Chapter 2 - THE SERVICE THAT NEVER FINISHED
The funeral stopped.
Not the burial.
Not permanently.
But the service ended the moment two patrol officers entered the sanctuary and Pastor Reynolds repeated Emma’s words.
Sergeant Alicia Grant separated everyone.
Emma with a female child-welfare investigator.
Me with another officer.
Trevor separately.
Judith separately.
No family huddle.
No whispered version.
That mattered.
I wanted Emma with me.
Every molecule of my body wanted to pull her into my lap.
The child-welfare investigator said gently:
“Not until we get an initial safety statement.”
“She’s four.”
“I know.”
“She just buried her brothers.”
“I know.”
“She needs me.”
“She does. And right now we also need to make sure no adult unintentionally shapes what she tells us.”
I hated it.
She was right.
I sat in the church office while Detective Mara Ellis asked:
“Mrs. Foster, how old were the twins?”
“Three months.”
“Premature?”
“Thirty-five weeks.”
“Medical problems?”
“Minor feeding issues early. Reflux. Noah had a short NICU stay for breathing support. Caleb came home first.”
“Cause of death?”
“Undetermined pending toxicology.”
She stopped writing.
“You haven’t received final autopsy results?”
“No.”
“Who found them?”
I looked down.
“Trevor.”
“When?”
“Fourteen days ago.”
“Where were you?”
“Asleep.”
“What time?”
“Around five-thirty in the morning.”
“Were the babies in the nursery?”
“Yes.”
“Separate bassinets?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Trevor screamed.”
My body remembered before language did.
Running down the hall.
Noah gray.
Caleb still.
Trevor shaking.
Judith arriving before the ambulance even though no one remembered calling her.
Paramedics.
Police.
Hospital.
Two separate death pronouncements less than an hour apart.
I pressed my palms against my eyes.
Detective Ellis waited.
“Did investigators examine bottles?”
“Yes.”
“Did you prepare the last feeds?”
“I prepared bottles around midnight.”
“Did you feed them?”
“Noah, yes. Caleb only took a little.”
“Who else was awake?”
“Trevor.”
“Judith?”
My eyes opened.
“She came over.”
“When?”
“I don’t know exactly. Around one?”
“Why?”
“She said Trevor called because I was exhausted.”
“Did he?”
“I never asked.”
That landed badly.
“Did Judith feed either baby?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Emma ever tell you she saw Judith put something into bottles?”
“No.”
That was true.
Then I remembered.
Emma three nights before the deaths:
“Grandma makes baby milk special.”
I had been folding laundry.
“What do you mean?”
“She does Grandma stuff.”
I kissed her forehead.
“Okay.”
I had not asked again.
My stomach turned.
Detective Ellis noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing certain.”
“Tell me anyway. We’ll label it properly.”
I did.
No conclusions.
Then:
“Did Judith have access to the nursery after the deaths?”
“Yes.”
“How soon?”
“She was at the house.”
“Did she handle bottles?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Trevor?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He cleaned.”
The detective’s pen stopped.
“Cleaned what?”
“The kitchen.”
“When?”
“That morning.”
“Before police finished processing?”
“I don’t know.”
I heard how bad that sounded.
Then Trevor’s voice erupted in the hallway.
“This is insane!”
Everyone looked toward the door.
Detective Ellis did not move.
“Stay here.”
“What’s happening?”
She left.
Returned four minutes later.
“Your husband wants Emma released to him.”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“Okay.”
“Can I have her?”
“Child services is determining a temporary plan.”
“She lives with me.”
“We’re not accusing you.”
My throat tightened.
“Then why can’t she come with me?”
“Because we need a safe adult location while investigators evaluate who knew what.”
Who knew what.
Not:
Who did what.
Yet.
Pastor Reynolds came to the doorway.
He looked twenty years older than he had during the opening hymn.
“Rachel.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not stopping Judith sooner.”
“She has been doing this for years.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Not this.”
I gestured toward the church.
“Other things.”
Pastor looked toward the sanctuary.
Then:
“She tried to leave.”
“Judith?”
“Yes.”
“Did police stop her?”
“They asked her to remain voluntarily. She did after speaking to counsel.”
Of course.
Then he handed Detective Ellis something.
A folded funeral program.
“What is that?”
“Emma gave it to me before officers arrived.”
Inside the fold, in purple crayon, Emma had drawn two bottles.
Beside them:
A woman with gray hair.
And above the bottles, several dark dots.
No labels.
No words.
Nothing telling us what the dots were.
May you like
But Trevor saw the drawing from across the hall.
He sat down so abruptly that a chair scraped against the floor.
