Don't Go by L.J. Breedlove (series like harry potter txt) 📕

Martha Washington about this after our session Thursday. She had been at CPS back in the day. She knew some of it. Knew both of my parents were convicted for murder and attempted murder, and a whole host of other charges. When I started to question her, she said I could probably google the story, it had been sensational enough, but she recommended I not do it. She felt that the mind closes things off for a reason.”

“Smart woman,” Erica Clarke said with approval. “I knew I liked her for a reason.”

“So, I haven’t. But I was six when it happened. What happened between then and 10 when I went to live with my grandparents? Why don’t I remember any of that?”

“Part of the ‘what happened’ is just how the system works,” the doctor began, falling into a more comfortable teaching role. “The system is designed to protect parental rights over the safety and well-being of the kids. And isn’t that fucked up? So, while your parents’ trial played itself out, and the appeal, and all that hoopla — which you as a journalist probably understand better than I do — you couldn’t be put up for adoption. So, you were in the foster care system.”

She paused. Then she closed her eyes as if she were in pain and opened them again. “Actually, for the first six months, you were in a hospital healing. You know some of that, I suppose. You’ve had physicals. Doctors must have said something about the healed bones and the scars.”

Ryan shrugged. “I usually just say a bad car accident when I was a kid,” he said. “Now at least. If it was something serious, I suppose they’d get the files, and then they wouldn’t need to ask me.”

“True enough.” Clarke nodded at his shoulder. “And you got tattoos. Did that help?”

“It stopped a lot of the questions in the locker room at least,” Ryan said. “And by lovers.”

She snorted. “Leaving that alone. So anyway, you had healing to do. And then foster homes.”

“I don’t recall them. Them? More than one?”

“Three,” Clarke agreed. “First home had other children in foster, and your nightmares made it impossible for them to keep you. They regretted it. You probably don’t remember them because it was a short stay.”

“The second one? Also, short. The site visitor pulled you out, in month two, because she thought something was wrong. You’d regressed. She’d met you when you were placed with the second family, and you wouldn’t stop talking.”

They smiled at each other. “Maybe that’s where Rafael gets it,” Ryan said.

Dr. Clarke continued her summary. “At month two, you were completely silent. That was not normal, in her view — nor in mine — so she pulled you out. The inspectors went in, and within a month, all of the children were out of there, and the couple was in jail.”

“Jesus,” Ryan said. “So much for the system at work.”

“Indeed. You’re justified in having a jaundiced view of it. The system failed you with your own parents. A teacher had called CPS on them. So had a neighbor. And a doctor. Money talked.  And then that foster family. The foster care site visitor — she’s a friend of the Washingtons by the way — did her job, but they should never have been approved. So anyway, family three was working out. But the father got a job in the Midwest. They wanted to adopt and take you with them, but a foster child can’t leave the state. Your mother refused to terminate her rights.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Ryan asked.

“She hadn’t been convicted... no that’s not quite right. Her conviction was still on appeal. In order for you to be adopted she had to sign off on it. She refused. The court refused to terminate them over her objections.”

When Ryan said nothing, Clarke continued, “The family considered staying in state, but they just couldn’t. He’d been laid off and this was a chance to get back on their feet. They had two other children.”

Ryan nodded. He understood that. Hard choices. “But I don’t remember them.”

“And, that surprises me, but I think it was a matter of losing them being so traumatic that your brain shut it down. Compartmentalized it, as you say.”

“And stored it away in the vault,” he said, using his new metaphor.

“Yes.”

“So then what?”

“You were in a group home for about six months. Your mother’s last appeal is rejected. She’s sent to prison, and she signs off her parental rights, allowing you to be adopted. By her parents.”

Ryan nodded. “And by that time, those six months were just something I was getting through sleepwalking.”

“Something like that,” Dr. Clarke agreed. “Although nearly catatonic is the phrase I used when I evaluated you at that point.”

She sighed. “I’ve seen you more than once, Ryan,” she said. “I recommended the state terminate your mother’s rights so you could be adopted by the foster family you were with for two years, for instance. I was overruled. I wasn’t happy with you being adopted by your grandparents, although I didn’t protest as much as maybe I should have. I had hopes they would let you see me regularly if they thought I was on their side. They didn’t. So, I didn’t see you again until your friend hauled you up here to get your stomach pumped.”

“My grandparents didn’t bring me to see you.”

“No.”

Ryan frowned. “I don’t remember seeing anyone.”

“You didn’t, according to your files.”

“Huh. Well, then, I won’t feel so bad about the hell I put them through when I was in high school,” Ryan said, and if his laugh was bitter, he meant it. He’d been hell to deal with, especially for an older couple.

Clarke laughed and shook her head.

“OK, doctor,” Ryan said almost gently. “So, why did they leave for San Diego? They go on a world cruise to celebrate retirement, and then relocate down there. And, except for a healthy trust fund, and a semi-annual letter from me to them, I’m cut out of their