Free Fostering Death by KM Rockwood Page A

took it from her. It was important. A notice of a custody hearing for the kids. I scanned down the page. It was for a week from Monday. At ten o’clock at the courthouse.
    The kids weren’t in school. For sure the court would ask for a report from the school. How would this look?
    “You go get ready for school, too,” I told Brianna.
    Putting the paper by itself on the table, I went upstairs to Kelly’s bedroom. The hallway was dark. An empty Southern Comfort bottle lay on the floor outside the closed door. I knocked.
    Kelly’s sleepy voice came from inside. “What now?” she asked. “Can’t you get your own breakfast?”
    “Kelly, it’s me. Jesse.”
    “Jesse? What are you doing here? Go away.”
    “Kelly, the kids need to get to school.”
    “What?” I heard her feet hit the floor. The door opened a crack.
    A sour odor of alcohol and unwashed clothes seeped out the opening.
    “The kids are late. And you have a notice here about a custody hearing in a little over a week. It won’t look good if they’re missing school today.”
    The door opened wider. Kelly looked like she’d been in a train wreck. “What am I gonna do?” she wailed.
    Like I should know. But I tried. “Take a quick shower. Get dressed. Drop the kids off at school.”
    She nodded, then put her hand on her forehead. “I feel sick,” she said.
    I looked at the bottle by my foot and then at her. No time to mince words. “Hung over?” I asked.
    Kelly’s shoulders drooped. “I guess.”
    “I’ll see if I can’t find some instant coffee,” I said. “Take an aspirin. But get ready. The kids are late as it is.”
    In the kitchen, I heated a mug of water in the microwave and packed lunches of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, juice boxes, and apples. I could hear water in the sink running upstairs. The kids drifted in. I sent Chris to comb his hair and helped Brianna with her boots.
    Kelly appeared in the doorway. She was wearing jeans and a sweat shirt. Her long dark hair was brushed and pulled back into a ponytail that hung down her back. Her face was covered in uneven red blotches. Her eyes were bloodshot and bleary.
    I mixed the instant coffee into a mug and handed it to Kelly. She frowned at it, but she took a drink.
    “Sign this,” I said, shoving Brianna’s permission slip and a pen at her. She signed it.
    “Where are your car keys?” I asked. She reached for them on a hook by the back door.
    “Give me your project, Chris.” I took it from him, leaving his hands free to struggle with his backpack.
    We all looked pretty pathetic. But staying here and feeling sorry for ourselves wasn’t going to help any of us. “All set? Let’s go.”
    We trooped out the back door to the garage. The kids climbed in the back seat of the old station wagon.
    “You drive,” Kelly said, holding out the keys. “My head’s killing me, and I can’t see straight.”
    “You know I don’t got a driver’s license,” I said. “I can’t drive.”
    “You can drive,” she said. “You drive a forklift all night at work. It’s not that different.”
    “I’m not going to take the chance on violating my parole with something stupid like driving without a license. You’ll have to drive.”
    Begrudgingly, she climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car. I closed the back door behind the kids and got in the passenger seat.

Chapter 7
    T HE K IDS H AD E NOUGH sense to keep quiet as Kelly drove.
    At the school, she parked in a visitor’s parking space in the lot. “Go ahead, kids,” she said. “You’re not that late.”
    “Somebody needs to sign us in,” Chris said, his voice trembling.
    “I can’t let them see me like this,” Kelly protested. “Jesse, can you take them in?”
    “Does it have to be your mom who signs you in?” I asked Chris.
    “The babysitter does it sometimes,” he said.
    “Okay. Let’s give it a try.”
    We got out of the car. Kelly closed her eyes and rested her head on the steering wheel. I took