It was an unusually warm spring day in Cabot Cove, Maine. Often times the temperature is the last to get the notice when seasons are changing, but today felt nice. Nice enough that Emily Baker opted to walk to her destination instead of drive.
Emily was a Child Placement Specialist with the Child Protective Services, or CPS. She was but one small cog in the great machinery of the government, but she felt her job was of a higher nature than most of the bureaucracy. She was tasked with matching children who had been met with terrible fates to families who could hopefully turn their luck around. Emily took her job seriously, carefully researching all of the prospective families to find the best match for the child she had been assigned. She even made sure to follow up with the children more frequently than what was required, just to make sure they were thriving in their new homes.
That made her one of the good ones. Or at least that's how she felt. She knew of colleagues who did the bare minimum with child placement and some who actually managed to do less than that. Emily was embarrassed to even be associated with those types of workers; they gave good government employees like her a bad name. But more than that, they were entrusted with creating a future for kids who had none. This was not a calling for the lazy or clock watchers.
Emily was lost in thought and almost walked passed the small street she needed to be on. Focusing again, she went through here mental list for today's visit. This placement was a slightly unusual one. There were two siblings, a male and female both aged 8, who were placed with a single older lady. Emily almost always placed children with existing families because those who had grown up in a nuclear family had shown better results than other placements. However, Mrs. Wakefield was something special enough to make Emily feel comfortable with places these two kids in her care.
Mrs. Wakefield was 78, her own childbearing years far behind her. Her life up to this point was rather unremarkable - a point that Emily looks for in adoptive families. Unremarkable usually meant stability and a life free from the volatility of risk and reward. Good environments for a budding life. Mrs. Wakefield had no children of her own, some medical issue that Emily had forgotten the name of, but she was well known in her small community for being kind and keeping her word. If Mrs. Wakefield promised to be somewhere, then that was a promise you could set your clock to. Her age was a bit of an issue, but her familial history showed that the Wakefields were long lived.
When first brought to meet Mrs. Wakefield, the children, Libby and Tyler, we're quickly enraptured with Mrs. Wakefield's stories of days long past. Unprompted during her pontifications, Mrs. Wakefield baked cookies for the kids, quickly winning over their little hearts. Emily was impressed too. Usually these initial meetings are awkward for both parties and not much emotion plays out. But Mrs. Wakefield opened up to the kids as if she had known them their entire life.
It had been almost two years since the match was made and Emily was just arriving at Mrs. Wakefield's house to do a scheduled inspection. As she walked up the drive, she could smell freshly baked bread in the air. Emily smiled to herself. That was just what she expected to find here, and it was good to see that her expectations were spot on.
Emily arrived at the front door and brushed a strand of hair out of her face before pressing the doorbell. She stood holding her inspection binder at her side. There were some faint shuffling noises before Emily could hear the lock being maneuvered and the door opened. Mrs. Wakefield's smiling visage greeted her.
"Well, Ms. Baker! It is wonderful to see you." the older woman beamed, "Please, won't you come in?"
She opened the door further and slid out of the way, allowing Emily room to come inside.
"Mrs. Wakefield, it's so good to see you as well, thank you!" Emily entered the house.
Mrs. Wakefield shut the door behind her and motioned for Emily to follow her in the kitchen. Mrs. Wakefield walked a little slower than Emily remembered, and she was definitely hunched over a little more as well. But, time has a way of doing that and as long as Mrs. Wakefield was able to keep up with her duties to the children, Emily wouldn't penalize her for getting older.
They entered the kitchen and sat at the small table in the middle. Mrs. Wakefield had indeed made fresh bread, which sat prominently at the center on a dated, but nice glass serving plate. The smell of fresh bread was much stronger here. The pleasant aroma was almost enough to hide what Emily could figured was just that 'old person smell' which so often permeated retirement communities. Emily also heard the TV on in the other room, and maybe the occasional giggle too.
"Please, can I get you a slice of bread with tea? I just finished the loaf and it's still quite warm." Mrs. Wakefield smiled and gestured at the bread.
"That would be lovely, thank you Mrs. Wakefield".
As she got a clean plate, Emily began writing a few notes in her binder. Basic things to set the scene for her superiors when they read her report. It was important to paint a clear picture of what she saw. Ambiguity was tantamount to apathy in this business.
To be continued.