“I’m Cathy Dawson,” she said, then saw Peter and lowered her voice. “Is he all right?”
“The break was clean and, according to the doctors, he should heal quickly,” Mrs. Miller said. “I can’t get ahold of his foster parents, however.”
The social worker frowned, then put on her glasses and read the papers in her hand. “I see there is also some concern about his physical well-being. He might not be getting enough to eat.” She sighed. “All right. Give me a few minutes.”
Just then Peter stirred and sat up. He blinked at Raoul, then turned.
“Hi, Mrs. Dawson,” he said, then yawned.
“Hello yourself. It looks like you fell.”
Peter nodded. “I broke my arm.” He held up the cast, then glanced at Raoul. “It’s Dallas Cowboys blue.”
“I noticed that,” Raoul said. “Are you going to let me sign your cast?”
“Uh-huh.” The boy smiled shyly.
“Good.”
Mrs. Dawson pulled up the other chair and sat across from them. “Peter, where have you been staying for the past few days?”
“With the lady next door.” He gave the name.
“How long have your foster parents been gone?”
Peter shrugged. “A while.”
Mrs. Dawson’s expression stayed friendly. “Since the weekend?”
Peter wrinkled his nose. “Before that, I think.”
“I see. Do you know when they’ll be back?”
He shook his head, then cradled his arm against his chest. “Are they gonna be mad because I got hurt?”
“Of course not,” she said firmly. “They’ll be happy you’re all right. We all are.” She paused. “You know what I think?”
“What?” Peter asked suspiciously.
“I think you probably need a little ice cream. I know they have some down in the cafeteria. If you don’t mind, I’m going to get you some.”
Relief showed in Peter’s expression. He grinned. “I don’t mind.”
“That’s very nice of you. But you know, it’s a big hospital. Would you mind if Mr. Moreno showed me the way?”
“Okay.”
Raoul wasn’t sure what the social worker was up to, but he stood and put Peter back on the bed. “I might have some silver-star stickers at my office,” he said. “I’ll check tomorrow and if I do, we can put some on your cast.”
The boy grinned.
Mrs. Miller moved toward him. “I’ll wait for you here,” she said.
Raoul followed Mrs. Dawson into the hallway.
“The cafeteria is that way,” she said, pointing.
“So you don’t need my help finding it.”
“I wanted a chance to talk to you. I assume you have people in town who know you?”
“Yes,” he said cautiously.
“Good. That will help us push through the paperwork. I know a sympathetic judge. If you’ll give me two or three people to use as character references, we can get this done in an hour or so.”
“Get what done?”
Mrs. Dawson stopped and stared at him. “Having Peter stay with you until his foster parents return and we can figure out if it’s safe for him to go back with them, of course.”
PIA ARRIVED AT RAOUL’S place at seven. There’d been so much to carry, she’d had to drive. Now she grabbed two shopping bags and headed toward the front door. He had it open before she made it to the small porch.
“What’s all that?” he asked.
“Dinner for many days to come. There’s more in the car.”
“More what?”
Poor man, she thought, handing him the bags. “Food. Word got out about you taking in Peter. People didn’t know when you’d get home, so they brought it to me.”
He was still standing there looking confused when she went back to her car for the second load. She collected the last three bags, shut her car door with her hip, then returned to the house.
“I don’t understand,” Raoul said, following her to the kitchen.
“Pia!”
She turned and saw Peter running toward her. He had a cast on his skinny forearm and had already changed into race-car pajamas.
“Hey, you,” she said, putting her bags on the kitchen table. “What happened?”
“I fell.” He held out his cast. “See.”
“Very impressive. Does it hurt?”
“No. I have drops.”
Some kind of pain medicine, she would guess. “Cool. Have you had dinner?”
Peter shook his head. “Just ice cream.”
Pia raised her eyebrows.
“Don’t look at me,” Raoul told her. “It was Mrs. Dawson’s idea.”
“A likely story,” Pia teased, then shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the back of a chair. “So, what are we in the mood for? There are lots of choices.”
She moved to the counter and started taking casserole dishes out of the various bags. “Lasagna, always a favorite. Seven-layer tamale pie.” She read each item as she set it down. “Chicken-and-noodle casserole, a vegetable bake.” She wrinkled her nose at Peter. “Probably not that one, huh?”
He laughed. “I like lasagna.”
“Me, too.” She glanced at Raoul. “Would you set the oven to three-fifty? It’s not frozen, so it won’t take long to heat up.”