143 Burrow Drive, Grand Valley was a rather unremarkable home. It currently housed one teenage girl, who was coming up on her final year of high school, but it had seen two through adolescence and into adulthood already. In the past it had often had a revolving door for foster children looking for a safe and temporary sanctuary, however, that had changed after the death of the eldest Bruno child.
Simon Bruno had been 32, a young man in the army, placed there by the demands of a wife who wanted to have children but did not want to do the work of a stay at home mother. Young and naive as to what love was supposed to be; he had enlisted, taking him away from his little angel for most of her young life. His family always waited during each posting, for his correspondence, for the visits home that he sometimes got, but the one thing that the family of a military man never wished to see was the day another soldier stood on their doorstep. Unfortunately for 143 Burrow Drive and its inhabitants, that day came in the year of 2016. Worse still was the burial of an empty coffin, a wound that would never truly heal.
So, 143 Burrow Drive never saw another foster child again.
Not until one fateful day in May, nearly three years after Simon's death.
The matriarch of the family was an unremarkable woman, she was getting up there in her years, her hair having gone grey with the loss of her baby boy. Nowadays she was usually tittering about, though, no one in the family really knew what she did these days to keep busy. Her crafts never seemed to yield things anymore, aside from occasional blankets or stuffed animals for the treasured granddaughter, left behind by the beloved son. She often visited Nina, who now lived in her aunt's custody, whisked from the neglect of an ‘ever mourning’ mother.
On this day in particular, though, something remarkable did happen at 143 Burrow Drive, A young man came to live with them. Heather had been at the thrift store, shopping for clothes for the ever-growing Nina, when she had spotted him among the knits. He barely looked 17 as he struggled, weighing his options between two sweaters that looked far too large for such a willowy teen. “They’re much too big for you, little one.” She told him, her tone filled with every ounce of affectionate mothering she had in her, something it seemed the teen had not experienced in many years.
He practically jumped out of his skin as he faced her. “I uh- they’re not…” He started, unsure how to express his understanding of just what it is she was saying, before defeatedly replying, “I know.” The cotton candy hair seemed like so much fun to her, and the blues of it reminded her of someone she hadn’t thought of in many years. The panic on his face too was familiar and it struck her just how much it looked like the person she’d lost. It was a face she thought she had all but forgotten by now, however, it was impossible to forget, no matter the intervening years.
It wasn’t hard to tell what the boy’s true intention was. “You were going to unravel them to make a blanket, weren’t you?” There was no accusation in her voice, only a gentle understanding. “Why not buy one of the blankets on the wall?” She carefully motioned with her free hand to the wall of consignment that contained various knits and quilts from local crafters, taking up the only part of the dully lit warehouse that looked even half taken care of.
She already knew where it would go before he even brought the words to reality, from the look on his face. “They’re far too expensive Ma’am, and isn’t it more rewarding to make your own?” Respect and fear dripping from his lips as he tried to navigate out of the awkward conversation.
“Not if it means that you spend the nights it takes to make it shivering in the cold.” She was acutely aware of the holes in the sweater he wore, the way it was too short like he’d far outgrown it. “I don’t mean to pry sweets, but do you even have a bed for that blanket to go on?” normally she wouldn’t pry, but she could see the backpack sitting on the floor at the end of the rack, a couple of items for purchase or theft piled on top to try and mask the roll of foam that was attached to the side of the camping style bag.
His cheeks were hot with shame as he looked away, somehow looking even more like the person she’d lost, long before this young man was even a twinkle in his father’s eye. “I’m alright Ma’am but I appreciate your concern.” He was clearly practiced in the art of deflection and she was sure that anyone with less genuine concern than her would find that a more than adequate answer, easily walking away satisfied.
She was not like them though, and this deflection only made her more concerned. “Do you have a home to return to, young man? And please, do not think me old or naive enough to accept a deflection like that, because I certainly wasn’t born yesterday my dear.”
He ducked his head then, turning back to the sweaters like he was genuinely considering them and not her question. “You don’t have to do this you know, you don’t need to care, I just turned eighteen I’m an adult now and it doesn’t really matter.” He needed to push, she could tell, to see if she would walk away or push back. She’d worked with enough kids like him to know that it took a lot of pushing back to gain their trust.
“Sweets, you’re still a child, still a teenager, and clearly living on the street, it’s more obvious than you want to think it is. No one is grown the very second they turn eighteen, you still need and deserve guidance.” The once ginger-haired woman spoke as she reached out with a gentle hand to touch his arm.
His features shifted then as he clearly struggled with what she’d said, searching her face for some sort of dishonesty, something to justify not trusting her. “And what, I’m just supposed to trust you, and you’ll what? Take me to a shelter for the night so you can pat yourself on the back and feel like you did a good job and go on with your life, why don’t I save you the time and the effort.” He grumbled, looking away once again. “Thank you for asking, you’ve tried your best, you gave it a good effort, you are free of any guilt you might have, you’re fine to leave.”
She laughed a little, shaking her head, the sound genuinely startling the cotton candy haired boy. “You know, you remind me of my son, stubborn and unable to ever ask for help, no matter how much he needed it.” She continued to laugh a little to herself, the first time in a long time that a kid with so much wit, snipped at her. For a moment, she had to wonder if her gods were teasing her, taunting her with a boy that was so much like those she’d lost. Was this a gift or a curse? Was she meant to find solace in helping him or the torment of the ghosts she’d lived with for many years?
His surprise faded rather quickly, replaced by confusion as she continued to laugh. “I’m not sure what’s all that funny, but maybe you should just go call your son or whatever….”
“He died.” She said it so bluntly, the only way she really knew to be about the subject, it was a new way of facing her loss that she’d decided on after her last break down. It had been shocking to more than a few people, but she did find that it helped a bit, and at least shocked people enough to keep them from asking what had happened.
He was stunned silent for a long, awkward moment as he looked between her, the sweater, and the darkening sun of the front windows. “I-I’m sorry… but if… if this is some weird delusion where you want to replace your dead son with me…. Listen, I should probably get going… it’s starting to get dark-“
“I have a spare room, and an adopted daughter around your age, she’s very like you, or well she was, when she first came to live with me, stubborn and bullheaded, though all for her own safety I know. It took a lot of work to get her to trust me, but if you don’t want that, you don’t have to, you can just stay with me until you find somewhere more permanent. Or even just tonight, you can leave tomorrow if you really hate it. But what do you have to lose?” She tried her best to make it sound reasonable.
He frowned at her, his blue eyebrows drawing in to knit together in disbelief. “My life? My innocence? My freedom? The last shred of dignity I have?” he asked like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“It’s hard in the world for our kind, there’s never anyone looking out for us, not like they might for others.” She thoughtfully motioned, towards where two women idly chattered, with an easy tip of her head. They browsed the baby clothes, childless for the first time in weeks just to go shopping for their children. “They have it easy, but people like you and I, we have to look out for one another. I’m not asking you to give over everything to me, Sweets, I’m just offering a warm bed, a dry place to stay and hot meals every night. All I ask in return is for you to put your clothes in the hamper, finish high school and maybe try to smile once in a blue moon, that’s it.”
“That’s it?” he was searching her face for some kind of catch, some intent she wasn’t saying out loud. Every minute that he found nothing, but genuine honesty and the hint of ginger in her grey hair, broke down the wall he’d put up, just a little bit at a time, just enough to break through.
For a long moment, she feigned a look, one that seemed like he’d caught her in a trap. “Oh, well, I suppose you also will have to let me buy you things you need like blankets and clothes.” She added, giving him a small, gentle smile that caught him completely off guard.
“You? What?” he sputtered in disbelief as he looked from the sweaters to the wall of blankets. “Why?”
She touched his arm again, gently. “I’d like to say it’s just who I am, and to some degree it is, I’ve had many like you come through my house, but to some degree, it is also that you remind me of the people I loved and have lost in my lifetime. It feels like fate that we were meant to meet here, so that you might become a part of my family.” She gave him a warm smile, like a summer afternoon, familiar and comforting. “It’s a little selfish, and I can recognize that, but don’t mistake my meaning, you’re not Simon and you’re not replacing him, but, there is a place in my heart and my home if you want it.”
He hesitated, looking to her because it all just sounded too good to be true, but perhaps it was a chance he needed to take. “Why should I trust you?”
“Because when we return to my house I’m going to call my contacts in social services and get your file and register you as a foster kid in my care proper.” She offered, though her contact in child protective services was calling her daughter, who had been a social worker, so she could talk to her friend and ex-co-worker.
He rolled his eyes a little as he picked up the sweaters, shoving them back onto the rack in defeat. “That means nothing, I’ve been in my share of shitty foster homes in the past.” He pointed out sharply as he went to retrieve his backpack, picking up his items, cheap and ratty unwanted things, as he walked back towards her.
She shook her head, quietly taking the trashed items from him and tucked them back onto the rack. “You can borrow some of the clothes I have from when my Simon was your age, and in the morning we will get you some proper clothes, things that aren’t about to fall apart tomorrow.” She didn’t answer what he’d mentioned, but the anger on her face was more than clear what she thought of foster homes like that.
“You were shopping here too.” He pointed out to her, motioning to her cart full of young child clothing.
She laughed and shook her head. “Firstly, the stuff I picked out isn’t going to fall apart tomorrow, but my granddaughter, Nina, is growing like a tree and it’s unlikely she will wear these more than once. It’s fine. she’s much like her father, and she’s going to be quite tall, I could never keep Simon in clothes that fit when he was her age, and she is just the same.” She joked, gently teasing the little girl’s near-constant growth spurts, and there was something about the gentle way she spoke of her grandchild that brought him some form of comfort.
He followed her through the rows of racks and old clothing, the musty smell of used clothing permeating his skin, like it would never leave. “And was Simon adopted?” he asked, a little hopeful to hear that the man she was talking about so affectionately was adopted.
“Oh no sweets, that would be my Elise, she's a little younger than you, I think you’ll like her, she’s got a lot of spark.” She said it with such an affectionate laugh that it struck him that she must mean that about a more negative trait but that she loved her anyway. That felt like a comfort though not as much of one as Simon being adopted would have been. “She has the basement to herself, but I’m quite confident we will be able to set up a nice space for you as well, perhaps one of the spare rooms would make a nice space for you to study and relax with a desk and couch, and whatever else you might want to entertain yourself. It’s important to keep your work and play away from the space you sleep in or you will have trouble getting sleeping you know?”
He spluttered a little at her words. “Uh, no, I can’t say I do Ma’am, I’ve not really had my own room in a very long time, my old man passed away when I was young, he was a soldier and my old lady got on drugs and overdosed shortly after, I was raised by her druggie boyfriend.”
“My Simon was a Soldier as well.” She said as she gave his hand a gentle pat. “My name is Heather, by the way.” She offered up. “Ma’am makes me sound too old.” She joked as she tucked a strand of greying hair behind her ear. “What do you take me for? An old woman?” she teased a laugh from his lips, getting him to ease up again.
“Lucias, but you can just call me Lucky, but I do really just respond to anything vaguely similar or starts with a Luc sound.” He insisted, as if his name didn’t matter.
She nodded slowly, trying not to let on just how much he hurt her heart. “Whatever you want me to call you I will, Lucky it is, and are you a boy? Do you go by he/him? Or do you want me to call you by something else?”
This simple question was probably the most startling thing about the older lady he walked to the cash with. “Uh, he/him is just fine or they/them, I’m not really picky so long as you don’t call me it?” he said it as more of a question, afraid he might set her off.
“They/them is just fine with me, sweets.” She assured him, trying to comfort him in a way that would build the trust he needed. “Let's go home and get you a shower and a hot meal, Lucky.” She insisted as she got to the front cash.
He bowed his head a little as he gave her a quick nod before glancing over at her. “If you’re sure…” he started, though she quickly dismissed his fears, calming his anxiety just a little, getting ready to leave the store and return to the place that would become home for him for the next year.
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