Chapter 50
Noah
Six years later
I’m doing well. With ups and downs, but mostly well, and I hold on to that when I start questioning the whole world again. And I hold on to Luca, who hasn’t doubted us for a single second in the last fourteen years, who takes care that I know how much he loves me and how important I am in his life.
Some days it doesn’t bother me that I can’t climb the highest mountains or race with the kids, other days I mourn the loss of those opportunities, but Luca and what we’ve built together remind me every day that I’m not a burden and that life is damn well worth living.
That I make a difference in other people’s lives.
My thoughts are racing when there’s a knock on my office door and it opens a crack. A blond, tousled head with shaved sides peeks shyly around the corner.
After a long period of construction, obtaining permits, and recruiting staff, the time had finally come four years ago. Four years ago, the first child arrived at our children’s home, three weeks later, the next, and before we knew it, all ten spots were filled.
Currently, the kids range in age from three months to seventeen years old. Mika, the youngest, came to us as a newborn from a drug-addicted mother who gave birth to him anonymously and has not been in touch since. It isn’t clear yet to what extent Mika has suffered any damage.
We actually didn’t want to take in newborns, that’s what emergency foster care is for, but as it is so often the case, there was no capacity when it was needed, so we said yes.
Linus was the first child we took in. His mother, under the influence of heavy alcohol, somehow ended up on the tracks as a train was pulling in.
He was eight years old at the time. Like Luca, he spent six years moving through various facilities and foster homes before he came to us.
In two months, he’ll no longer be eligible for child welfare services.
He’ll be of legal age, and with that have to leave here.
That’s probably why he’s standing in the doorway.
“Hey Noah, um, can I come in for a sec?” Linus has learned French well in the nearly four years he’s been with us.
Like all the kids here, he’s growing up bilingual, though of course we don’t force any child to speak French, it usually comes naturally, at least for those who’ve been here longer.
Contrary to our original plans, we’ve become primarily an emergency shelter for traumatized children and adolescents, which evolved from our therapeutic services.
Only a few children stay as long as Linus.
“Sure, Linus, please, have a seat. What’s up?”
He nervously wrings his hands in his lap. “The woman from Child Protective Services, the new one in charge of me, said I have to leave here in two months. On my eighteenth birthday.”
“Basically, she’s right. As your guardian, she’s responsible for facilitating the transition into a supervised shared apartment, or something like that.”
Linus’s lower lip trembles and he quickly turns his head away.
“I… I… I’m supposed to go to Hessen. They couldn’t find anything suitable for me around here.
No one wants to take me in.” He came to us four years ago from near Stuttgart even though he was born in Mannheim.
He’s had so many social setbacks in such a young life.
“I don’t want to change schools again. I thought I… oh God, I’m so stupid.”
Linus’s eyes glaze over, and before the first tear can fall, he jumps up.
The idea is that the children and young people in our care either return to their families or are placed in foster families. It usually works out well, but Linus was no longer placeable.
“Wait.” I stand up and walk slowly toward him. “I have no idea what Mrs. Grossmann is trying to achieve with this statement, but everything had been discussed with Mrs. Hotzer. Let me make a quick phone call, we’ll meet back here in an hour.”
One phone call later and it’s clear that Mrs. Grossmann hadn’t quite understood our request. We know we won’t get any money for Linus if he stays, but that’s irrelevant.
“So Linus now thinks he has to leave just because this woman isn’t capable of communicating properly?
” Luca’s voice is loud and emotional. I can understand why.
We had agreed with Mrs. Hotzer that we’d ask Linus on his eighteenth birthday if he wanted to stay, but then Mrs. Hotzer was transferred internally, and we were stuck with a new social worker who screwed it all up.
“Can she imagine what that does to a child like Linus? A child who has just gained confidence, who is finally doing well? Who has plans for the future?”
On paper, of course, Linus hasn’t been a child for a long time, but deep down he’s still that lonely, abandoned boy.
“Mrs. Grossmann is still very young. I don’t think she could quite grasp that.”
There’s a knock at the door, and for the second time today, the blond, tousled-haired boy is there.
Linus’s eyes are red, most likely from crying.
Or smoking weed, but that’s not really his thing.
Linus isn’t unlike Luca, that’s probably why my husband has such a close relationship with this teenager.
Both like to determine their own range of motion, both make their own decisions, both are intelligent enough to understand the consequences of their actions.
When they screw up, they do it on purpose.
Linus isn’t the kind of kid who can be managed with strict discipline—he needs trust and freedom, agreements, and reliability. That’s what he’s gotten from us.
“Come on in, big guy.” Luca pats the spot next to him on the sofa, and Linus follows immediately. I sit down in the armchair next to them. “We should talk about the party.”
Linus looks at Luca as if he’s lost his mind, and I bite my cheek to hold back the laughter that’s desperate to escape.
“What kind of party? I don’t want a fucking farewell party.” His words are strong, but his voice is hoarse and quiet.
“I’m talking about your birthday. You’re turning eighteen! I had a huge party back then, didn’t you, Noah?” I look at him in disbelief. Is he serious?
“Chéri, I didn’t even have any friends, who was I supposed to celebrate this party with?”
Linus’s eyes widen in horror. “But why not? You’re totally cool, man.”
“Noah used to be nowhere near as laid-back as he is today. Quite the nerd and all that.” I love my husband, I really do. Sometimes I don’t know why, but I love him. From the bottom of my heart.
“Back to this party.” Yeah, I’m changing the subject. “We thought it might be a hassle here, with the other kids, and especially with Mika, it’s really tough at night right now. That’s why we wanted to suggest to celebrate at our place instead. You guys could use the pool, too.”
Linus is completely confused, and Luca is bursting with excitement. “It’s way more convenient at our place.”
Ah, Luca wants to play verbal ping-pong. I’m in. “Definitely. We won’t have to pick you up anywhere at night.”
“You can just fall right into your bed.”
“We just need to figure out when you’re moving.”
“Okay, stop. What the hell have you been smoking? You guys need to get rid of that stuff, right now. Do you even hear what you’re saying?
” My heart swells a little because Linus is already so sensible at seventeen, but I can also see from the red spots on his pale skin that he’s under a lot of emotional stress, and I don’t want to make that worse.
“Listen, whatever we suggest, the decision is yours and yours alone.”
“If you say yes, we’ll be happy, if you say no, we’ll find another solution. Here, not in Hessen.”
“Okay…”
“We don’t want you to be torn away from your familiar surroundings, and to be honest, after four years here, we’ve grown quite fond of you.”
Linus swallows hard and his lower lip trembles, but he fights it.
“We’d be happy if you came to live with us.”
“But… I’m… seriously?”
Gently, Luca puts his arm around his shoulder, just like so many times before when there was trouble at school or Linus was heartbroken, and this big boy immediately leans against my husband, rests his head on his chest, clings to his T-shirt, and lets his emotions run free.
All the fear of the past few weeks bursts out of him.
“Are we… are we a family then?”
Okay, now I’m crying too. What seventeen-year-old asks something like that? One who hasn’t had a family for almost ten years. “If that’s what you want. If that feels too close, think of it as a roommate’s arrangement. Whatever works for you…”
“Family sounds good. Shit, sorry, your T-shirt is soaking wet, fuck, I… thanks. I don’t know what to say.”