The door opened, revealing a stout woman with heavy frown lines at the corners of her mouth and gray hair permed and styled into a short crop. Mrs. Keller opened the door and then immediately turned around and yelled, “Sophia, up to your room!” Her thunderous voice made me step backward off the porch step. “Leaving already? You just got here.”
“I . . . I . . .”
Paula spoke for me. “Hi, Mrs. Keller. This is Emerson. She’s fifteen and loves to read.”
“What happened to your face, child?”
“My—my . . .”
“She was just removed from the home she shared with her abusive father,” Paula answered for me.
“I know all that. I heard the story. I want to hear her speak. In this house you can speak, Emerson, as long as it’s with respect. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“He was one of those paper mill boys, wasn’t he? None of them are worth a damn, are they? Well, come on in—what are you waiting for?”
Paula put her arm around my shoulder and walked me into the house. “Mrs. Keller,” Paula said, “can I see where Emerson will be sleeping?”
“Sure can. Follow me.”
The house smelled of citrus wood cleaner. It was tidy and quiet for a house with four children. I held on to the freshly polished wooden banister as I made my way up the stairs behind Mrs. Keller and Paula.
Paula, a thin, fit woman in her thirties, was out of breath by the time we got to the third story, yet Mrs. Keller, with her rotund body, barely even broke a sweat. Once we reached the landing, Mrs. Keller led us to a small room in the attic space beneath the pitched roof. It was immaculate. You could see the vacuum passes in the carpet, and the single bed under the window was draped with a pristine pink chiffon and lace comforter.
“Fit for a princess,” Paula said.
“Yes,” I agreed. “This is amazing.”
“You’ll be expected to keep this space tidy,” Mrs. Keller said.
Paula turned to me. “Why don’t you get your suitcase? I’m going to ask Mrs. Keller a few questions in the meantime.”
“Okay.”
On my way downstairs, I spotted a little girl peeking at us from around the corner.
“Hi,” I called out to her. To my surprise, she came out and stood before me. “Hi, I’m Sophia.” She had long, perfectly combed blonde hair that framed her angelic face.
“I’m Emerson.” I held my hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
I had never heard a child talk that way. “How old are you?”
“I’m eight. How old are you?”
“I’m fifteen. I’ll be sixteen in July.”
“Only three months away. Lucky you.”
“Yep. Do you like it here?”
“Yeah, I love it.”
“How old are the other kids?” I asked.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a few pairs of feet. Then I heard the sound of pitter-pattering, coupled with the glorious sound of children giggling. “Come out, you guys,” Sophia called out before turning back to me. “They’re really excited to meet you.”
From behind the stairs came three little boys, all around the same age. “The twins are Brandon and Daniel. They’re five. Thomas is six.”
“Hi, Emerson,” they said, almost in unison.
“Hi, guys.”
They ran up to me and hugged my legs.
Sophia smiled. “They’re really sweet, but they can be a pain in the butt too. And they eat a lot.”
“I think I’m gonna like it here. How are the Kellers?”
“They’re great. You just have to follow their rules.”
“Of course,” I said. That sounds totally reasonable.
“I mean they have a zero-tolerance policy. They’re very good to the children they foster, but they don’t get attached. A lot of the older kids don’t last long here because they get into trouble.”
I wondered what these rules entailed, but just then, Mr. Keller appeared in the hallway. “Emerson, I’m Mr. Keller.” He shook my hand. He was wearing a plaid Pendleton shirt and Dockers with a perfect crease down the front of each leg. He had a well-groomed beard and a kind face.
“Hello,” I said.
“Kids, go finish your chores and let me have a word with Emerson.”
Three pairs of feet scurried away, but Sophia kept looking back at me as she walked up the stairs.
“We run a good home here, Emerson, but you should know we don’t take a lot of teenagers because we don’t like putting up with the drama. Okay?”
“I understand.”
He didn’t waste any time before laying out the expectations. “Your social worker said you’d focus on schoolwork, do your chores, and follow the rules. Can we count on you to do that?”
“I will, I promise. But what are the rules exactly?”
“Only school- and church-affiliated extracurricular activities. Homework and chores must be done before dinner. You’re expected to attend church and Bible study on Sundays. And respect for all members of the house is required. We don’t tolerate any talking back.”
“So . . . no social life?”
He blinked at me for ten uncomfortably long seconds. “Is that all you got out of that?” Before I could answer, he said, “Judging by the look of your face, you’re in need of a safe place to live. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Follow the rules and you’ll get that here,” he said, and then he walked away.
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?”
“Maybe they’re lost. People get lost all the time, especially grown-ups. My dad is lost. That’s why he did this to me.” She looked confused. “Most of the time people who are lost don’t ever find their way back.”
“That’s really sad, Emmy.”
“Yeah. Such is life, my friend.”
Poor Sophia. I could tell she hadn’t ever experienced love. Not with her parents, not while living in the big yellow house with a revolving door of teenagers and children, and certainly not with the Kellers and their “rules.” They projected an illusion of warmth with their home cooking and hand-stitched quilts, yet underneath the façade was an institutional rigidity, as if they were running an orphanage where children would be fed and cared for but never loved. Love was such a key ingredient in molding humans, yet it was inaccessible to kids inside of the system.
I followed Sophia down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the three boys were helping Mrs. Keller make biscuits. “Emerson, so glad to see you feeling better,” Mrs. Keller said as she wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron. “Sophia, why don’t you show Emerson how to set the table.”
“Mrs. Keller, before I do that, I was wondering if I could use the phone to call my friend.”
She went to the sink and began rinsing the dishes. With her back to me, she said, “Haven’t we discussed this already? Go with Sophia and set the table.”
I did as she said, and then I ate chicken and dumplings and biscuits around the big oval table with the rest of the children. Mr. and Mrs. Keller ate at a separate, smaller table. There was a healthy amount of chatter among the children, but the adults kept quiet. All I could think about was Jackson. How I was eating a delicious homemade meal while he was probably eating cereal for the third time that day. I was scared to press the issue of calling him, but I was more scared of losing him.
In the middle of the night, I snuck down to the kitchen, took the phone from the charger, and went back up to my bedroom. I was the only one on the third floor, so I actually had privacy. I dialed Jackson’s house number. It was two in the morning, but he picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?” he said.
“Hi.”
“Emerson? Why are you whispering?”
“It’s two in the morning, and the Kellers don’t want me to call you.” My voice started to crack.
“Why?”
“They’re really strict,” I said.
“Can’t be any worse than your dad.”
“No, it’s different. They’re good people, they just have rules.”
“What kind of rules?”
“I’ll try and call you every night, but I don’t think we’ll be able to see each other until I settle in here and earn some trust.”
“Are they nice to you?”
“Yes, I’m totally safe. There are healthy, happy little kids here. The little girl is adorable.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“As long as you’re safe. Paula called me and told me she dropped you off in New Clayton.”
“Why?”
“She wanted me to know that she found you a really good home. She asked me to keep my distance.”
“Keep your distance?!” I whisper-shouted.
“Shhh, Em. Don’t get yourself into trouble just to call me.”
“What are you saying, Jax?”
“Nothing at all. I just want you to be safe. You could be farther away, living with assholes. It could be worse.”
“It’s only been a day, and I’m already sick of people telling me to stay out of trouble. I’ve done nothing. Talking to you doesn’t make me a bad kid. That’s just ridiculous. I’m going to find a way to call you no matter what.”
There was a long silence. “Fuck, I miss you so bad,” he said.
“I miss you too. Don’t worry, I’m going to call you and I’m going to see you again soon.”
“I keep thinking about our kiss . . .”
“Yeah?”
“How sweet you tasted.” I sucked in a sharp breath. No one had ever talked to me like that before. “The sounds you made when I kissed your neck.” His voice was rough, strained.
“Jackson, what are you doing?”
“Thinking about how badly I want to kiss you . . . and touch you.” His voice was low.
My heart was pounding. “You’re sleepy.”
“Nope, not sleepy at all. Em, do you touch yourself when you think about me?”
I was overwhelmed with embarrassment. Jackson and I hadn’t ever talked about this kind of stuff. “Um . . .”
He laughed quietly. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. We’ve known each other our whole lives.”
“That’s why I’m embarrassed.” It’s unusual for kids at that age, especially a boy and a girl, to talk openly about these things. We were learning about ourselves together. We didn’t have any grown-ups in our lives to guide us. Jax and I were raising each other.
It wasn’t about what he was doing or what he was curious about. It was the fact that he could say it to me, the person he was fantasizing about, and he knew it would be okay. It made me love him more.
“I just hope you think about me. I miss you, that’s all,” he said.
“You’re basically all I think about, dork.”
“Ha! There’s my girl
. So, you start at your new school tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Please stay away from the Hunter Hoovers of the world.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said.
“Okay.”
There were a few seconds of silence before I whispered, “Good night.”
“Night, Em.”
We hung up. I fell asleep with my hands splayed across my belly, imagining that I was lying next to Jax and he was holding me.
THE NEXT MORNING, I woke up to the smell of French toast and bacon. Before even opening my eyes, I was already smiling.
“What are you smiling about? You almost got busted. I saved your butt.”
I opened my eyes to find a serious Sophia. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Mrs. Keller and I came in here this morning with your laundry, and I found the phone sticking out from under your bed. I hid it in my shirt and put it back, but it was a close call.”
I sat up and put my hand to my chest. “Oh shit.”
“Watch your mouth,” she whispered. “Mr. Keller has no tolerance for bad language.”
“It seems like Mr. and Mrs. Keller have no tolerance for anything.”
“Look, this place is all I’ve ever known.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “But I’ve heard a lot of stories from the kids who have been through here, and I don’t want to know what’s out there, okay? Mr. and Mrs. Keller are strict, but they’re not mean, and I think they care about me. I don’t want to mess this up. What’s the saying . . . you know, about the devil?”
“Better the devil you know?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“You’ve been here a long time, so I can see why you’d feel that way. Thanks for covering for me—you didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s fine. I didn’t want you kicked out the first week. You’re the only one who wants to hit the library with me.”
I slid out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans from a folded pile on the dresser. “What time do we leave?”
Sophia looked at the clock. “Seven fifty sharp. Mr. Keller will drop you off first, then me.”
“What about the boys?”
“Mrs. Keller homeschools them.”
“How come?”
“Thomas is autistic, and the twins are really behind because they were neglected.”
Swear on This Life Page 9
