Huong got out of bed after she heard the locking of deadbolts and then the footsteps running down the stairs, (something she always warned them not to do). She went to the kitchen, misted her basil, then her mint, and then put on some tea. Huong had just taken a seat when the doorbell rang. “Mrs. Le, may I speak with you please?” It was a woman’s voice calling her name.

She froze, hoping the person would go away. She almost never had visitors.

Again she heard, “Mrs. Le, are you home?” The chiming doorbell was now accompanied by a determined knocking.

Through the crack of the door, Huong saw a woman of her height but with hair so big it made her appear many inches taller. “My name is Irene Pacheco. Are you Elle’s mother?”

Huong nodded and unlatched the rusty chain.

The woman pulled a clipboard from her oversized purple purse. She checked the number on the apartment door, and said, “You’re the stepmother of Elle Thao Tran at A.P. Giannini Middle School, correct?”

Huong blinked at the term “stepmother.” She said, “I am the mother of Elle.”

Irene Pacheco said, “Sorry.” She checked her clipboard. “The different last names must have thrown me off.”

Huong said, “Women in my country don’t change their names when they marry.” She continued more urgently, “Is my daughter okay?”

“I’m from Child Protective Services Mrs. Le. That’s what I’m here to talk to you about.” Huong felt the back of her throat closing when she heard the word child and protect. “May I come in Mrs. Le? I just have a few questions. It won’t be long.”

Huong opened the door and the woman stepped inside. The woman walked down the hallway ahead of her. She slowed to peer inside the bedrooms and wrote notes on her legal pad the entire time. From behind, Huong said, “I can offer you tea.”

“No thanks,” said Irene Pachecho, without even turning around to make eye contact.

Huong was proud of her modest apartment and was discouraged that this stranger she had let into her home didn’t offer a compliment or any niceties. Despite the ill-mannered behavior, Huong still felt obliged to have something to offer. Huong excused herself to the kitchen in order to rummage through the cupboards. She was relieved to find a tin of buttermilk cookies. The box clanked against the glass coffee table when she set the cookies down. It made a violent sound like cymbals crashing.

Irene Pacheco stood at the living room wall studying Viet’s framed diplomas. She turned around and said, “This is nothing to be alarmed about Mrs. Le,” and took a seat. “I only have a few routine questions.” She turned the page of her yellow pad. Her nails were peach and nicely polished. “How many children do you have?” she asked.

Huong almost said, three, automatically counting her son. She corrected herself in time and in perfect English said, “I have two children.”

“How old are your children?” she asked.