“Whatever you need,” my father says, looking at Matthew.
“We will get whoever we need to get to make this happen,” he assures me.
“I need to prepare a bedroom for him.” I look over at Franny, who smiles at me, blinking away her own tears.
“I know a couple of people who love to shop and can probably have things delivered today.” She grabs her phone from her back pocket and turns around to walk out of the room.
“Where is Julia?” I ask. The front door opens again, and Julia comes into the room.
“We need to talk.” I look at her, and she just looks at me. I know how hard her job can be. I didn’t before, but now that I’ve seen firsthand what she must go through every single day, I know it’s not pretty. “When they find Maddox,” I say, not even going into the worst-case scenarios in my head, “I am going to have a lawyer petition to get him placed here.”
“I’m already ahead of you,” Julia replies, walking to the fridge and taking out a water bottle. “I was on the phone with a couple of my colleagues who are aware of the case.” She takes a sip of the water. “And we’ve all come to the decision that placing Maddox here would be best for him.” She puts her hands on the counter. “But it’s not in our hands. We’ve done everything we need to do. You’ve applied to be an emergency foster parent. The application was pushed through, and your background check was completed.” I swallow, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I already put in my referral.”
“I’m sorry.” My aunt Caroline steps forward. “But she needs to know what she’s dealing with.” She looks at Julia. “We need to know what he’s been through if we are going to be able to help him.” She wrings her hands together.
“You know I can’t tell you guys anything,” Julia says. “You think I don’t want to?”
“I think that there are things that you should keep confidential,” my mother says now. “But if we are going to help him, we need to know what tools we need.”
“This is all you need to know.” Julia swallows. “He is an eight-year-old boy who hasn’t had anyone love him in his whole life.” Her words come out, and every single one stabs me in the heart over and over again. The pain is like shards of glass going through me. “He was left at school from the time it opened until the time it closed. He had the same clothes on for two weeks once, before the school gave his mother a bag of secondhand clothes, which she then turned around and sold. A little boy who used to wet the bed occasionally, so you can imagine.” I hear a gasp, and I have to sit down. I walk over to the couch as Julia continues, “That little boy has seen more horror than we can even think about. He has walls up so high nothing can knock them down. He has no idea what a hug is or even why you give them. He knows nothing about family. He knows nothing about anything really.” I close my eyes. “He’s emotionally unavailable.” She looks me in the eyes. “I don’t know if he’ll ever be okay.”
“Is there a father in the picture?” Caroline asks.
“No.” Julia shakes her head. “There was none listed on the birth certificate, and when she was asked about it, she said she didn’t know.”
“Are you sure about this?” My mother comes over and sits beside me, followed by Mac, who sits beside me for support as if she knows I need her. “I know you want to help him.”
I shake my head, not wanting her to finish what she is going to say. “I knew the minute I saw him,” I start to say. “There was a reason I came back early.” I look at my mother and father. “I wasn’t supposed to be here, but I was, and there was a reason. I was sent back for him.” I wipe away the tears. “He’s …” I don’t even know if I have the right words to justify what I feel for him. “He’s mine.” I shrug, smiling through the tears. “I can’t explain it any other way.”
“Then we will get him all the help he needs,” Matthew says now. “We will get him people to talk to and show him what love is.”
“What family is,” my father says, looking at Matthew, and the two of them share a nod.
“If anyone knows what he’s going through,” Caroline says, sitting on the couch in front of us, “it’s Dylan.” She shakes her head, wiping away the tears. “No matter how much I tried to shield him, he knew what we were going through. But at least he had me. He had love from me. This poor boy,” she says, leaning over and grabbing a tissue out of the box on the end table when all of a sudden, Julia’s phone rings along with my father’s and Matthew’s.