Chapter 7: Mr. Patton
Renata called six days later.
I was in the backyard watching Leo try to teach himself to ride the secondhand bicycle we'd found at a garage sale the weekend before.
He kept listing to the left and correcting hard to the right, his face locked in total concentration, Gerald propped against the fence post as an audience.
I stepped inside to take the call.
"The investigation into Raymond Patton has been reopened," Renata said.
"The w*apon was registered to him.
That, combined with Leo's account and two other reports that were filed and stalled, was enough to get a formal review initiated."
"Two other reports."
"Two other children from previous placements.
Both flagged concerns.
Neither was followed up adequately at the time." A pause.
"His license has been suspended pending the outcome."
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
"So he can't take any more placements."
"Not while the review is active.
And given what's in the file now, I don't expect that license to be reinstated."
"What about the other children?
The ones who filed reports?"
"They've been contacted.
Their current placements are being reviewed as well." Renata's voice was careful, measured, the way it always was.
"Claire, I want to be honest with you.
This process is slow.
There may not be a dramatic outcome.
But Raymond Patton will not have unsupervised access to children in the foster system again.
That is effectively certain."
I looked out the window.
Leo had gotten the bicycle moving in a straight line for almost ten feet before the left list took over again.
He put his foot down, steadied himself, and started again without any visible frustration.
"Does Leo need to know the details?" I asked.
"That's your call.
He's in therapy now — Dr.
Okafor would be the right person to help you decide how much to tell him and when."
"Okay."
"There's one more thing." A brief pause.
"Patton's attorney contacted our office this morning.
He's claiming Leo stole the w*apon and that any account Leo gives is the fabrication of a troubled child with a history of behavioral issues."
My grip on the phone tightened.
"He's going after Leo's credibility."
"He's trying to.
It won't hold.
The registration, the other reports, the timeline — it doesn't support his version.
But I wanted you to know it was happening so you weren't caught off guard."
"Does Leo need to do anything?
Testify, give a formal statement—"
"Not at this stage.
If it escalates to a formal hearing, we'll cross that when we come to it.
Right now, the most important thing Leo can do is exactly what he's doing — settling in, going to therapy, being a kid."
After I hung up, I stood at the window for another minute.
Outside, Leo had finally gotten the bicycle to go straight.
Ten feet became fifteen, became twenty.
He didn't whoop or shout.
He just rode, jaw set, eyes forward, like a person who had decided to master something and was simply doing it.
At the fence post, Gerald watched.
I went back outside.
"Looking good," I said.
"I keep going left," Leo said, circling back toward me.
"You're correcting it faster each time."
He considered this with his usual seriousness.
"Renata called?"
I looked at him.
"Yes."
"Is it about Mr.
Patton?"
"Yes."
He braked and put his foot down.
"Is he in trouble?"
"He's being investigated.
His license is suspended.
He can't take in any more kids right now."
Leo looked at Gerald against the fence post.
Something moved across his face — not quite relief, not quite satisfaction.
Something quieter and more complicated than either.
May you like
"Good," he said.
He picked up the bicycle again and started pedaling.
