Lia crossed her arms, looking from one to the other of them. “You understand that I have a number of foster children.”
“Yes.”
Both nodded.
“The two little ones are currently asleep. Chances are you won’t see much of them. Julia is a baby, and Arturo a toddler.” She pronounced Julia the Spanish way.
They both nodded again. Sorrel watched them without expression.
“Let me take you on a quick tour and introduce you to the other kids.” Lia led the way into the living room, where two boys sat on the sofa watching TV.
The room was set up to be kid-friendly, the furniture big, comfortable, sturdy. The coffee table had rounded corners. Bookcases protected their contents with paneled doors on the bottom and glass-fronted ones on top. Some baby paraphernalia sat around, but Conall didn’t see much in the way of toys. Did she let the kids watch television all day?
“Walker,” she said in a gentle voice. “Brendan. Would you please pause your movie?”
One of them fumbled for the remote. Then they both gazed at the men. They had to be the two saddest looking kids he’d ever seen. Grief and hopelessness clung to them like the scent of tobacco on a smoker. Their eyes held…nothing. Not even interest.
They were trying damned hard to shut down all emotional content. He recognized the process, having gone through it. He didn’t know whether to wish them well with it, or hope someone, or something, intervened.
His child specialist was staring at them with something akin to horror and was being useless. Somebody had to say something.
Apparently, that would be him. “Walker. Brendan. My name is Conall. This is Jeff.”
After a significant pause, one of the boys recalled his manners enough to say, “Hi.”
“I know we’ll be seeing you around,” Conall said awkwardly.
The same boy nodded. He was the older of the two, Con realized, although they looked so much alike they had to be brothers.
Lia guided the two men out of the living room. Behind them the movie resumed.
She hustled them through the dining room and showed them the kitchen.
“I serve the kids three meals a day and can include you in any or all of those,” she told them. “If you’d rather make your own breakfasts or lunches, just let me know in advance and help yourself to anything you can find.”
She didn’t say whether those meals would be sugary cereals and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Right this minute, Conall didn’t care. He kept his voice low. “What’s with the boys?”
Her glance was cool. “Their mother died five days ago. She had adult-onset leukemia. Six weeks ago, she was healthy. She went downhill really fast.”
“They don’t have other family?” Jeff asked.
“No. The boys barely remember their father, who abandoned them a long time ago. If there are grandparents or other relatives on that side, no one knows anything about them. The boys’ mother grew up in foster care.”
“So now they will, too.” Conall wasn’t naive; in his line of work, he didn’t deal much with kids, but sometimes there were ones living in houses where he made busts. He’d undoubtedly been responsible for sending some into foster care himself. He’d never had to live with any of those children before, though.
“Yes,” she said. “Unless they’re fortunate enough to be adopted.”
He didn’t have to read her tone to know how unlikely that was, especially with the boys as withdrawn as they were. And being a pair besides. Or would they end up separated? That was an idea that he instinctively rebelled against.
He and Henderson both were quiet as she showed them a home office on the ground floor, and opened the door to a large bathroom and, at the back of the house, a glassed-in porch that was now a laundry slash mud room.
“You can do your own laundry, or toss your clothes in the hamper and I’ll add them to any loads I put in.”
They nodded acknowledgement.
Upstairs was another bathroom and bedrooms. Hers, one with a closed door that was apparently where the little kids slept, a room shared by the boys, and a smaller one that was obviously the teenager’s. It was little larger than a walk-in closet; maybe originally intended to be a sewing room or nursery?