Another Epilogue
Caolan
Fifteen Years Ago
There was a new one. A new kid. A girl this time with strawberry blonde hair that hung loose down to her shoulders.
She sat at the kitchen table, a small backpack leaning against the leg of her chair.
I’d been here since I was four, so I didn’t remember what it was like being left here for the first time.
I walked into the kitchen, skirting round the table, and moved toward the fridge.
Pulling it open, I ducked to look inside, but secretly kept my eyes on her.
She kept her face tilted down, her eyes fixed on the table and the plate in front of her.
Simone had made her a cheese sandwich, and I knew from experience that the bread would be just the other side of fresh and the cheese slices would be hard on the corners.
Simone wasn’t the greatest cook, but she tried.
The girl looked so sad. It reminded me of another girl we’d had here for a while. Sarah had been adopted by a nice couple from Wexford about two years ago, but before that, her sadness had hung over her head like a cloud.
Unable to stand with the fridge open, I grabbed an apple and shut the door. I moved past the table, intending to return to my room, when the girl let out a little sniffle. She dashed the back of her hand under her nose before placing it under the table.
Going into foster care was hard for the older kids.
Lily had taught me that. She’d also told me a friend could help a lot when someone was going through something big at home.
Indecision gnawed at me. I didn’t feel like talking, but every time I thought about leaving her here alone, my stomach twisted.
Toying with the stalk of my apple, I made my choice.
“What’s your name?” I asked her, pulling out the chair opposite hers and sitting down. There were still crumbs from breakfast on the tabletop, along with a brown ring from James’s coffee.
Her head jerked up at my question, and I finally got a good look at her.
She had pale green eyes that were too big for her face; they seemed almost otherworldly, like she was a fae or something.
It made me wonder if she was one of the changelings that Simone would tell us stories about.
Her skin was pale, and a spray of freckles decorated her nose.
She still hadn’t answered my question, so I added, “I’m Caolan.” I went to take a bite from the apple but thought better of it and offered it to her.
She silently shook her head.
“What happened to your ma?” I asked because there was always a reason that us kids got put in foster care.
“She died,” she whispered.
Shit. “I’m sorry. My ma is still alive, but would rather do drugs than raise me.” I grimaced. Saying it out loud still hurt.
“My ma died of a drug overdose,” she offered, her eyes lingering on me for a long second before they returned to her sandwich.
“What about your da?”
She shook her head, her strawberry blonde hair sliding over her slender shoulders. “I don’t know who he is.”
“Mine died when I was two,” I told her. “He was in the Garda Síochána.”
“My aunt said she come and get me,” she whispered. “That it would just take a bit of time, but she’d come.”
I nodded, knowing it probably wouldn’t happen, but I wasn’t in the habit of crushing dreams.
“Well, in the meantime, you’ll like it here. Simone is always trying new recipes that never work out. Her husband James says she could burn water.”
“How many other kids are here?”
“Just me and Lily, but she left at the start of the year.”
“Did she find a family?”
I shook my head. “She turned eighteen and wanted to leave. She went to Cork, I think.”
“So now it’s only you?”
I took a bite of my apple. “And you now.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “My name’s Catherine Walsh,” she replied in a soft voice. “But you can call me Kitty.”