You need to listen to me!” Jordan shouts. “Listen to me!”

“Okay, buddy,” I say, trying to calm him down. The cops have had him holed up in his bedroom for an hour while they interviewed the bus driver and a few of the kids who saw everything.

Gil’s been trying to calm me down, but there’s no hope for that.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” I say to Jordan. “Don’t leave anything out.”

Gils stands behind me, and behind him another cop waits to see what Jordan has to say. The bus driver’s account was damning against Jack. According to him, Jack came at Schmidt from behind, cold-cocked him, then just started beating on him for no apparent reason at all.

“He was screaming at me and calling me names. He was telling me we couldn’t live here anymore!” Jordan exclaims.

“Who was screaming?” Gil asks. “Who said that?”

“Grandpa!” Jordan says, his eyes narrow with distrust for my best friend. Jordan doesn’t like cops. “He called me a ‘foul-mouthed little shit!”

“And then he grabbed me and pulled me off the bus. I fell and skinned my knees.” He points to his torn jeans, stained with a trace of blood. “I fell on my face too.” His lip is bruised, but the bleeding has since stopped.

“He was going to take us,” Jordan says. “He said he was taking us away. Jack stopped him. Jack made him stop.”

“Think hard Jordan,” Gil says. “Did Jack touch your Grandpa before he grabbed you? Or after?”

“After,” Jordan says without hesitating. “I was already on the ground when Jack punched him. Chrissy and Joey were right behind me. Grandpa was about to grab Chrissy. He told me he was taking us back with him.”

I look up at Gil. “Not exactly how the bus driver said it went down.” I observe. “Not exactly for no reason?”

Gil nods. “Jordan, thanks,” he says. “You stay here. We may have some more questions to ask you in a little while. Okay?”

“Where’s Jack?” he asks. “Why did they put Jack in handcuffs? He was only trying to protect us. If I was big like him, I’d have done the same thing. He saved us from Grandpa.”

“Jack’s going to be alright,” I say, fully aware I have no clue whether that’s true or not. “He’s in a little bit of trouble for what he did to Grandpa, but everything will be fine. You’re safe.”

“Because of Jack,” Jordan replies. “Only because of Jack.”

A few minutes later we get almost exactly the same story from Chrissy, who’s been kept in her room, separated from Jordan. Kathi has been sitting with her and Joey, trying to comfort them. Joey’s almost cried his eyes out.

“Don’t make us go to Grandpa’s,” he begs, wailing between fierce bouts of tears. “He’s so mean. Please don’t make us go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” I promise Joey, hugging him close. “You’re right here. You’re at home. You’re safe.”

My words feel almost as hollow as the look in Chrissy’s eyes. She blank, reverted to the stoic, withdrawn child who came to us so many months ago. She grips Joey’s arm so tight I think it might cut off his circulation. She hangs onto him for dear life, as if he’s the only thing between the sanctuary of her bedroom and oblivion.

The truth is they were never safe. If Schmidt had tried to grab them at school, or at one of their activities, Jack wouldn’t have been there to stop him. Schmidt’s mistake—if he really intended to take the kids—was coming here. Of course, Schmidt has to be crazy to think he’d ever get away with it.

I’ll kill him myself if he ever tries anything like this again.

“I need to see Jack,” I insist again, once Gil and I are clear of the kids and eavesdropping ears. “Just a few minutes. Please?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t, Dillon,” he replies for at least the third time. “No visitors until he’s arraigned. The best thing you can do for him is hire a good criminal defense attorney and take care of your kids. The kids are your priority right now. People are going to be poking around, asking uncomfortable questions. You need to be on the kids’ side, no matter what else happens.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask him, thoroughly lost.

Gil heaves in a deep breath, drawing his arms across his chest. “Dillon, your boyfriend beat an old man, a preacher no less, within an inch of his life, in front of forty schoolchildren. It doesn’t look good. It looks awful. CPS has to be brought back in because the victim was a relative of the kids and the altercation was about the kids.”

“Child Protective Services?” I ask, feeling my heart sink to the pit of my stomach. “But—”

“I’m sorry, Dillon,” Gil says. “Get Jack a lawyer, but do whatever CPS says you need to do. Jack will understand.”

* * *

“Mr. Chance has been living here with you and the children for how long?” Mrs. Landry, the case worker from Child Protective Services asks. She’s the same case worker who managed us from the time of Kimmie’s arrest, through my successful custody case.

“Six weeks,” I say.

“What’s Mr. Chance’s relationship with the children like?” she asks. “How do they get along?”

“They get along great,” I reply. “They love him. We co-parent the kids. In a lot of ways, he’s better with them than I am.”

Mrs. Landry gives me a look of unchecked disapproval. “How so?” she asks.

Jesus. Did I say the wrong thing? What’s the right thing to say?

“He’s just sensitive with them. He’s always anticipating them. He knows what they need, and he makes it happen. Like with the Christmas tree,” I say. “I never had a Christmas tree. But Jack worked it all out. He organized it and we had this big deal with the family, getting everybody together to decorate. I never thought twice about it. He gets dinner on the table like clockwork. He anticipates everything.”

She nods, smirking. “Has Mr. Chance ever shown violent tendencies?”

“No,” I state flatly. “He’s the calmest guy I know. The most patient. Nothing rattles him.”

“Apparently that’s not true,” Mrs. Landry replies coolly. She continues making notes, asking me random questions about our family life and Jack’s habits.

“Here’s what I’m going to recommend, Mr. Manning,” she says finally. “I’ve interviewed the children, as well as Mr. Chance’s sister and sister-in-law. According to all of you, Jack is a saint; the last man in the world who would ever hurt someone. Never-the-less, he’s in custody, facing an initial charge of assault, with the potential for more charges pending.

“I’m going to submit my recommendation to the court that Mr. Chance reside elsewhere, away from the children, having no contact with the children, until his case is resolved. We’ll re-evaluate at that time. If you fail to comply, or if Mr. Chance fails to comply, we can remove the children from your custody and place them elsewhere. Do you understand?”

“I do,” I say, not understanding at all. This just seems wrong, no matter how you look at it.

“Good,” Mrs. Landry says, closing her folder. “I’ll follow-up next week. We’re going to set up a schedule of weekly home visits to monitor the children and the home situation going forward. Also, I’ll need a list of everyone who participates in child care, and a detailed list of the children’s after school activities. We’ll be interviewing the people who interact with the children on a regular basis. I understand Joey is in gymnastics?”

I nod. “Yes, Ma’am,” I say. “Jordan’s in math club at school and has joined River Rock Climbing gym in Roanoke. He goes on weekends and takes classes.”

“Get me the details,” she says, gathering her things. “We’ll be in touch.”