Chapter 3 - The Mother Who Wasn't Allowed to Come Home
The first time I met Naomi Parker, she was sitting outside the pediatric hospital holding a photograph of Oliver.
She looked twenty-four.
Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail.
She wore a green sweatshirt and jeans that seemed too large for her.
Her eyes were swollen from crying.
I recognized Oliver's face immediately.
"Excuse me," I said.
She looked up.
"Yes?"
I pointed toward the photograph.
"Is that Oliver?"
Her entire expression changed.
"How do you know my son?"
I stopped.
"You're his mother?"
She stood so quickly that the photograph slipped from her lap.
"Where is he?"
I bent down and picked it up.
"He's being evaluated here."
She grabbed my arm.
"Is he hurt?"
I gently stepped back.
"He's stable. The doctors are checking him."
Her face collapsed.
"Oh, God."
She covered her mouth.
"Please tell me he's okay."
I looked at her.
I had been told Naomi abandoned Oliver.
Celeste said his mother left him at the hospital and refused to take him home.
But the woman standing in front of me didn't look like someone who had forgotten her baby existed.
She looked desperate.
I guided her toward a bench.
"What's your name?"
"Naomi Parker."
"I'm Nora Ellis. I was hired to care for Oliver."
Her eyes filled.
"You've held him?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
She began crying.
"Does he like being rocked?"
I smiled sadly.
"He does."
"And the song?"
"What song?"
She swallowed.
"'You Are My Sunshine.'"
I stared at her.
That was the song I sang when Oliver couldn't settle.
I'd discovered it by accident.
The first time I hummed it, he'd relaxed almost immediately.
Naomi pressed a hand against her chest.
"I sang it to him every night when I was pregnant."
My throat tightened.
I sat beside her.
"Naomi, what happened?"
She looked down.
"My apartment caught fire."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"Three weeks ago. The building had an electrical problem."
She wiped her eyes.
"I was still recovering from childbirth. I got Oliver out, but I couldn't stay in the apartment."
"Where did you go?"
"The hospital."
She swallowed.
"I had complications. They kept me for treatment."
I listened.
She continued.
"A social worker said they needed a temporary placement while I recovered and found somewhere safe to live."
That was very different from abandonment.
"Did you agree?"
"To temporary care."
Her voice broke.
"Not adoption."
I stared at her.
"Adoption?"
She nodded.
"Lydia Crane told me the Mercers wanted to adopt him."
My stomach tightened.
"What did you say?"
"I said no."
She pulled a folded paper from her pocket.
"I've been trying to get him back."
The paper contained an appointment schedule and a list of reunification requirements.
Housing verification.
Medical clearance.
Parenting support.
Supervised visits.
Naomi had completed most of them.
But several scheduled visits had been canceled.
The reason listed was:
Mother unavailable.
Naomi pointed at the page.
"I was there."
I looked at her.
"Where?"
"At the agency. Every time."
Her voice shook.
"Lydia told me Oliver wasn't available."
I studied the dates.
One visit had been scheduled for the previous Tuesday.
I remembered Tuesday.
Celeste told me Oliver had a routine appointment.
She took him out for three hours.
When she returned, she seemed furious.
She said someone at the agency was making things difficult.
I looked at Naomi.
"Did you see him Tuesday?"
She shook her head.
"Lydia said he was sick."
I felt cold.
Oliver hadn't been sick.
Not on Tuesday.
Not that morning.
I remembered changing his diaper before Celeste left.
He'd been alert and feeding normally.
Naomi began crying again.
"They keep telling me I need to prove I'm a good mother."
I sat quietly.
She looked at the photograph.
"I lost my apartment. I didn't lose my love for him."
I swallowed.
"Have you spoken to an attorney?"
She shook her head.
"I can't afford one."
I looked toward the hospital entrance.
"There's a family support office inside. They may be able to help you find legal assistance."
She nodded.
But she didn't move.
"Will you tell me something?"
"Of course."
She looked at me.
"Does he cry a lot?"
I shook my head.
"Mostly when he's hungry."
"Does he still curl his fingers around your thumb?"
I smiled.
"Every time."
She started crying.
I reached for her hand.
And made a decision.
I wasn't going to pretend I knew every fact about Naomi's case.
I wasn't going to promise her a particular outcome.
But I could tell the truth about Oliver.
And I could make sure the right people knew what I'd witnessed.
An hour later, a hospital social worker arranged for Naomi's contact information and claims to be passed to the child-protection team overseeing Oliver's safety.
Naomi also received information about obtaining independent legal representation.
I gave my statement.
Then I went home with a swollen cheek and the terrible feeling that the situation was much larger than one foster mother's cruelty.
That evening, someone knocked on my apartment door.
I looked through the peephole.
A woman stood outside in a navy coat.
Lydia Crane.
I didn't open the door.
"What do you want?"
She leaned toward it.
"Nora, we need to discuss what happened."
"Speak to the investigators."
Her voice hardened.
"You don't understand how much damage you've caused."
I looked at the deadbolt.
"Oliver is safe."
"That's not what I'm talking about."
I said nothing.
Lydia continued.
"You've complicated a very important placement."
I felt my stomach turn.
"A placement?"
She lowered her voice.
"Open the door. We can make this worth your while."
I stared at the lock.
May you like
Then I reached for my phone.
And called the detective who had taken my statement.
