Chapter 10

The next Monday, Sabrina and I were doing her homework when a knock on the door made me frown. I looked at Sabrina and she shrugged.

A strange woman with a briefcase was at the door.

“Good morning, what can I do for you?”

“Megan Crapper, Social Services.”

For an instant, I was paralyzed with uncertainty, then I forced myself to speak. “I don’t remember an appointment.”

“Surprise visit,” Ms. Crapper said. “We like those.”

I glanced at Sabrina. She wasn’t afraid of much, but I could tell she was afraid of Social Services.

I let the woman in.

“Thank you, Mr...”

“Olson, Paul Olson. I’m the nanny and handyman. Would you like to sit, Ms. Crapper?”

She took a chair as far away as she could, looked around, and wrote some notes in a folder.

“This place looks much better than on my last visit.”

“I have been making some renovations.”

The women nodded and scribbled something down.

“Coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

I stared at the Social Services lady. She was probably in her late fifties, though you’d never know it from her bland suit and scraped-back hairstyle.

“How long have you been working here, Mr. Olson?”

“Around six months. I pick Sabrina up from school and help her with her homework” I showed her the books on the table. “Then, we do some work in the house. We painted her room together.”

I smiled at Sabrina and she gave me a nervous smile.

Ms. Crapper nodded and wrote down another note.

“How are the girl’s grades doing?”

“Much better. I suppose you were already at her school.”

Ms.Crapper didn’t even look up. “It’s best if I ask you.”

“So you can see if I lie?”

Now she lifted her gaze to mine. “Do you?”

“Of course, not!”

“Do you have any previous experiences with children?”

“I raised a sixteen-year-old daughter, so yes, I do.”

“Where’s your daughter now?”

I took an educated guess and answered, “College.”

“And you wife?”

“Divorced.”

“How do you and Sabrina get along?” she asked.

“Extremely well.”

Sabrina smiled at me. I winked at her.

“Paul is already part of our family,” she stated.

The social worker stared at Sabrina, then at me, and finally stood up.

“May I see the rest of the house?”

“Um, sure.”

I ushered the woman into the living room.

“You have recently painted it.”

“Yeah, we did. The carpet is new too.”

She looked at the bedrooms, probably to make sure her mother was sleeping alone.

“Sabrina’s room?”

“It’s the one...”

“ ... with the Frozen sheets.” The old lady made a check in her file, then glanced up. “And yours?”

“I prefer Star Trek.”

She didn’t smile, she didn’t even blink.

“I live in the camper parked in the back of the house. They let me get electricity and water in exchange for my services.”

She tried to hold my gaze, but a staring contest? That wasn’t a contest.

“May I take a look?” Ms. Crapper indicated Sabrina’s room with a nod.

“Go ahead.”

I wandered into the kitchen and began cleaning up while she did whatever it was she had to do in Sabrina’s room.

Ms. Crapper came back still scribbling in her folder.

“So,” I said. “How did we do?”

“Better than expected,” she admitted

Since Ms. Crapper was listening, I kept talking. “Sabrina and her mother deserve a break”

The social worker nodded thoughtfully. “I think you’re right.”