Chapter 4 - The Family Meeting
My mother called at 7:03.
“Rachel, we need to talk.”
Her name was Evelyn Bennett.
She had perfected disappointment before Monica or I learned to spell it.
“About CPS?”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
“Mom.”
“Monica says things have gotten out of control.”
“Monica caused them to get out of control.”
“She is worried about Eli.”
“No.”
“She is worried about control.”
My mother sighed.
“Why does everything have to sound like a courtroom with you?”
“Because people are submitting evidence about my child.”
“I’m asking questions.”
“You’re interrogating your own mother.”
I closed my eyes.
“What do you want?”
“A family meeting.”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
“Your father wants one too.”
That surprised me.
My father, Thomas Bennett, generally solved family conflict by finding another room.
“What does Dad want to discuss?”
“Eli’s future.”
My jaw tightened.
“What about it?”
“You know Monica and Jason have been trying for another child.”
There it was.
I suddenly understood more than I wanted to.
Monica had one daughter, sixteen-year-old Ava.
After three miscarriages, doctors told her another pregnancy was unlikely.
I had grieved with her.
Driven her to appointments.
Taken Ava for weekends when Monica could not get out of bed.
And now my mother was talking about Eli’s future.
“Say exactly what you mean.”
Evelyn hesitated.
“If your Navy obligations become too demanding, Monica could provide stability.”
I almost dropped the phone.
“Are you suggesting my sister should raise my child?”
“No one is taking anything.”
“CPS is literally investigating whether someone should take him.”
“Because concerns were raised.”
“By Monica.”
“You don’t know that.”
I remembered my sister’s face when the CPS worker appeared.
I knew.
My mother continued.
“Your service comes first to you.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’ve missed birthdays.”
“Deployments and temporary duty assignments are not abandonment.”
“Eli needs consistency.”
“He has it.”
“With babysitters.”
“With school.”
“With neighbors.”
“With people other than his mother.”
I went very still.
“Did you provide a statement to CPS?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
“I answered questions when someone called.”
My chest tightened.
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth.”
“What truth?”
“That you work too much.”
“That you’re rigid.”
“That Daniel’s death changed you.”
I whispered.
“Did you tell them I’m violent?”
“No.”
“Did you tell them I have combat trauma?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
I believed that part.
At least I wanted to.
She changed the subject.
“Come Sunday.”
“Your father wants the family together.”
I almost refused.
Then my legal brain took over.
People say more when they think they are safe.
“I’ll come.”
After we hung up, I checked the calendar.
May you like
Sunday was three days away.
Before then, I intended to know exactly what my sister wanted.
