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And I was tossed into foster care, terrified and all alone.
I didn’t have good memories of that place. The children had been cruel, used to cruelty and doling it out in retaliation on those weaker than them.
It hadn’t been all that bad, though.
Some of those memories were good. A scant few.
I had made a friend and then I would be abandoned all over again.
Life hasn’t been good after being kicked out of the orphanage, either. I could never land a steady job, my grades not good enough, my experience too limited.
Sighing, I lick the crumbs off my fingers and go to wash the plate, humming a tune. But it’s starting to look up now.
I decide to take a nap on the couch, setting the alarm for five when I will have to go pick up Max from school. They have a small fair today and I sneaked him ten dollars from my savings so he could gorge on candies and junk food, play the small games with his friends.
He’s a good kid, bright, eager, and so loving.
A few minutes with him makes even the worst day seem cheerful.
As I drift off, I think of my new boss with his sharp amber eyes that seen to see right through you and jet-black hair. He seems oddly familiar, now that I think about it. Maybe I’ve seen his picture on a magazine or something.
He definitely looks like he belongs on one of those top ten bachelors’ lists.
Max rushes towards me, his cheeks flushed, chocolate stains all around his grinning mouth.
I try to hold my position, but I am bowled over by a thin boy with clothes that are too baggy, wild blue eyes and a shock of brown hair.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” he’s mumbling into my stomach.
I laugh, pushing him off. “Stop getting chocolate on my shirt.”
He beams up at me. “There was a clay competition and I made you an elephant.” He shrugs off his bag pack and holding it to him, he starts rifling through it, finally drawing out the ugliest possible clay creation in the world.
I absolutely love it.
“That’s not an elephant,” I tell him as I examine it.
He flashes me a quick grin. “Mom says it’s the thought that counts. I was making a pig but I couldn’t make the tail, so I made an elephant instead.”
We start walking as I delicately put the hardened pie
ce of clay into my purse. “Well, we know what’s going on my new desk at work now.”
Max stops and tugs at my arm to get attention. “Did you get the job?”
“Yes, I did!”
When we get home, Tracy’s enthusiasm is more overpowering than Max’s, the five-year-old understanding that this it’s good news but not to the extent that his mother does.
Tucking Max into bed, we sit together in the cramped living room.
Tracy lies on the ragged couch, a wet cloth on her face. “Why is it so cold outside?”
“It’s October,” I tell her, staring at the square handkerchief on her face. “Does that thing really work? You do that every night.” I place a cup of hot cocoa on the old coffee table and take mine to the side to huddle on the armchair I’d bought from one of the neighbors. I sank into it and dragged the comforter around me.
Tracy’s voice was muffled from under the cloth. “Janice swears by it and I haven’t gotten any wrinkles for over two months.”
“You’re twenty-seven. You’re good, wrinkle-wise,” I point out dryly, sipping at my drink.
