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“This smells awesome.”
“Make sure everyone gets an equal share.”
“So, boys, how are things?” My question might have seemed casual, but I closely watched who answered, who didn’t, how they interacted with each other and myself. Who was more dominant and aggressive and who was a pushover. I was able to identify the different ways each boy would need to be counselled easily. I had my work cut out for me. Foster kids didn’t find it easy to trust people. They were tougher nuts to crack than Navy SEALs.
They told me how they were doing in school. Some of them were excelling, some were getting into a lot of trouble. They talked about things that made them excited and things they were looking forward to on the weekend. Although things weren’t perfect, this environment was hugely beneficial, and I knew it would be a huge contributor to their success in the long run.
I spent an hour with them before I headed for home. I admit I went the long way. I wanted to see if I could spot Olivia. Maybe I could drive her home from work or take her and her son to dinner. Having witnessed what I had earlier at lunch, I didn’t think she always ate enough. I also didn’t think it was by choice.
As I cruised along past an elementary school, I caught sight of a boy running onto the road. He streaked across into the beam of my headlights and with a few choice words, I swerved to avoid him. My car mounted the curb and I heard a terrible crunch from beneath the chassis.
Tearing the keys out of the ignition, I leapt out of the car and searched for the kid. There he was on the edge of the road, holding his ankle and crying. I approached him cautiously and he jumped.
“Hey, it’s okay, buddy. I won’t hurt you. Is your ankle hurt?”
The boy nodded.
“Will you let me take a look?”
“Okay,” he mumbled through his tears.
“Okay, good boy.” I gingerly untied his shoelace. “My name’s Emmett. What’s yours?”
He was too upset to tell me. If I was going to get any information out of him, I had to calm him down.
When I tried to remove his shoe, he howled in pain. Not good. “Hey, buddy? I think you’re going to need to go to the hospital. Where’s your mom and dad? Are they nearby?”
“No,” he sobbed.
I refrained from cursing. “Are you homeless?”
“No. I want my mom.”
He was getting more and more worked up.
“We’ll find your mom, okay. Where is she?”
He fell into sobs again. It was time to take control of this situation. “Come on, bud. I’m going to take you to the hospital, and we can track down your mom from there. Right now, we need to get your ankle seen by a doctor.”
He thankfully didn’t freak out about me swooping him up into my arms. I carried him to the passenger side of the car and made sure he was secure. I wasn’t sure how my car was going to go. Hopefully nothing was broken. I would have to take that chance. The stray kid beside me was more important right now. We made it to the ER in one piece. As soon as we arrived, the nurses gave the boy child-specific painkillers and put him in a bed. He screamed bloody murder when the nurse tugged his shoe off.
She took note of how swollen it was. “Oh, honey. This doesn’t look good at all. But that medication should kick in soon enough and you won’t hurt as much. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you, alright?”
Charlie bit back on his sobs and nodded. The kid was tough. He let the nurse elevate his leg and set a wrapped ice pack on his ankle.
The boy pouted. “I want my mom.”
“How about you call her?” I pulled the number pad up on my phone’s screen and handed it to the boy.
He dialled the number and pressed the phone to his small ear. “Mommy?” he said after a few moments. His voice hitched with a sob again. “Mommy, I hurt my ankle . . .. I’m in the hospital . . .. A man called Emmett brought me here . . .. Okay.” He held the phone out to me. “Mom wants to talk to you.”
“Hello?” I said into the phone.
“Which hospital are you at?”
It couldn’t be, could it? “Olivia?”
“Which hospital, Emmett?”
