For the Children

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HE COULD HEIST a car. He just wasn’t sure it was his best bet. Driving it didn’t worry him. But what about when people looked in and saw a kid behind the wheel?

Walking was out. Not because he didn’t know where he was, which he didn’t, but because it had taken them over an hour to get there by highway.

Still, if it was his only option, it wasn’t like he had to make it home.

Just away.

Abraham stepped off the porch. And liked how that felt. Another step would probably be even better.

He tried it out. Looked behind him to make sure his jailers were still inside having their Saturday-night dinner. He’d said he wasn’t hungry. Which wasn’t entirely true. He just didn’t want to eat more of their food than he had to. It wasn’t his. And he didn’t need their charity.

He also hated sitting at their family table, listening to the chatter of the little girl who’d been born to the Mortons. Mrs. Morton was a bored housewife who’d been some kind of counselor at some point.

They’d told him she’d be good for him.

She wasn’t helping a bit.

A few more steps and he was out of their yard. No bells going off, no hidden alarms. And then, steps weren’t enough. With only the jeans and shirt he was wearing and the tennis shoes on his feet, Abraham broke into a run that would put Blake Smith to shame. Gaining his freedom. Taking care of himself, just as he’d been doing since the day he was born.

And one way or another, he was going to make it home and get back to taking care of his mother, too.

Now that the bruises were almost healed.

On the outside, anyway.

SATURDAY NIGHT Blake lay on the couch staring at the large-screen television across from him. And sometimes, when the excitement didn’t make his stomach feel worse, he looked over at the shining Christmas tree they’d put up that morning and tried to figure out what might be in the giftwrapped packages that would soon be showing up underneath. Brian was on the other sofa, laughing at a rerun of The Simpsons. They were supposed to be at Fiddlesticks, playing miniature golf and video games.

But Blake’s stomach had hurt too much for him to go.

And Brian hadn’t eaten all his dinner, so Mom had said he couldn’t go, either. Not that Bry would’ve gone without him.

Still, Saturday night lying on the couch sucked.

He glanced over at his mom, who sat in a chair with her leg flung across the arm. She was pretending to watch the show with them, but he could tell she wasn’t seeing it. Her expression never changed, even during the commercials.

He rolled over, trying to find a more comfortable position, something that would relieve the burning pain between his ribs. Mom didn’t know he was hurting. She thought they’d stayed home because of Brian.

He couldn’t tell her. She’d just worry.

And then Brian wouldn’t eat.

Taking care of the two of them was tough.

But he’d manage.

Once his stomach quit hurting.

Yeah, Saturday night on the couch sucked. Big-time.

KIRK LEFT SCHOOL during his morning break. He had a couple of hours if he wanted them. And Monday morning, two days after his visit to Alicia, he wanted them.

He’d taken his break a couple of other times recently, to go home and make a few business calls for people, but today what he had to do was important. Something that mattered.

The court building looked exactly as he remembered. Every brick exactly the same. Even the crack in the sidewalk as he approached the front door was something he remembered.

He’d called ahead so they knew he was coming. After he made it through the metal detector, the receptionist called Valerie’s J.A. to come get him.