Stones in the Road (14 page)

Jackson fell silent at these words.

I looked at Jackson, wondering what the hell he was thinking, why he was so insistent on his rights. He was clean now, wasn’t he?

“Why won’t you take the test?” I asked.

“That’s how it starts,” he said. “You go one mile with them, then they want two, then suddenly they’re into all of your business and telling you what to do and threatening legal trouble if you don’t go along with every last little thing they want. I’m not going to be bullied by the DHS.”

“I’m sorry that you think of it in those terms, Mr. Jackson,” she said. “I will say this. From what I’ve seen today so far, I have no reason to believe that Noah is being abused. He seems to be loved very much, and he’s fortunate to live in a nice apartment where he is obviously well cared for. My only concern at this point is the drug test. If you both passed the test, I might very well have come to the conclusion that the allegations made against you were untrue. Yet you are refusing, which throws up a big red flag.”

“You’re just trying to scare me.”

“Think what you will. If you refuse the test, I will have no choice but to conclude that perhaps Noah is at some risk in this house, and there will be a further investigation. I will have to present my findings to the judge, and we will proceed from there. On the other hand, if you agree to be tested, we can clear the matter up today. I will more than likely do a couple of follow-up visits, and that will be the end of it. The choice is yours, of course.”

Jackson did not respond to this, seemed almost visibly nervous.

“Of course,” she went on, “if the test should come back positive, there are other options, aside from taking the child from the home, which is nearly always an option of last resort. Getting into a treatment program is always a good idea, as it shows the judge that you have your child’s best interests at heart. Treatment programs can be managed. Follow-up visits to the home can be arranged. That process is a little longer—it may last up to a year—but the point is not to punish a parent, but to help that parent get the help he or she needs. Sometimes the parent in question might move out of the home for a while. All of this can be managed without resorting to extreme measures. I’m not suggesting that your test would come back positive, Mr. Jackson, I am merely providing information on how these cases are usually handled. If we had to remove children from homes where there is drug use going on, we would quickly run out of places to house them. That’s an unfortunate fact of life. Removing the child from his home is rarely the best option, not when the situation could be more easily managed in other ways.”

“I’ll show you around,” Jackson said tightly.

J
UST
THEN
the doorbell rang.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“I’ll go see,” Jackson said.

He returned with Father Ginderbach from Mama’s church in New Albany. I looked up at him and frowned.

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by,” Ginderbach said casually, the look in his eye suggesting I play along. “I didn’t realize you had company. I won’t keep you.”

“It’s no problem,” Jackson said. He introduced the priest to Miss Susan and Miss Cynthia but made no mention they were with the DHS.

Ginderbach was a rather plain looking older man, unremarkable in every way until you looked into his eyes. If ever a pair of eyes could be said to twinkle, it would have been his. Something about that twinkling said he knew things, real things, deep things, and not your ordinary religious blah, blah, blah about how we’re all sunbeams floating around the Blessed Virgin’s halo. I got the sense that Father Ginderbach had seen things in his life that had changed him. He never said a word about what those things were, but they were plainly evident in his eyes. And while it had been ages since I’d met a Catholic priest who didn’t make me grind my teeth in utter frustration, Ginderbach made me smile and think perhaps God had a plan for me too, big ole raging homosexual that I was.

“Having trouble again?” Ginderbach asked, coming into the room and looking down at us.

Jackson must have arranged this visit, since Ginderbach had never been to our apartment and was certainly not in the habit of dropping in on us.

“He got a little upset,” I said.

“Bless him,” Ginderbach said. “He’s a good kid, but he’s had a hard road to travel. Anyway, I just came by to remind you about the church garage sale next week. Gotta get all my volunteers lined up.”

“We’ll be there,” I promised. I’d forgotten about the garage sale at St. Francis and was quite certain I had
not
volunteered.

“And you said you were going to donate some books and movies?”

I had done no such thing.

“We’ll drop them off tomorrow after mass,” I said. “There’s sausage and peppers on the stove if you’re hungry, Father. Jackson can fix you something.”

“Are you sure it’s no trouble?”

“Of course I’m sure. I thought sausage and peppers were your favorite.”

“You know me well!”

“I spilled the sauce on the floor.”

“I noticed!”

“Are you a friend of the family?” Miss Susan inquired.

“I suppose I am,” Father Ginderbach said. “I’m the new priest at Saint Francis over in New Albany. Well, not so new now, I guess. It’s been a year or two. Anyway, I was just at the medical center visiting one of our ladies who’s having a triple bypass, bless her, and I was on my way home and came right by here, so I thought I’d stop. Wiley was one of the first people I met when I arrived. My sister is deaf, so I grew up with sign language, and it didn’t take me long to cross paths with Noah. He’s a feisty little kid, I’ll tell you! But Wiley’s done such a wonderful job. Are you… friends of the family too?”

“Oh, no,” Miss Susan said. “We’re just visiting.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding at all.”

“These ladies are from the DHS,” I said, unable to stop myself.

“Is that right?” Ginderbach said.

“We are conducting a home visit,” Miss Susan admitted.

Both Father Ginderbach and Jackson looked at me, Ginderbach feigning surprise, Jackson shooting me a pair of daggers.

“I’ve been reported to the DHS,” I said. “And you wonder why I don’t trust people.”

“Mr. Wiley is not too happy with our visit,” Miss Susan added.

“I can’t imagine,” Ginderbach replied dryly.

“We were just about to finish up,” she added. “Mr. Jackson, perhaps you’d like to show us around now, if it’s
convenient
?”

“Sure,” Jackson said.

He led the ladies away.

In the silence of their departure, Father Ginderbach sat on the bed next to me, offering a small smile. “Are you all right, Wiley?”

I shook my head. No, I was not all right. Not by a long shot. I blinked back tears and rocked Noah in my arms.

“Jackson concocted this little visit,” he admitted in a conspiratorial whisper. “He thought it might look good if the parish priest dropped by. You know, others have asked me to do that—he’s not the first to think of that little strategy, I can tell you. Usually I refuse.”

“But….”

“You’re a good father, Wiley. I wanted to help. You don’t deserve to be treated like this. I can think of some parents who could use a good shaking up by the DHS, but you’re not one of them.”

I wiped at my eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I feel so ashamed,” I admitted.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You seem to be the only one who thinks so. And if they took Noah away from me….”

“They’re not going to do any such thing.”

“But they could, if they wanted to.”

“That’s very curious thinking.”

“It’s true.”

“I don’t think it’s true at all. You have rights, Wiley.”

“Yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“You don’t trust authority, do you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I wonder why that is?”

I glanced at him, wondering what he was trying to get at.

“Is there anything I can get you?” he asked. “Anything I can do to help?”

I shook my head.

“If you’d prefer that I didn’t stay….”

“Please stay,” I said.

“All right.”

“Jackson won’t take the test,” I said after a long silence.

“What test?”

“The drug test. They think he’s doing drugs.”

“Is he?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it?

Jackson had been in recovery for almost two years, went to Narcotics Anonymous meetings, had a Basic Text sitting on the nightstand. Never once during those two years had he ever given me a reason to believe he wasn’t clean, wasn’t flying by the straight and narrow.

Yes
, a small still voice said in the back of my mind.

But….

What if
?

That was a thought I simply could not bear.

Noah slowly pulled away, looked at me with frank, open eyes before glancing at Father Ginderbach, as if only just now realizing he was there.

How are you, N-o-a-h
?

“I fine!” Noah said, his voice rather flat and lacking its usual exuberance. Had anyone else but Ginderbach asked, I’m not sure he would have answered at all.

He slid off my lap, then stood there for long moments looking at me, his hand on my leg, checking in, making sure I was still there, that everything was all right.

Get dressed
, I signed.

He merely stood there, as though lost in thought or struggling valiantly to come back to reality.

I picked up his shirt from the floor, and he stuck out his arms automatically, wanting me to dress him.

He had red marks and bruising on his forehead, his long hair masking the worst of it. I pushed the hair away, examining him.

Does it hurt
?

He shrugged.

Why did you do that?

Do what?

Hurt yourself?

I didn’t hurt myself.

You hit your head on the dresser.

I don’t remember.

Are you hungry
?

He nodded.

“What about you, Father? You hungry?”

“I am, actually. I love sausage, but I stay away from the peppers—they give me gas.”

In the living room, Jackson stood in silence as Mrs. North went through our things. At the moment she was examining Jackson’s DVD collection. Cynthia Holland was sitting on the love seat and looking decidedly bored.

“Is it all right if we eat something?” I asked.

“Is Noah feeling better?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Perhaps Cynthia might talk to him while he eats?” she
suggested.

Whatever.

After we had settled Noah at the table with a plate, Cynthia introduced herself to Noah, and Father Ginderbach and I quietly wandered to the living room and sat on the sofa. While we ate, Mrs. North went through the entire apartment. She was determined to find whatever it was she was looking for.

Cynthia sat with her back to us, so I couldn’t see what
questions she was asking.

“Were you really visiting someone at the hospital?” I whispered.

Ginderbach smiled. “I was… last week. Sort of lost track of the time, I guess.”

“So you drove all the way over here from New Albany just for this?”

He nodded.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“No. But I wanted to. Jackson called me at two in the morning. I figured it was important.”

“He called you that late?” I asked, mortified.

“Let’s just say he was upset.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

We finished eating, and Father Ginderbach took his leave. I tried to clean up the floor as best I could, my injured knee throbbing in protest. There seemed to be no end to Cynthia’s questions, but Noah looked more and more relaxed until he got back to being his usual impish self. From what little I could make of their conversation, they seemed to be talking a lot about school and his teachers and classmates.

Her inspection completed, Mrs. North brought the two drug-testing kits to the kitchen and placed them on the counter, glancing from me to Jackson.

“I’ll be happy to take your test,” I said straightaway, because it was the truth. I would have done most anything to get this woman out of my house and out of my life.

“Then we’ll start with you,” she said. “I will need to observe you as you provide the urine sample. You can stand with your back to me.”

“Fine.”

She opened one of the kits, peeled off a label, and wrapped it around a small plastic jar with a wide mouth.

“There you are,” she said, handing it to me.

I peed in the cup as she stood in the doorway of the bathroom.

When we returned to the kitchen, Jackson gave me a long, searching look.

“Well?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

“Well, what?” he replied.

“Are you taking the test or not?”

“I don’t believe I will,” he said. “I am not legally required to do so. If the DHS thinks it’s worth their time to bother a judge about it, I guess that’s what they’ll have to do.”