Chapter 15 - THE DAY I HELPED THEM PACK
I wait until after dinner.
There is no good time to tell children their lives are changing again.
There are only less terrible times.
The five of them are in the living room.
Sophie is coloring.
Noah is building a block tower.
Grace is trying to put one of Ben’s shoes on a stuffed bear.
Ben is chewing a board book.
Liam is reading the same page of a school reader without turning it.
He knows.
I can tell before I speak.
“Court changed something today.”
Sophie stops coloring.
Noah’s hand freezes over the tower.
Grace looks at Liam.
Liam looks at me.
“How many houses?”
“One.”
He swallows.
“Here?”
My mouth will not work.
“No.”
Everything after that happens at once.
Sophie screams.
Grace starts crying because Sophie is crying.
Noah knocks over the block tower and runs behind the couch.
Ben starts sobbing.
Liam does not move.
He simply stares at me.
“You lost.”
The words are quiet.
“It is a transition order.”
“You lost.”
“The judge will review again in thirty days.”
“You said you fight.”
“I did.”
“You lost.”
I kneel.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurts both of us.
“Yes, today I lost.”
He looks at the others.
“Do we all go?”
“Yes.”
“Same car?”
“Yes.”
“Same house?”
“Yes.”
“Same rooms?”
“I do not know about rooms.”
His jaw clenches.
“You said same.”
“Same house.”
“Not same room.”
“No.”
He backs away.
“Then it starts.”
I stand.
“No.”
“It starts with rooms.”
“Liam.”
“Then schools.”
“No.”
“Then cars.”
“No one has ordered that.”
“Yet.”
He learned that word from us.
I hate that too.
The transition plan begins with two overnight visits the first week.
Then three nights.
Then five.
Then the children are scheduled to remain with the Hartleys through the final review.
I am allowed video calls every other evening during the transition.
The plan uses the phrase supportive attachment transfer.
I nearly rip the paper in half.
Instead, I read every line because the children’s safety depends on details.
On the first overnight, Liam packs all five bags.
I let him start.
Then I sit beside him.
“You do not have to do everyone’s.”
“I know what they need.”
“So do I.”
“You forgot Grace’s rabbit last court.”
“That was one time.”
“It was two.”
He is right.
I let him put the rabbit in.
Then I take over the rest.
At the door, Sophie wraps both arms around my waist.
“Come.”
“I cannot tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because this is their house visit.”
“No.”
Rebecca Hartley waits by the van without approaching.
She looks miserable.
I respect her for not pretending otherwise.
Liam walks past me without a hug.
He gets into the van.
Then he gets back out.
He runs upstairs.
I follow.
He goes into the bedroom and pulls the night-light from the wall.
“This comes.”
“Okay.”
“And the door alarm.”
“That is attached to the house.”
“Then take it off.”
“We can ask if they have one.”
“No.”
His breathing speeds up.
“I need this one.”
I crouch.
“You need an alarm or you need this exact alarm?”
“This.”
“Why?”
“Because it knows us.”
My throat closes.
“It does not know anyone.”
“Yes, it does.”
He grabs the plastic sensor.
“It knows when we leave.”
I unscrew it from the frame.
It leaves two tiny holes in the wood.
“Take it.”
At the Hartleys’, Thomas installs it on their hallway door even though they already have a better system.
That matters to Liam.
The first overnight goes surprisingly well.
The second does not.
At 10:46 p.m., Rebecca calls me.
My heart stops when I see her name.
“What happened?”
“No one is hurt.”
I sit down.
“What happened?”
“Liam will not sleep.”
“Normal.”
“He has been standing in the hallway for two hours.”
“Why?”
“He says he has to watch the doors.”
My chest tightens.
“Did you call his therapist?”
“Yes.”
“She suggested grounding, reassurance, and letting him choose a sleeping spot where he can see the sibling rooms.”
“So?”
“We did.”
Rebecca pauses.
“He still wants you.”
I close my eyes.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I do not know.”
That honesty is becoming unbearable.
“If I call him, am I interfering with attachment transfer?”
“I hate that phrase too.”
I almost laugh.
Rebecca says, “Call him.”
She puts me on speaker.
Liam does not speak at first.
“Hey.”
Silence.
“Rebecca says you are having a hard night.”
Nothing.
“You do not have to make her house fail.”
A sharp breath.
“I’m not.”
“You do not have to make it succeed either.”
“What?”
“You just have to get through tonight.”
He whispers, “Are you sleeping?”
“Not yet.”
“In your room?”
“Yes.”
“Is our room empty?”
The question slices me.
“Yes.”
“Turn the star light on.”
I walk across the hall and plug it in.
Blue stars spread across empty bunk beds.
“It is on.”
“Leave it.”
“I will.”
He goes quiet.
Then he says, “So the room knows we come back.”
I sit on the floor.
“Okay.”
The children come back the next afternoon.
Liam checks the night-light before taking off his backpack.
For the next two weeks, we live between houses.
The children begin using phrases like Hartley night and Evan night.
I hate how normal it becomes.
Sophie starts asking whether she can have two toothbrushes.
Noah leaves one dinosaur at the Hartleys on purpose.
Grace calls their chicken “my chicken.”
Ben cries less at drop-off.
Every sign of adaptation is good for them and devastating for me.
Daniel sees it.
One Sunday, after the children leave for a Hartley overnight, he finds me sitting on the back steps.
“You are doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“Making pain mean you are losing.”
“I am literally losing placement days.”
“That is not what I mean.”
I look at him.
He sits beside me.
“When I stopped hating you, I thought it meant Ray won somehow.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Neither does being mad at a six-year-old for liking chickens.”
I stare at him.
“Emma told you.”
“Everyone knows.”
“I hate this family.”
He smiles slightly.
“Good.”
For a moment, we sit like brothers instead of witnesses.
Then he says, “I found Michael.”
My head turns.
“What?”
“Our brother.”
My chest stops.
“Where?”
“Arizona.”
“How?”
“The court order released old placement identifiers.”
“I hired someone.”
“You what?”
“You hired an attorney.”
He shrugs.
“I hired a skip tracer.”
“Did you contact him?”
“Yes.”
My mouth goes dry.
“What did he say?”
“He said no.”
The hope disappears so fast it is almost embarrassing.
“No to what?”
“Talking.”
I nod.
Daniel studies me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
The final transition week begins on Monday.
The children are scheduled to spend five consecutive nights with the Hartleys.
I help load the van.
Liam lets me hug him this time.
Sophie kisses my cheek.
Noah makes me promise not to touch his pillow.
Grace says, “Bye, house.”
Ben says, “Egg.”
I stand in the driveway until the van disappears.
That night, I turn on the blue star light in the empty bedroom.
I leave it on.
At 2:13 a.m., my phone rings.
Thomas Hartley.
I answer before the first ring finishes.
“Evan, I need you to come.”
My heart stops.
“Is someone hurt?”
May you like
There is a long pause.
“Not yet.”
