didn't let go."
I heard her breath catch. It was a real sound, sharp.
"Oh my god," she whispered. Then louder, "Baby, I'm coming. I'm coming right now. Who is with you? Are you alone with him?"
"No," Ms. Rivera said quickly. "He's safe. He's on the pediatric floor. The other caregiver is not in his room and not making decisions right now. You're his mom, we need you here."
"I'm thirty minutes away. I'm leaving right now. Don't let him— don't let anyone take him. Tell him I'm coming."
I felt my shoulders drop for the first time since the exam bed. I didn't know they'd been up.
"She's coming," I said, not to the phone, just out loud. Ms. Rivera nodded and gave me a small smile that wasn't fake.
"Thank you," my mom said into the phone, and she was crying now but trying not to. "Tell him I'm coming and I love him. I'm on the highway."
The call clicked off. The room felt different. The door was still closed, but the story that had blocked it like that silhouette blocked the glass was thinner now. There was another adult who knew the real words and was driving here to say she didn't agree.
May you like
Ms. Rivera wrote down the time my mom said she'd arrive. The surgeon checked my arm one more time and said I did good telling the truth.
I lay back against the pillows and watched the parking lot out the window, waiting for a car I knew.
