Chapter 14
Natalie
I arrive at my old foster home in Sacramento stripped of my property cut and feeling starkly naked without it. It’s a sobering reminder of where I came from and how much better my life is with my brother and Bear. The house is just like I remember it. A soulless, stark place, devoid of any joy.
I pause on the top step and force my shoulders to slump, just enough to make me seem subdued and defeated.
I don’t have to put on much of an act, just being here, and the memories come flooding back.
I lower my head as I remember how submissive I used to be.
I need to pull all those mannerisms from my memory, so I can wear them one more time.
Instead of doing it because I had to, I’ll do it with purpose and planning because I’m no longer that scared little kid I once was.
My survival no longer depends upon pleasing people who just want to use me.
I clear my head. I step forward and knock.
The door jerks open and my foster mother fills the doorway. She’s thinner than I remember but her eyes are sharp and furious. Her gaze rakes over me in one cold, hard sweep and whatever she sees lights her up like a fuse.
“You,” she snaps. “You have some nerve showing your face here.”
I swallow, lowering my eyes the way she expects. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
She sneers, her voice furious. “Coming here is one of the stupider things you’ve done in your life.
Did you honestly think we would welcome you with open arms after you dragged our name through the mud?
I don’t know what kind of lies you told those people, but it got all my kids taken away.
I was the only mother those poor little orphans had, and now God only knows where they are.
” Reaching out to jab me with her sharp finger, she adds, “They’re all scattered to the four winds and it’s all your fault. ”
My chest tightens, but I keep my voice low and apologetic. “I didn’t lie, ma’am. I promise.”
“Oh, don’t play innocent.” She steps out onto the porch. “CPS doesn’t just show up on my doorstep because they had nothing better to do with their day. I’m not stupid. It had to be you. You called them because you wanted revenge.”
I tug anxiously on the strap of my duffel bag. This is the part I practiced with Bear. We came up with half-truths that reflect the blame back onto them.
“I got pulled over,” I say carefully. “They said I smelled like alcohol.”
“You don’t drink. Alcohol is the devil’s work,” she says.
I recite the story I memorized, looking suitably contrite. “I fell from grace. I realized I’d made a huge mistake, but I was too scared to come back to you and admit I failed. I had been drinking. The officer who stopped me took my phone.”
Her face tightens. “And then what?”
I lift my gaze just enough. “He went through my messages.”
Her mouth flattens. “Your stupidity and carelessness brought this on us.”
My pulse pounds, but I keep my tone level.
“My brother kept me from getting charged. But they confiscated my phone, saying it was part of another investigation. Rick said the police are mandated reporters and had to turn the phone over to CPS because of your messages, all the horrible things you said.”
I see it in her eyes when the reality of her situation hits home, and she realizes CPS has access to all the things she wrote. Her eyes drift closed and she curses under her breath.
That’s when my foster father appears behind her. His presence fills the doorway, rigid and controlled, his expression is tight with something far colder than anger.
“So,” he says evenly, “you walk away from your sins without consequence, and the rest of us are left to reap what you sowed.” His eyes bore into mine. “We lost our livelihood. Our calling. Tell me—does that strike you as just?”
I keep my voice low. “No, sir. Of course not. I’m sorry that happened.”
He exhales sharply through his nose. “Then why did you return?” His tone hardens. “Why come back and stir the waters you already muddied?”
“My brother ended up in a coma, and I have nowhere else to go.”
Before they can finish refusing me, a calm voice cuts through the air.
“That’s enough. Must we greet a returning soul with accusations?”
As Jeremiah steps into view, the other two fall back without quite meaning to. He’s tall and composed, his hands folded loosely in front of him the way they are when he stands at the pulpit. His gaze settles on me, soft and measured, the kind of kindness that makes my skin crawl.
My foster mother snaps her head towards him. “Don’t you dare defend her, Jerry. She destroyed this family. Our children are gone because of her stupidity.”
He doesn’t raise his voice or seem angry and his smile is benign. Before I left, I truly thought he was a man of God. But now I see him for what he is. Manipulative.
“We’re all prone to wandering,” he says gently. “Scripture reminds us not to judge too quickly. A lamb that strays is still part of the flock.”
My foster father snorts. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one being investigated.”
Jeremiah’s mouth curves in a faint, reassuring smile. “Trials come to test us,” he replies mildly. “We’ve always faced them together.” His attention shifts back to me, his eyes searching my face as if taking inventory.
“You look exhausted, Natalie,” he says, concern carefully layered into his voice. “Come inside. Let’s speak calmly, as family should.”
I drop my gaze. “Thank you. I am tired. It was a long drive from Las Salinas to Sacramento.”
He steps closer and lifts the duffel from beside my leg before I can stop him. “Let me carry that for you,” he says. “You’ve carried enough already, child. It’s time to rest where you belong.”
My foster mother stiffens. “No, Jerry. Absolutely not. I’m not letting her back into my home or my good graces.”
“Need I remind you,” he says mildly, “that Scripture tells us charity begins at home. We are called to tend to what the Lord has placed directly in our care before we turn anyone away.”
His gaze hardens just a fraction. “And need I also remind you that my name is on the deed to this property.”
He lets the words settle, then adds gently, “So I’ll be the one deciding who is welcomed under this roof—and who is not.”
She makes a disgruntled sound but moves aside.
I follow Jeremiah inside, like he asked.
The minute I cross over the threshold, I can tell the difference between now and when I used to live here.
The house smells musty and there’s a thin layer of dust everywhere I look.
There are no children’s shoes lined up near the door, no children’s books on the coffee table, or evidence that children ever lived here.
Jeremiah sets my bag near the hall table and turns to me. “You can take your old room,” he says gently. “We’ll sort everything else out.”
His brother mutters under his breath about lawyers and inspectors and lost stipends.
My foster mother wrings her hands, voice rising and falling in panic about money she can’t access anymore.
Looking at their dynamic with new eyes I realize something.
I had always thought that David was the dominant one, he held a higher position in the church, and as a married minister with a family he was respected in the community.
But behind closed doors it’s clear that Jeremiah is in control.
Jeremiah doesn’t flinch. He stands still, hands clasped, watching over the scene with calm benevolence.
I suddenly realize that although my foster parents are terrified of losing their income, Jeremiah isn’t. He isn’t welcoming me home. He’s closing the gate behind me. He knows that however this plays out, he has won.
He turns to me again, voice low so only I can hear. “You’re safe here, Natalie.”
The word scrapes across my nerves because I feel everything but safe.
I force a small nervous smile onto my face, hoping it looks like gratitude to his eyes. “Thank you, Pastor Elliot.”
He picks up my bag and gestures towards the stairs.
“Let’s get you settled into your old room.”
I quietly follow him.
When we get to my room, he opens the door and ushers me inside. He tosses my bag onto the bed, and I ease down into a small desk chair.
Standing over me, he studies me for a moment. I don’t know what he’s looking for when he stares at me this way but eventually, he speaks.
“You disappeared,” he says at last. “You didn’t do us the courtesy of letting us know you were leaving. Didn’t take your things or even say goodbye to the children. Do you have any idea how inappropriate that is?”
I nervously wring my hands together. “You’ve all been good to me. I didn’t know how to explain it without making things worse.”
His head tilts slightly. “Explain it now.”
I take a breath, choosing my words carefully, trying to stay as close to the truth as possible. “Your words encouraged me. You always said that I should spread my wings and fly. I wanted to find my biological brother.”
That earns a flicker of interest behind his eyes. “And did the Lord grant you what you were seeking?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, he didn’t know I existed. I was feeling desperate and I didn’t think I had anywhere else to go.”
Jeremiah exhales slowly, staring at me. He comes across like a man who’s disappointed with my choices, a fatherly figure if I’m being honest. “And where did desperation lead you?”
I glance away. “Into a place I shouldn’t have been,” I admit. “Rick rides motorcycles. He’s involved with a motorcycle club.”
His mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. “The road is a temptation, motorcycles are dangerous.”
“They are,” I agree quickly. “My brother ended up in a wreck that put him into a coma.”
Jeremiah leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Reckless speed invites consequences,” he says. “Was that the case?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “His brakes failed. He nearly died.”
His gaze sharpens. “And still you remained?”