Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“Needed at the house?” I repeated. Neil knew where we were. Why hadn’t he found us himself?
Maybe he couldn’t.
Because something was wrong.
“Give us a ride?” I asked, climbing into the seat beside the guard. Obviously, the answer was yes.
El-Mudad hopped on the back and held on to one of the canopy bars. “Let’s go.”
We didn’t talk about it in front of the security guy, but I could tell El-Mudad was as concerned as I was. A strange car was parked in front of the house, an inconspicuous, everyday vehicle. We didn’t know many people who didn’t drive fancier stuff.
“Maybe it’s the lawyer?” I wondered aloud. But Neil hadn’t mentioned expecting a visit, and I had a hunch that any lawyer who worked for Neil Elwood probably didn’t drive a KIA.
The guard brought us to the main entrance, and we hopped off, El-Mudad wiping the sweat from his face with the bottom of his t-shirt. The sinking dread in my stomach did not improve when I considered that I wore teensy workout clothes, but a sense of urgency drove me straight through the door.
We went through the foyer and heard Neil call, “We’re in here,” from the formal living room.
I mouthed, “we?” at El-Mudad, and we walked cautiously down the wide steps. Neil sat in the grouping of chairs near the windows, a stranger across from him. She was about my age, blonde, with pale, freckled skin and a neutrally friendly smile that enforced an unspoken distance.
“Hey...what’s…” I looked between the two of them.
The woman stood and put out her hand. “Sorry to interrupt your workout. I’m Jenna Walker. I’m a social worker from the New York State Department of Children and Family Services.”
“Sophie Scaife,” I answered, completely perplexed. “What’s going on here?”
Social worker Jenna shook El-Mudad’s hand, as well. “And you are?”
“This is our friend,” I explained.
“El-Mudad Ati,” he introduced himself.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Ati,” Jenna said, “but I do need to meet with the child’s guardians in private.”
“The child has a name,” Neil said, his tone as cold as the autumn Atlantic. “Olivia.”
El-Mudad glanced at Neil before saying, “Of course. Excuse me.”
As he left the room, I stopped myself from asking if there was any way he could stay. The real question was, “Is there something wrong with Olivia?”
“I haven’t been sent here because of an emergency with Olivia,” Jenna said reassuringly. “I’m here because someone was concerned there might be drugs in the household that would be accessible to Olivia.”
“That’s absurd.” Neil shook his head. “I’m in recovery. There haven’t been drugs in this house since I was hospitalized, and that was over three years ago.”
“We haven’t even had alcohol here, except for my mom’s wedding reception,” I added. “We’re not drug people.”
“There are no such thing as ‘drug people’ we can define by a particular look or lifestyle, so we have to treat every case the same.” The hint of reproach in her tone shamed me; of course, I knew there wasn’t a specific type of person who did drugs. I’d been around enough poor and enough rich people to know that. Yet, there I’d gone and demonstrated precisely how spoiled and above-the-law we thought ourselves to be.
She gestured to the brown leather satchel beside her chair. “I need to ask you some questions. Is it all right if we do it here?”
I sat in the chair next to Neil’s and watched, totally numb, as the social worker took out her laptop and opened it. She might as well have put on a powdered wig and waved a gavel in our faces. It certainly felt as though we were on trial.
Jenna asked us for our legal names and dates of birth. “And are you both citizens or…”
“I am.” For some reason, I felt suspicious of my answer.
“I have a Green Card,” Neil said coolly. “Would you like documentation?”
“That won’t be necessary right now,” Jenna replied as though it had been a genuine offer. Which was better for Neil; he couldn’t afford to let his temper get the better of him.
“And who lives in the home? Is it just Olivia and the two of you?” She glanced between us as though trying to catch us up to some secret communication.
I could have used some secret communication, frankly. I didn’t know what we should say about El-Mudad and the girls. Would mentioning them mean they got investigated, too? Or that Olivia would be taken away from us? Was this the moment that sealed our fate?
Still, lying wasn’t in our best interests, either.
“Our partner lives here with us,” Neil said. Just like that. Just spilled it out like it was nothing.
“Your business partner or…” Jenna asked, drawing out the “or.”
“Our romantic partner. And his two daughters.” Neil’s eyes met mine, and he addressed me, instead of Jenna. “I’m not going to lie, Sophie. There’s nothing we need to hide.”