But I'd rather have her friendship than nothing.
17
AMOS
The SUV hums as we drive through the leafy suburbs of Hope toward my apartment.
"This is the school where you'll be going," I point out as we pass Hope Elementary. "Your teacher's going to be Mrs. Bennet. She's married to a friend of mine, Ethan, and they live up in the mountains. Ethan was in the military just like me."
I glance in the rearview mirror at Sam. He's staring out of the window with a blank expression on his face. In his hands, he turns over a small blue car. The paintwork on it is faded, and there's rust on the metal base.
There's no indication he's heard anything I've said.
In the twenty minutes since I picked him up from the Deacons, who were his foster family, he hasn’t said a single word.
"Ethan was in the Army. I was in the Navy, like your dad." His expression remains stony, and I turn my attention back to the road.
To fill the silence, I start in on an explanation of the different branches of the military and how the army is different from the Navy and why they're both different from the air force.
When I glance in the rearview again, Sam's still looking out of the window and I trail off, uncertain if he can hear me. And more uncertain if giving a tactical explanation of the different military factions is appropriate for a six-year-old.
I'll have to speak to Dad about it. I can't remember at what age I knew I wanted to follow him into the Navy. The military was openly discussed in our household. When dad was around, I loved hearing stories of where he'd been and what he'd been up to. He bought me books on military history and I stayed up late with him watching war documentaries that were much too gruesome for a little boy, but I loved them. The military is in my blood, and it was the only thing I ever wanted to do.
But do I want that for Jake's son? Jake died a hero while serving his country, but is following in his father's footsteps really the right thing for Sam?
We drive the rest of the route in silence, and it's five minutes later that I pull into the underground parking lot of my apartment.
"This is home," I say as I cut the engine.
I turn to Sam, and there's a slight frown on his forehead. I can't imagine what he's going through, and maybe using the H word has reminded him of what he's lost.
"It may not feel like home straight away, but I hope it will over time."
He doesn't say anything. He just stares out the window at the gray concrete columns of the parking lot.
"Let's get you inside."
The Deacons told me he hasn't talked much since he’s been with them. But no one knows if that's from the trauma of losing his mom, or if he was always a quiet boy. The fact that there's no one around to ask makes me sad for him.
I make a mental note to ask Alana about it. There must be an old teacher or the neighbor that used to babysit him who knows. I'll go see them myself if I have to.
I grab his belongings which fit into a single duffel bag and head to the elevator.
"We're on the top floor," I tell him. "You want to push the button?"
He glances up at me, and there's the first flicker of something other than emptiness on his face. His hand darts out, and he pushes the button for level eight. The doors slide closed, and I try not to smile. Some things are universal, like kids wanting to push buttons. It's such a small thing, but it feels like a breakthrough.
We get to the apartment, and I unlock the door. I'm holding my breath as we go in. It matters to me what Sam thinks of his new home. I want him to be happy here, and I hope I've done enough.
"Come on in." I dump the bag by the kitchen counter. "You want a juice or something?"
He shakes his head.
"There's a box of toys in the corner. Do you like cars?"
He nods and I walk over to the colorful box, thankful again for Avery for stocking it up with cars sets.
"Have a look in there and see if there's something you want to play with."
