“Oh right, you have a B.A.,” Helen said. “Four years of college. Very impressive. Me too. Can I ask you something? Who sent you?”

“The principal called our office. He’s a mandated reporter,” the intake worker said.

“That principal,” Helen said. “Of course. That stuffed shirt. I should have known it. What’s he got, a fucking vendetta?”

“We make home visits all the time, just to check that everything is normal,” the girl said.

“Normal. Ha,” Helen said. “Tell me. Do you have children of your own? What in the hell are you doing here bothering us?”

I strengthened my grip on Perley’s shoulder. He shrugged my hand away. I clamped it right back.

The young intake worker remembered her training. She rose, reached for her tablet. “Ms. Conley,” she said. “I’m here to talk to the family. Not to those who aren’t in the family.” She turned to me. “Ms. Marshall. It’s just you and your child living here with how many nonrelative adults?”

I opened my mouth but Helen didn’t give me a chance. “Nonrelative adults,” she said. “Just what do you mean by that?”

“How many single adults live here?” the intake worker asked again, trying to ignore Helen.

“Just Helen,” I said.

“And you mentioned Karen Sweeney,” the girl said.

“Karen’s my domestic partner,” I said.

“Ha. Not by state law,” Helen said. “According to state law we might as well be practicing polygamy up here on this hill.”

“What’s polygamy?” asked Perley.

“We aren’t practicing polygamy,” I told the intake worker.

“Or even polyamory,” Helen said. “Which isn’t actually illegal.”

“Helen has a sense of humor. She’s very good with Perley,” I said.

“She’s my Mean Aunt,” Perley said, “and I love her.”

“Of course you do,” the intake worker said. “Any other adults?” she asked me.

“You might as well put Rudy on there,” Helen said.

“Rudy doesn’t really live here,” I said. “He’s just a frequent visitor.”

“Just tell them everything,” Helen said. “They’ll find out anyway and then they’ll say you lied if you didn’t tell them in the first place.”

“So Rudy is a friend or a boyfriend?” asked the intake worker.

“Oh please,” Helen said. “A friend. Or a royal pain in the ass, depending on what day you ask.”

“He’s a man we let sleep out on the pipeline,” I clarified.

We all have our strategies. Mine had been to keep smiling, to try to steer us smooth, to cast a spell around us. But Helen’s strategy was to treat the caseworker like a bear. To be firm. To be aggressive enough to show that we weren’t afraid, but not so aggressive that the bear would charge. Follow this strategy and the bear will retreat.