Noah squawked, as though he’d run into the hot pan and burned himself. That was all I needed, an injured child—a burned child, for Christ’s sake!—with the DHS on my doorstep.
The strength went out of my hands at the sound of his squawk, and I shouted while dropping the pan on the nice tile floor. The pot hit the floor with a loud bang and tilted at a crazy angle as red sauce splashed everywhere—and I do mean everywhere. This is a property of tomato sauce that is not widely understood by modern science, this propensity to shoot anywhere and everywhere at the drop of a hat. And then the pot crashed over and emptied itself on the floor, but not before throwing out long red arms and covering Noah’s freshly pressed trousers and shoes, not to mention my own.
“Are you all right?” I demanded, looking at the stricken expression on Noah’s face.
I stepped forward to inspect him, slipped, tumbled over, and went down.
“What the hell is going on?” Jackson called.
“Daddy!” Noah moaned.
“Shit!” I said, putting a hand in the sauce to right myself.
“Daddy!”
“What are you doing?” Jackson demanded.
“Making dinner!” I snapped.
“They’re going to be here any minute! What a frikkin’ mess! I told you not to cook anything!”
I struggled to get to my feet while Jackson sent Noah to his room to change.
The doorbell rang.
“It’s not even noon yet!” Jackson exclaimed in annoyance.
I stared helplessly at the door.
The bell rang again. Impatient, these DHS people.
Although I had sauce on my shirt, pants, shoes and hands, I hurried to the door.
“Go change!” Jackson ordered. “I’ll handle this.”
“No, I’ll do it,” I said, thinking it would look odd if I didn’t answer the door. Like everything else that morning, it seemed the right thing to do.
“You look like a mess!” he exclaimed.
“It’ll be all right,” I assured him.
I opened the door, and two ladies stood there.
“Susan North,” the older white lady said, putting her hand forward, then withdrawing it when she saw my hands were covered in tomato sauce. She frowned as she peered over the top of her glasses to look me up and down. “May we come in?”
“Of course,” I said, stepping aside. “We’ve had a bit of a….”
“This is Cynthia Holland,” Miss Susan said, indicating the young black lady who accompanied her. “She’ll translate for us. Is Noah here?”
“Um, sure,” I said. “Would you like to sit down?”
“Perhaps we could look around, if that’s not too inconvenient?”
“Of course.”
She went straight for the kitchen, which smelled heavenly.
“This is Jackson Ledbetter,” I said, introducing Jackson.
“I’m a pediatric nurse, and I know all about home visits,” Jackson said in a friendly but rather edgy tone of voice. “I realize you are here to do your job. I want you to know that I’ve talked to my lawyer, and I’m well aware of my rights in this situation.”
“We are merely here to visit,” Miss Susan said easily. “Your cooperation is very important. We are here to see to Noah’s best interests and nothing more. If I understand correctly, you are Mr. Wiley’s partner?”
“Yes, I am. We’re engaged to be married.”
“You’re aware that same-sex marriage is not legal in the state of Mississippi.”
“Perfectly.”
“So Noah is being raised in a same-sex household?”
“Well, yes he is.”
“Very good.” The way she said “very good” made it sound rather bad. She wrote down something on her clipboard and glanced sideways at Cynthia Holland.
Noah chose this moment to reappear, wearing nothing but underpants, a smear of tomato sauce on his chin making him look like someone had just socked him and bloodied his lips.
Now what am I going to wear? he signed. I don’t have —
He broke off suddenly when he caught sight of Miss Susan and Cynthia standing behind us.
“Well,” Miss Susan said in a disgruntled voice. “Doesn’t he know how
The strength went out of my hands at the sound of his squawk, and I shouted while dropping the pan on the nice tile floor. The pot hit the floor with a loud bang and tilted at a crazy angle as red sauce splashed everywhere—and I do mean everywhere. This is a property of tomato sauce that is not widely understood by modern science, this propensity to shoot anywhere and everywhere at the drop of a hat. And then the pot crashed over and emptied itself on the floor, but not before throwing out long red arms and covering Noah’s freshly pressed trousers and shoes, not to mention my own.
“Are you all right?” I demanded, looking at the stricken expression on Noah’s face.
I stepped forward to inspect him, slipped, tumbled over, and went down.
“What the hell is going on?” Jackson called.
“Daddy!” Noah moaned.
“Shit!” I said, putting a hand in the sauce to right myself.
“Daddy!”
“What are you doing?” Jackson demanded.
“Making dinner!” I snapped.
“They’re going to be here any minute! What a frikkin’ mess! I told you not to cook anything!”
I struggled to get to my feet while Jackson sent Noah to his room to change.
The doorbell rang.
“It’s not even noon yet!” Jackson exclaimed in annoyance.
I stared helplessly at the door.
The bell rang again. Impatient, these DHS people.
Although I had sauce on my shirt, pants, shoes and hands, I hurried to the door.
“Go change!” Jackson ordered. “I’ll handle this.”
“No, I’ll do it,” I said, thinking it would look odd if I didn’t answer the door. Like everything else that morning, it seemed the right thing to do.
“You look like a mess!” he exclaimed.
“It’ll be all right,” I assured him.
I opened the door, and two ladies stood there.
“Susan North,” the older white lady said, putting her hand forward, then withdrawing it when she saw my hands were covered in tomato sauce. She frowned as she peered over the top of her glasses to look me up and down. “May we come in?”
“Of course,” I said, stepping aside. “We’ve had a bit of a….”
“This is Cynthia Holland,” Miss Susan said, indicating the young black lady who accompanied her. “She’ll translate for us. Is Noah here?”
“Um, sure,” I said. “Would you like to sit down?”
“Perhaps we could look around, if that’s not too inconvenient?”
“Of course.”
She went straight for the kitchen, which smelled heavenly.
“This is Jackson Ledbetter,” I said, introducing Jackson.
“I’m a pediatric nurse, and I know all about home visits,” Jackson said in a friendly but rather edgy tone of voice. “I realize you are here to do your job. I want you to know that I’ve talked to my lawyer, and I’m well aware of my rights in this situation.”
“We are merely here to visit,” Miss Susan said easily. “Your cooperation is very important. We are here to see to Noah’s best interests and nothing more. If I understand correctly, you are Mr. Wiley’s partner?”
“Yes, I am. We’re engaged to be married.”
“You’re aware that same-sex marriage is not legal in the state of Mississippi.”
“Perfectly.”
“So Noah is being raised in a same-sex household?”
“Well, yes he is.”
“Very good.” The way she said “very good” made it sound rather bad. She wrote down something on her clipboard and glanced sideways at Cynthia Holland.
Noah chose this moment to reappear, wearing nothing but underpants, a smear of tomato sauce on his chin making him look like someone had just socked him and bloodied his lips.
Now what am I going to wear? he signed. I don’t have —
He broke off suddenly when he caught sight of Miss Susan and Cynthia standing behind us.
“Well,” Miss Susan said in a disgruntled voice. “Doesn’t he know how
Similar Books
