I wondered if they would let me call Jackson. I thought he qualified as a non-school-related extracurricular activity.
Paula was coming down the stairs as I headed up. “I think you’ll be comfortable here. It’s a nice place and these are good people,” she said.
“Am I going to be able to see Jackson?”
“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Keller. But, Emerson, it’s very hard to find good foster care these days. Please respect their rules.”
“I have to be able to see him, Paula. He’s the only person I have. He saved my life.”
“You’ll have Sophia and the three boys and Mr. and Mrs. Keller. They’re very involved in the community church. I’m sure you’ll meet new friends here in New Clayton.”
“Sophia and the boys? They’re little kids.” My head started pounding and my hands felt clammy. We were facing each other on the second-story landing. I set my suitcase down and braced myself against the banister. “I have to be able to see him. I have to be able to talk to him. Paula, you don’t understand.”
“I understand. I was fifteen once.”
“No!” I raised my voice and then noticed Mrs. Keller standing at the top of the stairs, wearing a skeptical look.
“Don’t mess this up,” Paula whispered, and then she brushed past me and headed toward the door, calling back over her shoulder, “I’ll call tomorrow to check in.”
I was dizzy. I took small, deliberate breaths and then buckled over and dry-heaved.
“Don’t go spilling your guts all over the carpet, missy,” Mrs. Keller’s voice said as she hovered above me.
I fell to my knees, dry-heaved again, and then passed out.
Mr. Keller was carrying me up the stairs when I came to. He never looked down at my face; he just set me on the bed and left the room. Mrs. Keller came in a moment later with a cold washcloth and a glass of water.
“Don’t drink too fast or you’ll heave it right back up. You’re likely still dealing with the concussion your father gave you. We’ll watch you close. You’re gonna be fine.”
“I’ll be sick without him,” I said, my voice pained. “I’ll die without him.”
“You don’t need that sad excuse for a father. You’re safe here. You’ll get used to it, I promise,” she said as she dabbed antibiotic ointment on my lip and forehead.
“Not my father—my friend.”
“You’ll make friends here.” Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Keller had made eye contact with me since they’d carried me up the stairs.
“Will you at least let me call him?”
“We’ll see, Emerson. It’s important that you focus on fitting in here first. For now, just get some rest.”
I slept for almost ten hours straight.
It was dark in my attic room when I woke up, but I could see a mop of bright blonde hair sitting in a small chair in the corner. “Sophia?”
“Yep, it’s me.”
I was groggy and had a hard time focusing. “What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”
“It’s my watch. We were all taking half-hour turns, but Mrs. Keller said the dark would make your head feel better. I was going to read to you, but I couldn’t find my book light.”
“Do you like to read?”
“It’s pretty much my whole life.” I loved her enthusiasm.
“When I’m feeling better we’ll have to go to the library and pick out some books I think you’d like.”
“I would love that.”
“So . . .” I said.
“So . . . can I turn on the light now?”
“Sure.”
She hopped off the chair and turned on a dim floor lamp in the corner. “You look a lot better, Emmy,” she said as she scanned my face. “I hope you don’t mind the nickname. I just love it.”
“It’s nice, Sophia, thank you.”
“You can call me Sophie.” She laughed. “Brandon calls me ‘Soapy’ ’cause he still can’t make the f sound.”
“That’s funny.”
“Yeah.” She looked around. “You hungry?”
“I’m starving.”
“Well, come on, then.”
“Wait, Sophie, do you know how I could make a phone call?”
“Hmm. Umm. I guess you’ll have to ask Mrs. Keller. I’ve never called anyone before.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Since I was two,” she responded immediately.
“Oh.” I tried to hide my surprise. Sophia and the Kellers seemed too cordial to have been living together for seven years. “What happened . . . when you were two?”
“What do you mean?” She tilted her head and smiled.
“Why did you come here?”
She pinned her shoulders to her ears and laughed. “I guess nobody wanted me.”
“That can’t be true.”
“Why are you here?” Her eyes focused on my stitched lip.
How was I supposed to tell an eight-year-old the truth? “Well, we don’t get to choose our parents, Sophie. All we can do is remember that sometimes their actions have nothing to do with us.”
“I guess, but if they loved me, wouldn’t they have come back for me by now?”