“Who’s that?”
Denise followed my gaze.
When she saw who I was looking at, her expression changed.
“Luke.”
“You should know he’s had a lot of placements.”
“How old is he?”
“Sixteen.”
“Can I meet him?”
She hesitated.
“You should know he’s had a lot of placements.”
“Was he violent?”
“How many?”
“Ten.”
I stared at her.
“Was he violent?”
“No.”
“Did he hurt younger children?”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
“Did he hurt younger children?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
Years earlier, after my husband died, Noah’s teachers called him difficult because he stopped talking in class.
“Different things. Luke is…complicated.”
I hated that word.
Years earlier, after my husband died, Noah’s teachers called him complicated because he stopped talking in class.
What they meant was that my grieving eleven-year-old no longer made their jobs easy.
“I’d still like to meet him.”
He glanced at the only empty chair and gestured towards it.
Luke stood when I approached.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Caroline.”
He glanced at the only empty chair and gestured towards it.
“Please, ma’am. You can sit here.”
I almost laughed.
We discussed the book in his hands for nearly an hour.
“I’m forty-seven, not ninety.”
His mouth twitched.
“I wasn’t implying anything.”
“You absolutely were.”
That got a real smile.
“One good conversation doesn’t guarantee a placement.”
We discussed the book in his hands for nearly an hour.
When I left, Denise said, “One good conversation doesn’t guarantee a placement.”
“I know.”
So I came back.
Again and again.
Luke was guarded, but kind. He had a dry sense of humor and remembered everything I told him.
For four months, Luke and I met at the agency, then at libraries, diners, parks, and supervised outings.
I kept waiting for the difficult teenager everyone had warned me about.
He never appeared.
Luke was guarded, but kind. He had a dry sense of humor and remembered everything I told him.
Once, I mentioned that Grace used to hate raisins.
“Don’t worry. I checked. No raisins.”
Three weeks later, Luke pushed a cookie across a café table.
“Don’t worry. I checked. No raisins.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Eventually, we began talking about adoption.
I had learned grief could make small kindnesses dangerous.
Eventually, we began talking about adoption.
“You’d really want that?” Luke asked.
“Yes.”
