Dedicating Every Day to You

Chapter Thirty-Seven

John runs over to where I'm sitting on the couch, all but ripping the book out of my hands. "Come on, Kat, you have to go and clean your room."

I roll over and pull the blankets over my head. "It's not that messy. There's just some dance clothes in the corner and stuff." School's been out, but I use the moulding in the hallway as a barre to practice and keep my skill level up. Staying in the Advanced ballet class is important to me.

"I don't care. Go and clean." His voice is unusually harsh. John is even-tempered almost all of the time.

"Do I have to?" I stretch the last vowel into a much longer note, almost like a wail.

When I remove the blanket from my face, John has his hands on his hips. "Yes!"

"What's wrong? You sound upset." I sit up slowly.

"JUST GO AND CLEAN YOUR ROOM, KATHRYN!" John looks furious. He points upstairs with one hand. I jump a little and go scurrying up the stairs, almost tripping on the edge of the hall rug.

Once inside my room, I flop onto my bed, still wearing pajamas, and pull the covers over my head. John never yells at me. He never yells at Alex. He never even yells at the waitresses at the diner, when they take too long of a smoke break or slack off or break coffee pots. I try to stop them, but tears prickle at the corners of my eyes and stream down my cheeks.

There's a soft knock on my door, and then it creaks open. A weight settles beside me on the bed, and someone pulls back the blanket. A hand strokes my hair. I slowly open my eyes to see John perched beside me.

"Oh, honey." His voice is soft, almost tentative. "I'm sorry for yelling at you."

I rest my head in his lap. "It's okay. I should have listened better. Are you okay? You're acting really stressed."

John continues to stroke my hair. "The CPS worker is coming today. I don't want to risk anything being a red flag. Your father and I love you, and we don't want to lose you."

I nod. "I love you, too. What time is the worker coming?"

"Ten. We've got like an hour to finish getting everything ready." John slides my head off of his lap and stands up. "If you hurry up and shower, you'll still have time to straighten up your room."

I jump up, feet still tangled in blankets, and flop facefirst onto the floor. "Okay! I'll be ready."

********

At precisely ten, right as it switches from nine fifty-nine, there's a sharp rap on the front door. Alex rolls his shoulders and then opens it, slowly. Standing in the doorway is a tall, imposing-looking woman. She wears a respectable-looking blouse and skirt, and her hair is scraped back into a tight bun. In her hand is a small briefcase, no doubt filled with papers and one of those incredibly deadly yellow legal pads.

"Is this the Laurens-Hamilton household?" Even her voice is like her appearance- crisp, pressed, and respectable.

Alex nods slowly. "Yes. Are you the Child Protective Services officer?"

She extends a hand. "Rosalie Mullins. You must be Alexander?"

He shakes her hand with the practiced ease of a politician- just the right length and firmness. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

Miss Mullins steps into the house, nodding as she does so. "You as well. Is there somewhere that we could sit down and talk?"

John gestures to the kitchen table, which has been cleared of paperwork and now has a coffeepot, three cups, and four saucers resting on it. My saucer has a few Girl Scout cookies resting on it, but I'm still not allowed to have coffee. We all sit, and John pours coffee before Miss Mullins speaks again.

"So, how long has Kathryn been living with you?" She sips from her cup with a delicate hand.

John stirs cream into his coffee and thinks for a second. "It's coming up on nine months now."

Alex balks, spilling sugar on the table. "Is it really?"

"I think it is! September of last year." I take a bite of a Thin Mint- I don't know where Alex has been hoarding them. "Doesn't feel like it."

Miss Mullins takes a note. "And in those nine months, what have you done as a family unit?"

I think for a minute, then begin to count on my fingers. "We go to the beach sometimes, and we go on nature walks in the backyard. We went to Canada, and Broadway, and we just kind of pootle around and have fun."

"Any guns in the house?" She scribbles down another note.

Alex shakes his head passionately. "My husband and I are both anti-gun. I don't even think we have any NERF in the house."

"Are any of you opposed to a private interview?" Miss Mullins dips a piece of Thin Mint in her coffee.

We all shrug, and I wipe some chocolate from my nose. "I see no reason to be."

She stands up. "In that case, can I speak to John first?"

John drains the last of his coffee, then stands and follows her. Alex hands me another cookie, and I yawn and grab my copy of The Hobbit from the floor. It's my summer reading book, and I'm utterly entranced by the storytelling. I have a bad habit of grabbing this book and a snack and not emerging from the pages until I've run out of food.

"Kathryn?"

I jerk up from the forest fire scene, losing my page. "Yes?"

Miss Mullins is standing across from me, a flicker of a smile playing across her lips. "Enjoying your book?"

"Yes, ma'am." I struggle to find the page I was on, finally sticking my bookmark in a random spot. "Have you ever read it?"

She nods. "I love Tolkien." Somehow, this humanizes her- makes her less like a shadowy, two-dimensional villain and more like a real person. "Ready for your interview?"

I stand up slowly. "Where are we doing this?"

Miss Mullins shrugs. "Wherever you feel most comfortable."

"How about my room?" I push my chair back and head towards the stairs. Thank gosh I cleaned my laundry up this morning. Now, natural light floods in through the windows and reflects on my gratitude wall. My bed is nicely made, and the tiny white lights strung up around it make everything look whimsical and pretty. I sit down on the bed, and after a moment, Miss Mullins does, too.

"Now, these questions I need you to answer honestly. As long as you can do that, this will be quick." She sets down her legal pad, flipping to a new page before I can read anything. "Do your parents drink a lot?"

I shift on the bed. "No, not at all. If it's been a really long day, John will have a beer sometimes, and Alex will have a glass of wine at parties, but that's it."

"No smoking or drugs in the house?"

"None. They have a friend, my aunt Peggy, who smokes cigarettes sometimes, but always outside and away from me." I hug my pillow against my chest.

Miss Mullins scribbles on her pad, and then leans a little closer to me. "Your parents don't hit you, do they? Make you feel worthless or depressed?"

I shake my head vehemently. "Never. I'm very clumsy, but they always help me up. They love me, and they love each other. They're always there to help me with my homework or a project for extra credit. No matter what, they're always there for me." My eyes well up as I whisper, "They're the best family I could ever have."

Miss Mullins hands me a handkerchief from her pocket, and I dab at my eyes. Once I have control of myself, she speaks. "It's clear to me that there are no problems in this household. You care about your parents very much, and they obviously love you, too."

We walk downstairs, and John sees my tear-streaked face and gives me a hug. I press my face into his shoulder as Miss Mullins flips through her legal pad. "This is definitely not a red-flag household. Even if your turtle did pee on my foot-" I have to stifle a giggle- "the house is clean, if disorganized. You're a charming family with a lot of love between you. Have an excellent day."

With that note, Miss Mullins is out the door like Mary Poppins- as though she was never here.