Chapter 7

Dev got out of his truck with his hands in his pockets. He was a decent man in the way that meant he paid on time and showed up when asked. He was not brave. He was not curious. He liked things settled.

“Verna called me,” he said.

“Of course she did.”

“She said you’re accusing her of something. She said there’s an investigation. Is Junie safe?”

“Junie is fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I looked at my house. The porch light was on. Junie was inside, probably watching cartoons with her shoes on the couch.

“There is a review on Friday,” I said. “About a boy. It has nothing to do with Junie.”

“Verna said you’re trying to take custody of some kid from Fern.”

“He’s my son.”

Dev blinked. “You don’t have a son.”

That was the thing about my life. I had built it so carefully that even the people closest to me didn’t know I had a grave in my head. I had never told Dev about the stillbirth. I had told him I couldn’t have more kids. He had accepted that without asking why.

“I did,” I said. “Nine years ago. He didn’t die. He was taken.”

Dev’s face changed. He looked like a man who had just found out the foundation of his house was rotten.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I couldn’t say it out loud.”

He rubbed his mouth. “Is this going to touch Junie?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“I know.”

He looked at the house, then at me. “I’m keeping Junie this weekend. Until Friday is over.”

I wanted to fight. I didn’t have the strength. I nodded.

He went inside to get her. Junie came out with her backpack and her blue beaded keychain. She hugged me tight.

“Are you coming back?” she asked.

“Always,” I said.

When they were gone, I sat on the kitchen floor with the three money-order stubs and the consent form and the two footprint cards. I spread them out like a hand of cards.

One card was mine. One was Amos’s. One had my signature on it, or a copy of it. One had my mother’s notary stamp. Three stubs proved nine years of payment.

I still didn’t have the intake form. Fern had it. Fern had kept it for nine years under her bed.

I called Vermilion Regional Hospital. Fern had been admitted to the fourth floor. They wouldn’t tell me her condition. I told them I was family. They said visiting hours started at ten.