Chapter 2 #2
The weight of reality settles over my shoulders. Dammit, he’s right. But the thought of handing him over to anyone else, of watching what fragile trust I’d earned from him shatter —
“A few more days. Give me a few more days, Jay. Maybe I can get him to tell me something useful. Something to help us figure out where he came from.”
“Chloe–”
“Please, Jay.”
He studies me for a long time, and I see the exact moment that it dawns on him how deeply I’ve already bonded to this child. His expression changes instantly from frustrated to worried.
“Chloe, do not get attached to this one.”
I stop pacing and face him, my face falling as the next words spill out, unprompted and quiet. “He reminds me of me.”
“I know,” he says hastily. “That’s what worries me.”
“When I showed up, you gave me time to feel safe. That’s how you found out about my past and what I was running from. You gave me time to trust you.”
“That was different —”
“How?” I demand. “How was it different? Because I was older and was able to articulate what I was running from? He can’t do that, Jay; he’s a child, scared, traumatized, and hiding from ‘the monster’ in every way that his brain can think of. He needs time.”
Jay sighs, leaning back in his chair. Rubbing a hand down his face, the leather creaks as he moves.
“You know, you called your father a ‘monster’ too. It took you six months before you could even tell me his name. My gut tells me we don’t have six months for him to reveal his monster to us.
I understand why you want to protect him, but Chloe, you have to be realistic.
It’s always been a risk with you here. But having two of you here with potentially dangerous people after you — it’s simply too risky.
Even if your own father came knocking on our door, we wouldn’t be able to protect the others. ”
The truth of his words hits me harder than anything else could have, like ice water to my soul.
He is right, again. The orphanage isn’t a fortress; it is old and in disrepair.
It is barely a sanctuary. If someone with real power wants to gain entry, they could, and there would be nothing either Jay or I would be able to do about it.
“Then what do you suggest we do?” I ask, my voice small as I slump into the chair across from him. “The system doesn’t work for kids like him. Kids like us.”
With a deep sigh, Jay pinches the bridge of his nose before putting his glasses back on.
“One week, Chloe. I’ll give you seven more days.
Get something out of him that helps us help him.
Otherwise, we will have to do what we should have done in the first place.
Report it and trust that the system will work this time. ”
I nod, then stand to leave, moving toward the door, but as my hand settles on the handle, Jay’s voice stops me.
“Chloe? I need you to make me a promise.”
I turn back. “What?”
“If someone does show up for him, don’t try to be the hero.”
His request feels impossible to even consider agreeing to. And realistically, he knows me better than that. If someone threatens any of the children, I’d fight. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself even if I tried. It is my job to protect them.
Despite knowing that, I nod. “You got it, boss.”
I can tell by the huff sound he makes that he doesn’t believe me, but he lets me go without another word.
Slipping out of the office, I make my way back to the kitchen. Most of the children have dispersed to various activities, the older ones to schoolwork and the younger ones to the playroom. I find Mei and the boy right where I left them at the small table, bent over a piece of paper.
He is drawing, his hand moving across the page while Mei watches with intrigue. He looks up as I approach, and his entire expression changes. The wariness fades some, replaced with relief.
“What are you drawing?” I sign as I move to stand beside them and look down at the paper. On the page is a garden, flowers, trees, and a small figure that could be a child, but the proportions are off in an undefined way that children’s drawings usually are. “Beautiful.”
He points at the small figure, then to himself. Placing the pencil back to the paper, I watch as he adds a second figure. Taller than the first with long dark hair. Me, I realize. He’s drawn me standing beside him in the garden.
Pointing at me, he smiles, making sure that I understand. My heart clenches again. One week. Jay gave me one week to unravel the secrets that this innocent soul is hiding.
The days stretch on; maybe it is simply that I am on a deadline and becoming more desperate by the minute to learn anything about the boy and where he came from.
I throw myself into the familiar daily tasks of the orphanage to distract myself, hoping that if I go through the motions, the boy will settle enough to give me a glimmer of information.
He is never far away unless he is hidden somewhere.
His shadow seems a constant presence at my elbow. One that I don’t mind in the slightest. Still, he doesn’t speak, he doesn’t sign unless he is prompted to with a direct question. He is simply silent. Just orbiting near me constantly like my very own earthbound satellite.
By six o’clock on the fourth day after the conversation with Jay, I can’t take it anymore.
We’re in the laundry room, the boy sitting on the floor working on another drawing while I fold clothes freshly out of the dryer.
It’s as close to as alone as we’re going to get, so I take the opportunity and sit down on the floor across from him.
Setting aside the shirt I’d been flooding.
I wave to get his attention, which he gives me immediately, eyes both curious and alert.
My heart hurts once more at his response.
“Sweetie, can we talk about something?” I ask gently.
He considers my request, then slowly shakes his head. And I recognize the hint of fear that crosses his expression.
“No? You don’t want a name at all then?”
My inquiry is met with another head shake, more emphatic this time. I bite back at the frustration welling up within me, deciding quickly to try a different approach.
“How about this: we make it a game. I’ll guess your name, and you tell me if I guess right or wrong.”
He hesitates for the briefest of moments, then nods in agreement.
“Okay. Let’s see…” I tap my hands together, thinking through names that might fit him in my head. “How about Christopher?”
He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head in response. I laugh at his adorable expression.
“No huh? What about Thomas?”
Another shake.
“Samuel? Nick? Andrew?”
No, no, and no. He continues to shake his head as I run through easily a dozen more names. Each one is met with a shake of his head. No.
After at least five minutes with the same result, my patience begins to fail me, and frustration seeps inadvertently into my voice. “You don’t like any of those? Not a single one of them?”
He shakes his head again, looking back down at his drawing. Hunching his shoulders, he lifts his hands and signs: “None of them feel right.”
“Do you know your name?”
This time, I get a different response, a nod. Just one. Yes.
“But you don’t want to tell me? You don’t want me to call you by that name?” I push.
Back to the same head shake. No.
With a deep sigh, I give up for the moment, forcing myself to calm down, reminding myself once more that his situation isn’t his fault. If I push too hard, I could damage what little trust I’ve been able to build with him.
“Come on, it’s time to start rounding everyone up and getting ready for bed.” I roll to my feet, tucking the shirt that I’d cast aside earlier into the laundry basket.
He looks up at me with relief as he pushes to his feet and signs to me: “Story tonight?”
Despite my frustration, I can’t help but smile. The fact that he has come to enjoy the nightly story time proves to me that my tenacity is slowly wearing on him. He’s slowly accepting the routine of the orphanage.
If only I had more time…
“Of course, sweetie.”
He brushes his teeth along with several other boys, all crowding in and out of the bathroom in turns to get ready for bed.
Once they’re all ready to lie down in their beds, I settle into the armchair beside his bed and pull out the book we’ve been working through — a fantasy story about a boy who discovers he can communicate with animals.
The boy’s eyes are all fixed on me as I read through chapter four, where he meets a wise owl who joins him on his journey.
By the time I finish the chapter, half the room is asleep, and the other half has droopy eyelids heavy with sleep. I close the book and set it on the nightstand, then stand to leave. The boy with no name grabs my hand as I pass his bed, his other hand moving to spell out: “S-T-A-Y.”
I pause, wiping his shaggy hair frame his forehead fondly. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me. I still have a few things to take care of. Get some sleep.”
It only takes a few minutes of my stroking his hair for him to fall asleep. His breathing deepens, and hushed snores escape his pouty lips. Carefully, I slip my hand from his and back out of the room, closing the door quietly behind me before heading downstairs.
The orphanage has settled into its evening routine.
I hear the wheels of the trashcans outside as Jay drags them to the curb to be collected in the morning, and the muffled sounds of a TV from the older kids' room upstairs — they still had another hour before it’s lights out. Everything as it should be.
I’m headed to make a cup of tea when I hear them — sounds that don’t belong. The sharp closing of a heavy car door, followed by another, then the crunching of gravel. Multiple pairs of footsteps.
My body goes on alert instantly. It’s past visiting hours, and we have no nearby neighbors. Jay lives on site, and we aren’t expecting any company. The only people who would show up unannounced at this hour would be —