Page 2 of Property of Quake

No answer comes. There’s no voice from the heavens, no soft whisper from God, no miracle. But something inside of me still shifts.

My loneliness eases, as does the ache that always seems to be in my chest. I have no clue what causes it, but at this moment, I choose to believe one thing…

Maybe God is simply waiting, listening, and silently guiding me toward something better.

With that thought in mind, I return to the shared room, tiptoeing past the sleeping kids and climbing into bed. I don’t have any more answers than I did before stepping into the chapel, but I do sleep better than I have in years.

Fifteen years old…

“Still think someone’s gonna want you?”

It’s taken ten years, but I think I finally understand Ryan. I always thought he was mean, but now? I realize he’s just as sad and broken as I am.

I shrug. “There’s time,” I say, although I don’t believe it anymore.

He slings the brand-new duffel bag the nuns gave him over his shoulder. It’s one that was donated, and it looks like every other bag given to those of us who turn eighteen and walk out of Sacred Haven with nothing more than the contents of the bag—a few articles of clothing, a toothbrush, some hygiene products, the cash we save from our allowance over the years, and a Bible—and a jaded spirit.

“Right. Time.” His face contorts into a bitter scowl. “Time isn’t your friend, Whitney. It isn’t going to pass in a haze of magical rainbows that will somehow wrap your life in color and good things.” Ryan reaches out and tugs on a strand of my hair. “When you turn eighteen and are kicked out of this hell hole, look me up.”

That’s the only goodbye I get from the boy who tormented me for years.

“Whitney, come on inside.”

I turn around and see Sister Beatrice standing in the doorway. Her gaze is trained on Ryan as he disappears down the winding drive that leads to the home, and her expression is… soft?

“You’re going to miss him,” I say when I join her to go inside.

She sighs. “I miss every child who leaves.”

“Yeah, but…” I shake my head in an effort to shift the pieces of a puzzle I didn’t even know I was trying to solve. “He was always getting in trouble.”

Sister Beatrice chuckles, but the sound is wet, like she’s choking on a sob. “It’s the troublesome ones who need us the most, need God the most.”

I go to bed with those words playing on a loop in my brain.

Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months, and months turn into years. Other kids come and go while I remain.

There are moments when the bitterness becomes overwhelming, but I try to reflect on that one night long ago in the chapel. Ryan is gone, no one has come for me, but I keep telling myself I’m not alone.

Maybe getting older has made me wiser, or maybe I’ve simply gotten used to being left behind. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, as I spend more and more time with the younger children.

I help them with homework, read them stories before bed, and sit beside them when families visit and choose someone else.

When I’m sixteen, Emma and Ethan enter Sacred Haven, and their sibling bond spurs jealousy in me. After four months, Ethan is adopted while Emma is left behind. I sit with her while she cries herself to sleep for two weeks straight. Every single night she cries, I lose sleep because something in me desperately needs her to see that she isn’t alone, that someone cares.

On night ten, she asked me if anyone would ever want her, and I repeated the words Sister Beatrice and the other nuns spent years telling me: You’re loved.

“What if nobody picks me?” she asks, sniffling.

“They will,” I assure her.

“How do you know?”

Because God hasn’t forgotten me.

The answer appears in my mind so quickly that it startles me, but I don’t say it out loud. I can’t because I’m not sure I completely believe it, but this little girl doesn’t need me to believe the words I tell her, she just needs me to say them.

So, I smile and squeeze Emma’s hand. “I just know.”