* * *
Queenie ended up picking all the mego fruit and hiding it in the cupboard with the plates. She threw a clean sheet over the vines. It wouldn’t look right to have a mysterious plant growing on the couch. Queenie didn’t even know how she’d answer those questions.
The knock came at the door and she shoed the kids into the bedroom with Wudget. A rodent in a shoebox wasn’t a good impression either.
Ingrid Williams turned about to be about sixty with even white teeth and her grey hair pulled back in a bun. She looked like a TV show grandmother.
“Mrs. Williams, I’m Queenie,” Queenie said as she ushered her to a chair at the dining table. Welcome to the crazy house. She couldn’t very well invite her to sit on the couch, but the thought made her smile.
“I’m aware you don’t want me here, Ms. Hayes. But Tabitha has been going to school without her lunch some days. Now, you’re not on government assistance, is that right?” Mrs. Williams set down her purse, a large woven contraption, and then pulled out a little notebook.
“No, ma’am. I provide for my kids.” Queenie reminded herself to stay pleasant. “The apartment is close to the park, they always have food, and I pay all the bills. Sometimes Tabby and I just forget her lunch at home. I’ll make sure it never happens again.”
“You work at a bar on weekends?”
Queenie stiffened. This woman probably knew everything, so why was she asking? “Yes, but the kids stay with a woman down the street, Mrs. Jimenez. I have her number, you can call and check with her.”
“I did call her, this morning.” Mrs. Williams eyes were full of pity, but her mouth was tight. “Her machine said she’s out of town until next Sunday. Who stayed with the kids this weekend, Ms. Hayes?”
Queenie sighed. She knew the law. You can’t leave a kid alone, not under eleven years old. It didn’t matter how responsible Angel was. The law didn’t care.
“I’m not stupid,” Queenie said. “I take good care of my kids. I work hard. Not everything is perfect all the time, but they are good kids and I’m a good mom. Why are you asking me this stuff? Can’t you just check a box or whatever and leave us alone? We’re fine. We’re doing just fine.” Her voice rose and rose and she clenched her fists so hard she could feel the nails digging right into her palms.
“Calm down, please, Ms. Hayes,” Mrs. Williams said. She leaned forward and put a cool, dry hand on Queenie’s arm. Her skin was soft, lined but pale. Milk and rose petals. “I know you are trying, but it is easy for a young mother to get overwhelmed. We’re going to do what we can to make things easier on you. Now, no one is talking about taking the kids away, yet, but I can’t just mark a form when I know that little ones are being left all alone, now can I? What kind of woman would I be. Try to see things my way, all right? We both just want what is best for your children.”
Take them away? Queenie froze. No one had said that. She hadn’t said that. Why was this little grandmother bringing that up? She took a deep breath and pushed back her chair.
“Tabby! Angel!” she called.
“Mommy? Are you crying?” Tabby came out, Wudget riding on her shoulder.
“No, baby. Everything is fine.” It was, Queenie realized. There was a door open in her mind now, a door that maybe had been open a long time, waiting for them all to walk through.
“What,” Mrs. Williams voice finally took on a sharp note, “what is that. . . thing?”
“He’s Wudget,” Tabby said, making Queenie laugh, a nervous hiccupping sound that rang hollow in the small room.
“Mom?” Angel stepped in close to his sister, unconsciously putting himself between Tabby and the social worker.
“Get your coat, Angel, and Tabby’s. We have to go.”
“Where are you taking them? What is that? It looks . . . alive. Ms. Hayes, you must answer me. This interview isn’t over. I don’t want to do it, but I could have someone down here tonight to take these kids.”
“Mommy, she’s gonna take us?” Tabby’s eyes filled instantly with tears and she stared at Mrs. Williams.
“No, baby. No.” Queenie glared at Mrs. Williams. “Don’t scare my kids. Nobody scares my kids. And nobody takes them.”
Angel had his coat on and Queenie walked past Mrs. Williams to grab her own jacket. She gently took Wudget from Tabby and tucked him into her pocket. She considered reaching for the Veldt here, but the social worker was shrieking and the dark, dingy walls of the apartment closed in around her, making the open plains and sunlight feel a lifetime away.
But Queenie knew where they had to go, and she knew what she would do.
She picked up Tabby and settled her on her hip, careful to avoid the pocket where Wudget rested. Then she took Angel’s hand and opened the front door.
“Ms. Hayes, you cannot leave. This is insane. Just sit down and talk to me, all right?” Mrs. Williams took gulping breaths and tried to regain the mask of calm, friendly efficiency.
“No,” Queenie said slowly, as though giving it some thought, “it is not all right. Did you know, Ingrid, that most kittens get themselves out of trees?”
She left the woman standing in her kitchen, mouth open like a dead fish.