songs of
night birds and insects filled the air. The dark sky was carpeted
with sparkling stars.
“Do you remember the day you came to Mrs.
B’s?” he asked at last.
“Of course I do,” she said automatically.
“What do you remember?”
Loneliness. Rejection. Fear.
Devastation.
The thoughts somersaulted through her brain,
one on top of another. They had never really talked about this. It
wasn’t a topic she wanted to discuss, and he must have always known
and respected that. Even, now, she felt herself shrinking away from
the conversation.
She frowned. He deserved an honest answer,
and she wasn’t a coward.
“I remember wondering what my new foster home
would be like,” she began, laying her head against his chest. “This
was my fifth placement, if you don’t count the stays in the
emergency homes and shelters between placements, and I had only
just turned twelve. I’m pretty sure my DFCS worker was about to
give up on me. There had been talk about sending me to a group home
or a therapeutic foster home, but I guess I didn’t really fit those
standards. So eventually Mrs. Harris drove me up here to interview
with Mrs. B.”
When she paused, he asked gently, “What was
that like?”
She drank some more water and listened to his
heart beat. The steady, vital sound helped ease some of the
tightness that had settled in her chest. “I was nervous,” she
admitted. “I had already been to two interviews with Caucasian
families and the match didn’t work for one reason or another. Mrs.
Harris thought that I was deliberately sabotaging the interviews,
but that wasn’t true. I hated the shelter, but I didn’t want to end
up someplace worse.”
She paused again. He rubbed her arm and
kissed the top of her head.
“Mrs. B was great,” she continued after a
moment. “She was very matter-of-fact. I’m pretty sure I said some
smartass thing to her in the interview. I was twelve and felt like
I knew my way in the world. Mrs. B was quick to inform me that I
did not. And she took me in.” Now, she smiled slightly. “I was
happy when Mrs. Harris told me the news, but...”
“You were also afraid that it would end like
all of your other placements,” he finished.
She nodded.
“Anyone would tell you that’s perfectly
understandable.”
Finishing her water, she leaned over to put
her empty glass on the small plastic table beside the swing. Then
she settled back into her position beside him.
“That first day in a new home…it’s full of
tension and hope,” she said. “You want to be absolutely perfect so
your caregiver will like you, but of course you can’t. No one is.”
After a pause of reflection, she said, “I walked into Mrs. B’s
kitchen that first day with all of my worldly possessions and saw
you sitting at the kitchen table eating a sandwich.”
“It was peanut butter and jelly,” he said
helpfully. “Grape.”
She lifted her head to look at him. “How do
you remember that? That was nearly six years ago!”
“I remember everything about that day.”
Not sure what to say, she continued to stare
at him.
“I want to hear your version,” he
encouraged.
Giving him a thoughtful frown, she relented
and eased back against his chest. Recalling the memory, she
continued, “When I saw you, I remember thinking, ‘God, I’m hungry’
and ‘God, he’s cute’ almost at the same time. It was the first time
I remember thinking about a boy that way, actually.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his
chest. It made her smile. “And you offered me half of your sandwich
before you even knew anything about me,” she remembered now.
She hadn’t known what to make of that. After
so many years of forming connections with people only to have those
connections severed, her faith in humanity had been all but
extinguished. Likewise, she had come to the only possible
conclusion that she was simply not worth loving and keeping around.
Gabriel’s offer of half of his sandwich when they
night birds and insects filled the air. The dark sky was carpeted
with sparkling stars.
“Do you remember the day you came to Mrs.
B’s?” he asked at last.
“Of course I do,” she said automatically.
“What do you remember?”
Loneliness. Rejection. Fear.
Devastation.
The thoughts somersaulted through her brain,
one on top of another. They had never really talked about this. It
wasn’t a topic she wanted to discuss, and he must have always known
and respected that. Even, now, she felt herself shrinking away from
the conversation.
She frowned. He deserved an honest answer,
and she wasn’t a coward.
“I remember wondering what my new foster home
would be like,” she began, laying her head against his chest. “This
was my fifth placement, if you don’t count the stays in the
emergency homes and shelters between placements, and I had only
just turned twelve. I’m pretty sure my DFCS worker was about to
give up on me. There had been talk about sending me to a group home
or a therapeutic foster home, but I guess I didn’t really fit those
standards. So eventually Mrs. Harris drove me up here to interview
with Mrs. B.”
When she paused, he asked gently, “What was
that like?”
She drank some more water and listened to his
heart beat. The steady, vital sound helped ease some of the
tightness that had settled in her chest. “I was nervous,” she
admitted. “I had already been to two interviews with Caucasian
families and the match didn’t work for one reason or another. Mrs.
Harris thought that I was deliberately sabotaging the interviews,
but that wasn’t true. I hated the shelter, but I didn’t want to end
up someplace worse.”
She paused again. He rubbed her arm and
kissed the top of her head.
“Mrs. B was great,” she continued after a
moment. “She was very matter-of-fact. I’m pretty sure I said some
smartass thing to her in the interview. I was twelve and felt like
I knew my way in the world. Mrs. B was quick to inform me that I
did not. And she took me in.” Now, she smiled slightly. “I was
happy when Mrs. Harris told me the news, but...”
“You were also afraid that it would end like
all of your other placements,” he finished.
She nodded.
“Anyone would tell you that’s perfectly
understandable.”
Finishing her water, she leaned over to put
her empty glass on the small plastic table beside the swing. Then
she settled back into her position beside him.
“That first day in a new home…it’s full of
tension and hope,” she said. “You want to be absolutely perfect so
your caregiver will like you, but of course you can’t. No one is.”
After a pause of reflection, she said, “I walked into Mrs. B’s
kitchen that first day with all of my worldly possessions and saw
you sitting at the kitchen table eating a sandwich.”
“It was peanut butter and jelly,” he said
helpfully. “Grape.”
She lifted her head to look at him. “How do
you remember that? That was nearly six years ago!”
“I remember everything about that day.”
Not sure what to say, she continued to stare
at him.
“I want to hear your version,” he
encouraged.
Giving him a thoughtful frown, she relented
and eased back against his chest. Recalling the memory, she
continued, “When I saw you, I remember thinking, ‘God, I’m hungry’
and ‘God, he’s cute’ almost at the same time. It was the first time
I remember thinking about a boy that way, actually.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his
chest. It made her smile. “And you offered me half of your sandwich
before you even knew anything about me,” she remembered now.
She hadn’t known what to make of that. After
so many years of forming connections with people only to have those
connections severed, her faith in humanity had been all but
extinguished. Likewise, she had come to the only possible
conclusion that she was simply not worth loving and keeping around.
Gabriel’s offer of half of his sandwich when they
Similar Books
