Stones in the Road (13 page)

“Wiley, please,” Jackson said in quiet horror.

“I can’t stand this anymore,” I said, and it was true. Suddenly, like some faucet of outrage had been turned on, I was furious, fed up and not about to be silent anymore. “The only reason why you’re here is because I’m gay—like that somehow means I’m not fit to be a parent. It’s the same thing I’ve heard every day since Noah was born, but I’ve been a hell of a lot more of a parent to him than his own mother was.”

“We are familiar with the situation concerning Noah’s mother,” Miss Susan said.

“His
dead
mother,” I pointed out. “She’d be here now, but she overdosed on meth after running off with her meth-head boyfriend. But she was straight, so I guess
that’s
all right.”

“No, it wasn’t
all right
, Mr. Wiley,” Miss Susan said. “Her behavior landed her in jail and ultimately cost her her life. Her sexuality had nothing to do with it. And sexuality is not why we’re here today.”

“Like I believe that!”

“Believe what you will. You wrote a book recently about Noah and your experiences as a gay father.”

“And?”

“You talked rather freely about a lot of drug use, Mr. Wiley, and there is some concern that there may be drug use going on in the home.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Is it?” she asked, pursing her lips and regarding me very frankly. “In the book, you admitted to using meth with Noah’s mother. You also suggested that your partner used drugs.”

“I exaggerated!”

“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling. “You
exaggerated
.”

She let this word sit there between us, as if to say we both knew better.

“So you’re here to investigate me for drug abuse?”

“Not you, Mr. Wiley. I was given to believe that your partner, Mr. Jackson, had a serious problem that might affect the well-being of your son. I was given to understand that you were aware of this problem and yet refuse to address it.”

I looked at Jackson, the wind suddenly gone from my sails.

Jackson’s face paled ever so slightly.

“We have nothing to hide,” Jackson said, which was not completely true. “You have no evidence to support such a claim.”

“I don’t believe you’re in a position to know what sort of evidence we might have,” Miss Susan said. “But that’s why we are here conducting a home visit. I read your book, Mr. Wiley. I’m sure you understand that some people found it deeply offensive and are perhaps rightly concerned about a child being raised in this environment, especially if there are drugs involved. You talked very casually about such things as nudity and Eastern religions and sexual encounters in public places. There are questions about whether your son might have been involved with such encounters.”

I was floored by these words, did not know what to say. It was beyond ludicrous.

“Do you get paid to be this stupid?” I asked.

“I believe they are legitimate questions.”

“In other words, I’m gay, and that’s all you need to know. A single mom can go out and have sex with a hundred different baby daddies, and that’s perfectly fine, but if I have sex in a bathroom—which I haven’t done since my early twenties—well, that’s child abuse, even though I did it years before the child was born. Am I missing something?”

“This is not an adversarial process, Mr. Wiley.”

“You’re not giving me a chance!”

“Please let me finish, Mr. Wiley. I’ve brought oral drug testing kits today, and I would like you and Mr. Ledbetter to agree to be spot tested. There are forms you will need to sign showing your consent. This would go a long way in settling the matter and showing your good faith.”

“You’re going to drug test us?” Jackson demanded. “Is that even legal?”

“Your cooperation will play a major role in this investigation,” she said smoothly, “especially since our concerns are based on allegations of possible drug use inside the home. Allegations, I might point out, that are unsubstantiated. You would not be the first to be falsely accused of drug use. I am well aware of how people make false allegations to the DHS, knowing that we have to investigate. Your cooperation shows good faith and will go a long way in settling the matter quickly and easily.”

She paused to dig in her satchel, apparently looking for drug testing kits.

Jackson shot me an angry, disbelieving look.

“We have the right to refuse to be tested for drugs,” Jackson said.

“Indeed you do,” she said, removing two envelopes from her satchel and looking at both of us, questions in her eyes.

“This is ridiculous,” Jackson muttered.

“I’ll be happy to take your test,” I said.

“Wiley!” Jackson exclaimed.

“I don’t care,” I said, wondering what Jackson’s problem was. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t even drink beer. I don’t care about your stupid test.”

“Your cooperation is appreciated, but we really need for both of you to take the tests.”

Her eyes drifted over the tops of her glasses to Jackson, as if issuing a challenge.

“While we’re doing that,” she went on, “perhaps Miss Cynthia could interview Noah? She will need some privacy. Is there a bedroom we could use? We will also need to conduct a physical examination of Noah to make sure he is okay. It would be very helpful if you cooperated fully in this regard. He seems very healthy, and I’m sure there will be no problems to report, but you understand we must check for ourselves.”

“Fine!” I said rather angrily. “Do what you have to do. I don’t know what you think you’re going to find. Do you know how many times a year I take Noah to a doctor? You think there’s even one square inch on his body that the doctor hasn’t examined a hundred million times already?”

“I’ve read Noah’s medical records,” she replied.

“Then you’ll know that he’s never been abused and has never shown up at the doctor’s office with unexplained injuries.”

“That’s not quite true, is it, Mr. Wiley?”

I paused, thrown again by her calm but relentless demeanor.

“What do you mean by that?”

“There are several reports in Noah’s file of physical injuries to his face and forehead. Injuries that are unexplained. You claim that Noah engages in self-harming behavior—”

“He does!”

“—but there is no one else who can substantiate such claims.”

“Doctor Kemmer knows all about his behaviors!”

“That’s not quite true, Mr. Wiley. He knows what you tell him, but he can’t go into a court of law and swear that those injuries were self-inflicted due to ‘meth-baby rage’ because he wasn’t there. And as we know, these meth-baby rages tend to taper off as the child ages and begins to engage in more age-appropriate behaviors. Noah is how old now? Almost twelve. Isn’t that right?”

“Are you listening to this?” I asked Jackson, incredulous. “Are you listening to this crock of hot, stinking shit?”

“I am merely looking at the file and the reports available to me and asking questions that any youth officer of the court would ask and would want to know the answers to, Mr. Wiley. Do you mind if we interview Noah now?”

Noah stood suddenly and signed to Cynthia.

Why is my daddy upset? Did I do something bad?

No
, she signed.
We’re talking, that’s all.

But why is he upset?

It’s complicated.

Are you going to take me away?

We’re talking to your father, that’s all. And we’d also like to talk to you.

Why? What did I do?

You didn’t do anything wrong.

Then why do you want to talk to me?

We want to talk. That’s all.

I don’t understand.

No one will hurt you
.

Noah glanced at me, a look of fearful confusion in his eyes.

What’s wrong, Daddy?

Nothing’s wrong
, I signed, but he could sense this wasn’t quite true.

Are you in trouble?

No
, I said.

Are they going to take me away
?

I shook my head, but it was not the most convincing gesture, and a look of horror spread across his face.

I don’t want to go away
! he signed angrily.
Are they mad at me because I did something bad?

No
, I said.
You’re not going away, sweetie. You didn’t do anything bad. You’re a good boy. Don’t get upset.

I didn’t do anything bad!

I know. It’s okay. Don’t worry.

Why, Daddy? Why? I didn’t do anything wrong
!

I signed for him to calm down, that it was okay, but he stopped paying attention. Wild-eyed, lips bared to reveal his messed-up teeth, he grunted and moaned and began to tremble.

“Oh, shit,” Jackson muttered under his breath.

The meth-baby darkness and rage was suddenly upon him, and I hurried to my feet, ignoring the sharp, throbbing pain in my knee, intending to take him in hand before it got out of control, but he raced away from me to his bedroom, moaning, grunting, shouting incoherently. He went for the dresser straightaway, as he always did, yanking on the drawers, sweeping his arm over the top so that all his things crashed to the floor. Then he began to dash his head against the top drawer, throwing his head forward with wild, angry, and heedless abandon, oblivious to the pain.

I grabbed him from behind, but he twisted out of my grip and threw himself at the closet door as if he intended to burst right through it. I caught him under the armpits and dragged him away from the door. He kicked, squawked, moaned, jerked about like a bag of snakes, in a complete rage.

“Help me!” I ordered Jackson, who stood there watching with a look of horror on his face.

We got Noah to the bed and held him as he thrashed and moaned.

Miss Susan and Miss Cynthia watched with uncomfortable expressions on their faces.

“He does this when he gets scared,” I said, feeling I needed to explain.

“There’s no reason for him to be scared,” Miss Susan replied.

“No reason?” I repeated, incredulous. “You come into my home and threaten us and you say there’s no reason for him to get scared?”

“No one is threatening you, Mr. Wiley,” she said in her patient, plodding voice.

As the wind in Noah’s sails died down, I gathered him to me, and he put his ear against my throat to feel the vibrations in my voice.

“There’s some more unexplained injuries for you,” I said to Miss Susan, all but spitting the words at her because I was so mad. Noah’s forehead was already bruising.

She did not reply.

Noah pulled away from me, removed his shirt, and picked at the buttons on mine, oblivious to everyone else in the room. He wanted skin time.

I shook my head.

He looked into my eyes. I could see him in there. Somewhere. A small, tiny person in an ocean of confusion and strange pain. When I made no move to remove my shirt, his eyes teared up, and he began to sob again as if I had rejected him.

Silently, I removed my shirt and pulled him close to my chest. He squeezed his sticklike arms around me, holding on for dear life. I stroked his hair, rubbed his back, whispered sweet nothings, promising that everything would be all right. He settled into agonized sobs, his ear against my throat.

The women from the DHS watched in silence.

“It always calms him down,” I said.

“You don’t have to explain anything!” Jackson snapped angrily.

“Ever since he was a little boy—”

“They’re going to use everything you say against you, so shut up!” Jackson ordered.

“I think you misunderstand our purpose,” Miss Susan said.

“I know my rights,” Jackson retorted, “and I intend to see that they are respected.”

Noah keened and whimpered in the back of his throat, groaning out his agony.

“Perhaps we should come back later in the day,” Miss Susan offered.

“Perhaps,” Jackson agreed.

“I am well aware of the difficulties of raising a child with emotional problems,” she said, as if to defend herself.

“Are you?” I asked. “Are you really?”

“Well, yes, Mr. Wiley. I did my master’s on fetal addiction. I believe I am familiar with the dynamics.”

“Good for you! I’ve spent almost twelve years now working on my master’s, but I still haven’t graduated and probably never will, but I’m sure you know what’s best. I’m sure you’ve read enough books to know exactly what’s going on.”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, Mr. Wiley. I am here to ascertain the well-being of your child. Our only intention is to make sure he’s all right.”

“He’s doing peachy!” I shot back. “Can’t you see how peachy he’s doing now that he’s scared out of his mind because he thinks the DHS is going to take him away?”

“It can be very troubling for children.”

“Just a little bit.”

“Would you mind if I had a look around?”

“You go right ahead.”

“I’ll show you around,” Jackson said, getting to his feet.

“And I don’t believe we made a decision on the drug tests,” she added.

“I am
not
taking a drug test!” Jackson exclaimed. “I know my rights, and I am well within my rights to refuse, and if you want to take it up with my lawyer, you are free to do so.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said calmly. “I have to say that your refusal is troubling. I’ve found that those who refuse to take the test are usually the ones with something to hide. I’m sure that’s not the case with you, but I will have to make a note of it in my report. I might also point out that when a parent or guardian in the home refuses a drug test, legal action very nearly always follows sooner or later.”

“Are you threatening me?” Jackson asked.

“Informing you, Mr. Jackson. I’m telling you how these cases normally proceed. Since the accusation made was in regard to you, I
find it curious you would refuse to take a simple test and clear yourself. It will look bad for you when presented before a judge, I can assure you.”