The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

I want Sam to have the best. He’s only eleven but his talent is already apparent. Some people just know what they’re meant to do early on. I did and so did Violet. But so many others have to toil at jobs they hate to make ends meet while their true passion stifles and withers for lack of use. So I started a foundation that helps fund arts programs for underprivileged kids. I would love to give the finger to the idea that one has to be lucky, or rich, or have the right set of circumstances align in order to make someone’s passion their job.

Twenty minutes later, Violet and Sam arrive. I clear everybody

out and Violet crosses to me immediately, taking off her hat and glasses. The same nervous excitement that’s roiling in me lights up her eyes.

She kisses me. “Are you ready?”

“No.” I laugh. “Are you?”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But I’m going to do my absolute best. It’s all we can do, right?”

“It’s what you always do,” I say. “It’s what you’ve given to me.”

“Same, love,” she says. “We take care of each other.” We both turn and look to where Sam is hovering around the coffee table, circling the gift uncertainly. “Now we’re going to take care of him.”

An ache grips my heart, watching the little boy study the present. The label has his name written clearly on it and he’s still not sure it’s for him.

“What is this?” he asks.

Violet and I join him at the table. “Why don’t you open it and see?” she says.

Sam starts for the thick white envelope. “You’re always supposed to start with the card before the gift,” he says solemnly because he’s a solemn little kid who’s trained himself to be as polite as he can be in the hopes whoever is fostering him will keep him longer. Slow to laugh, cautious about letting in too much happiness. I could relate.

“Not this time, buddy,” I say and take the envelope away from him, hoping he won’t notice how my hands are trembling. “This time around, you start with the gift.”

“Okay,” he says and slowly, meticulously unwraps the present, careful not to tear the paper. To save it or maybe because he thinks he’ll have to rewrap it when he’s done and give it back.

I see Violet’s thoughts are following the same train, her eyes shining, watching the little boy hesitantly open a present that he should already know is his.

“Oh, this is a very nice lens!” he says, almost formally, his eyes wide and a smile finally breaking over his face. “Just what I needed. It’s the best one too. Thank you so much.”

He hugs Violet and then me, quickly letting go. In the few months he’s been with us, he treats us like the wrapping paper too; gently, careful not to tear anything, careful not to make us angry for fear we might send him back.

Violet and I spend every waking hour trying to show him that will never happen, but he’s been let down too many times.

“Now can I open the card?” he asks. Violet and I sit down together on the couch, her hand clasped tightly in mine.

“Yeah,” I say roughly. “You can open it.”

“It’s awfully thick for a card,” Sam says.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Violet already has a tissue pressed to her mouth.

Sam opens the envelope and pulls out a sheaf of papers from the California Health and Human Services Department.

“What is this?” he asks and then reads the words at the top. The papers drop from his hands, and his chin drops to his chest.

“What do you think, Sam?” I ask, my voice fraying at the edges.

He manages to raise his chin, taking in both Violet and me. “Does this mean I get to stay?”

“Yes, baby,” Vi says, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Would you like that? Would you like to stay with us?”

He doesn’t answer, the disbelief is too strong. “You’re adopting me?” Once the word leaves his mouth, his shoulders start to shake, and the tears fall. He covers his eyes with his hands.

Violet and I both shoot off the couch to either side of him, hugging him between us.

“We love you, buddy,” I say. “We don’t ever want you to go.”