“To a group home for children. It’s a safe place. A wonderful establishment, Miss Lang. I assure you, the children will be taken care of there. The people who run the home are the best at what they do.”
A group home for children? I knew what that was. That was basically an orphanage. I could picture the rows and rows of beds, all filled with children crying themselves to sleep. Kids bullying each other, no one around or caring enough to protect them. And I’d heard the stories. The shame-filled confessions of the damaged kids who had been molested by predators in places like the group home Sheryl was championing right now. My arms tightened around Amie.
“I’m sorry, I—” I didn’t know what to say next. I didn’t have the right words to voice my horror.
“I understand your concern, Miss Lang, I really do. But rest assured, I will be checking in with Amie and Connor every week. I’ll personally be looking for families to take care of them myself.” She said this as though checking in once a week with them was enough, was more than satisfactory, when in actual fact it was disgraceful, and made me want to cry on the spot.
“They definitely won’t be kept together?” I said, clutching hold of Amie, who had balled my t-shirt up in her little hands and was clinging onto me as if her life depended on it.
Sheryl’s mouth pulled down in a sorry expression. She bore the kind of apologetic look someone might wear if they were informing you they were out of fresh milk at the grocery store, though. It didn’t feel all that sincere. It probably wasn’t her fault. She was undoubtedly desensitized to situations like this by now. Amie and Connor were just two more unfortunates who’d found their way into the system. They were reference numbers, files on her desk that meant more paperwork and more headaches than she had time for.
“It really is okay,” she said. “I’ve successfully found homes for over sixty-five percent of my kids. That’s twelve percent higher than the average case worker,” she said, leaning forward to impart the information to me, speaking out of the side of her mouth, as if she didn’t want to sound like she was bragging.
Sixty-five percent was meant to be impressive? If she’d said ninety-five percent, it still wouldn’t have been good enough. How, in good conscience, could I let Sheryl take the kids, knowing the misery and loneliness they would endure in a group home? How? Did Ronan know this would be the case, the consequences for his actions if I refused to be manipulated by him? I was pretty sure he did. I was pretty sure he was still manipulating me now.
I sighed, dreading the next words to come out of my mouth. They had to be said, though. He had won. Ronan, after everything, had won. I was going to have to give him what he wanted, otherwise my guilt was going to consume me for the rest of my damned days. “I’m afraid I can’t let you take them, Mrs. Lourie. I’m going to have to keep the children here with me.”
She frowned, head tipping to one side. “I’m sorry? I thought you were just the nanny?”
“No. Ronan left the children in my care. He asked me to care for them for the next six months. I had thought they would be better off with another family, someone more qualified to care for them, but in light of this new information…”
Sheryl jerked back in her chair, pulling some paperwork out of her purse. “Well this is highly irregular. No one mentioned Mr. Fletcher had made you the children’s guardian in the event that anything happened to him?”
“His will and estate was only recently updated. His lawyer, Mr. Linneman, has the paperwork, I believe.” I seriously hoped Linneman hadn’t destroyed Ronan’s guardianship documents. If he had, there probably wasn’t much that could be done; Sheryl would be well within her rights to take the children and disappear back to the mainland with them. Where would she even take them, anyway? Back to New York? Doubtful. It would cost money to send them back, and why bother, when they had no family or anything tying them to the area with Ronan gone. They were going to end up in an entirely different state than the one they had been raised in, simply because their father decided to die on a tiny island off the coast of Maine.
“I’m going to have to check into that, Miss Lang.” Sheryl was looking severely put out. “I don’t think I’ll have time on this trip. I really do need to get back to the dock. I should, by rights, take the children with me back to the center while this is all ironed out.”
“And if I’d rather they stayed here? With me?”
“It would be remiss of me to leave the children in a situation I thought was unstable.”