"I suggest you call some family."
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***
A few days later, Ms. Hart from child services sat across from me at our kitchen table with a folder thick enough to ruin my life.
Tommy was asleep on the couch. Lila and Phoebe stood in the hallway, pretending not to listen.
"These children will need temporary placement," Ms. Hart said.
"Together?" I asked.
She looked down at the folder. That was answer enough.
"No."
Lila made a small sound from the hallway.
Tommy was asleep on the couch.
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I kept my eyes on Ms. Hart. "They just lost Mom and Dad."
"I know, Rowan," she said gently.
"No. If you did, you wouldn't be telling me to split them up like mismatched socks."
Her face softened. "Rowan, you're eighteen."
"I know how old I am."
"You have no degree and no steady income. According to the paperwork, the mortgage is behind."
"I can work. I can learn. Just don't split them up."
"They just lost Mom and Dad."
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"It isn't that simple."
I looked at Tommy, curled under his blanket, with one hand still holding Mom's old keychain. "Neither is telling a six-year-old he lost his parents and his family in the same week."
Ms. Hart closed the folder halfway. "I hear you. Don't get me wrong. But love isn't always enough."
"Then teach me what else I need. Help me."
"I can only do so much, Rowan. But remember, a court date will be set, whether we like it or not."
