“Where is Mr. Kelly?” Jonathan asked. 

“Who knows?” Chelsea said with a sigh. “He was probably at the bar last night.” 

“I know Jenna died like a year ago, but he needs to pull it together before I call social services,” Rachel complained aloud even though her eyes were glued to her phone. 

Doug Kelly was their assigned caretaker. He owned the house and was supposed to be at home when any foster kid was present. Robert, Monica, Topher, Chelsea, and Rachel all said he used to be funny and kind. So was Jenna Kelly, his wife. Jenna was a childhood cancer survivor and loved helping kids to have better younger years than her own. She had worked at the local orphanage in Philo’s town for years before marrying Doug. Not being able to have children of their own, they decided to open their home to foster children. They took the kids on trips, helped them with homework, and had apparently been amazing foster parents. However, two years ago, new malignant cancer cells had regrown in Jenna’s brain and killed her in a matter of months. She died just before Philo was transferred to Mr. Kelly’s home. 

Doug started neglecting and resenting the children he was paid to take care of. He demanded they start calling him Mr. Kelly and forbade them from mentioning his wife again. He turned to late nights of drinking for solace. Any troubling memories of Jenna must have stung worse than the alcohol burning his throat. At times, he would shout or even get violent, but usually, he just wasn’t around. Philo didn’t mind being in charge of making meals—he liked cooking—he just wished Mr. Kelly kept their food supply more consistent. 

“Can I have some eggs and toast?” Gabby asked, eyeing up the plated food. 

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Rachel agreed. 

Robert, the oldest foster boy, hustled through the kitchen, talking on his phone and wearing his letter jacket. 

“Are you ready to eat?” Philo asked. 

“I’m good. I have my protein shake!” the athlete waved a bottle with creamy liquid in Philo’s direction. “Thanks anyway.” 

“Go ahead,” Philo told the girls as Robert left the house. “Don’t make a big mess, though. I have to clean the dishes before the bus comes.” 

The girls and Jonathan started eating as Philo grabbed himself a plate. Topher, the laziest of the house’s teens, trudged into the room with a wide yawn, scratching his stomach. He brought his school bag to the table and sat down. 

“Eggs with salsa?” he said with displeased eyebrows. 

“It’s all we had left,” Philo stated. “I’ll tell Mr. Kelly we need more food whenever he shows up.” 

Disregarding his own previous disgust, Topher took a huge pile of the scrambled eggs and doused it with the salsa. After everyone finished eating, They got ready to leave for school. Topher was the first to walk out. 

“Topher!” Chelsea bellowed. 

“What?” He poked his head back in, confused. 

“The garbage!” Chelsea angrily grunted. “You’re finally here, so I shouldn’t have to do your job for you again.” 

“Ugh, fine,” Topher moaned. He tied the garbage bag, threw the large mound over his shoulder, and followed Chelsea, Rachel, and Gabby out their dull, white door. 

“Can I help clean?” Jonathan looked up at Philo. 

“Oh, thanks, bud,” Philo smiled as he finished clearing all the plastic plates to the sink. “Can you just put the jars back and wash the table for me, please?” 

“Yep!” Jonathan chirped. 

Philo handed a soapy towel to the boy and continued speed-washing the dishes. He knew the bus should be here any minute, but, luckily, it arrived just down the street. A sudden, loud sound shocked Philo. He whipped toward the noise. 

Jonathan gasped, “Oops.” 

While making exuberant, soapy circles, Jonathan had knocked the condiments off the table, making them fly toward the refrigerator. Glass shards, apricot jam, and salsa were all over the wall and linoleum floor. As Philo’s mouth fell open, Jonathan had tears welling up in his eyes.