20. Cara
Chapter twenty
Cara
We spent the entire Wednesday afternoon at Cedar Creek, but Riley wanted to go again on Thursday. Terry and Annette assured me they weren’t bothered by our presence, so I allowed it. We had to skip Friday, because Riley had swim practice after school and I had a shooting.
It was almost six in the evening when I returned to the Sunset Apartments. I’d spent an entire day at Little Sprouts Daycare over in Lakeview, trying to coax snot-nosed preschoolers into pictures cute enough that their parents would be willing to pay me for them, then I got stuck in a traffic jam because a car had hit a stray cow halfway between Lakeview and Brightwater. The trip back had taken me almost twice as long as it usually took and on top of that I had a pounding headache.
When I finally got home, I was utterly exhausted and ready to end the day with a cup of hot chocolate and maybe a movie with Riley.
Trying not to lose my grip on the big bag of camera equipment I’d flung over my shoulder, I wrangled the key into the lock.
I’d just put down the bag next to the door when a woman suddenly appeared behind me in the doorframe. Before I could say or do anything, she pushed past me, into my living room.
“Hey!”
The woman, a blonde with strands of gray, thick-rimmed glasses and unusually thin lips, stuck out her hand and put on a very fake-looking smile.
“Good evening. Karen Thompson. I’m from child protective services.”
Her words felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. “ What ?”
“Do you mind if I look around a bit?” Before I could answer, she took out a pen and started writing on a clipboard.
“I don’t understand. What is this? Why are you here?”
She took her time finishing her notes before she looked up. “Oh, don’t worry. I promise you we only have Riley’s best interest in mind. If you work with me, not against me, I’m sure everything will be just fine. Where is Riley? I would like to talk to him.”
“Um, he’s at his swimming practice. Who called you? Can I see some identification, please?”
She pulled out a little green plastic card and held it up for just a second before shoving it back into her pocket, then she scribbled on her clipboard again with a frown. “Swimming practice? At this time of the evening? Isn’t that a little late for a child his age? How will he get home? Do you pick him up by car?”
“No, he takes the bus home. He’s—”
“Can I see his room, please?”
“Why?”
“Please, Mrs. Shepherd, don’t make this any harder for yourself. I assume it’s this way?”
Without waiting for my confirmation, she pushed the door to Riley’s bedroom open and waltzed inside.
With furrowed brows, she looked around, inspected his belongings, opened drawers, and even lifted the blanket of his bed. It felt very uncomfortable, having a stranger sniffing around in his stuff, but I was too overwhelmed to stop her.
“You don’t have safety plugs for those electrical outlets?” she asked.
“No. He’s not a toddler anymore, so no.”
She made another note before she looked around the room and scrunched her nose. “It smells a little damp in here. Do you have mold?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“I think you do. Mold is very dangerous, especially for children. Have you talked to your landlord about the problem?”
“No, because we don’t have mold.”
“Mm-hmm.” She scribbled something on her clipboard before moving on to the kitchen.
Her eyes glanced over the stains on the stove and the dirty dishes in the sink. Then she opened the fridge. “You know, fresh fruit and vegetables are very important for children.”
“Yes, I know. We buy groceries on Saturday, so—”
“They need it to grow up healthy.”
“Yes, I know,” I snapped, quickly losing my patience.
“Of course you do.” With a thin smile, she wrote yet another note. “Where do you sleep, Mrs. Shepherd? I don’t see another bedroom.”
“On the pull-out couch in the living room.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“So when you bring home… gentlemen, there’s just this thin door separating them from Riley.”
“Excuse me?”
Karen Thompson shook her head. “The poor boy,” she mumbled under her breath, eyes fixed on her clipboard. “That poor, poor boy.”
I stepped forward with so much anger that I startled her enough to make her back away from me.
“Listen,” I barked, “I have no idea what you are trying to insinuate here, but I do have a very good idea who sent you. Tell Carlisle Benton that I won’t be intimidated this easily, and now, get out of my apartment before I call the police.”
She pressed her clipboard to her chest and slowly shook her head. Her sad face looked just as fake as her smile. “I really wished it wouldn’t have come down to this. I’m only here to help Riley, but if you—”
“Get out !” I yelled.
With a ducked head, she skittered across the living room and fled out the door.
My heart was still pounding when I threw the door shut behind her. Pressing my hands to my chest to catch a breath, I tried to slow my thoughts.
I had no idea if that woman really was with CPS or not, but I was one-hundred-percent sure who sent her—Carlisle Benton. He must have found out that Ellis knew about Riley.
Well, if he thought that was enough to scare me, he was wrong. I was no longer a timid, na?ve college student. If he wanted to bully me, I would fight back. In fact, I would do the very thing Carlisle didn’t want me to do. I would talk to Ellis, and I would tell him everything, the whole truth about what his father had done to me, and if he still wanted to give us another chance after that, then hell, yeah. I would no longer cower in fear, giving up my dreams and plans because Carlisle Benton considered me a thorn in his side. After spending the last thirteen years watching over my shoulder, I’d had enough of living a lie. I had lied to my friends, to Ellis, even to Riley, just to keep Carlisle happy. And for what? Just so he could terrorize me anyway?
Still shaking with anger, I left my apartment and walked up the stairs to the second story of the apartment building and knocked on my landlady’s door.
Arlene opened only seconds later, looking at me, surprised. “Cara, dear. Is everything alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Arlene, I might need your help.”
“Is it that damn light switch again?”
“No, I’m afraid I need much more help than this. Your son is a lawyer, isn’t he?”
Arlene’s expression quickly got very serious. “My youngest, Casey, yes. Why? Are you in trouble, love?”
That was a question I’d heard so many times from so many people over the last few weeks that it was almost comical. But I wasn’t going to deflect or distract or play it off again with a half-hearted “Everything is fine.” I would get the help I needed to fight back.