Carina

They kept Operation Hope near the kitchen, moving it from the fridge after it started to take up more space, and transforming the miniature entryway that led into the kitchen, Neal topping it with one of his hand-made signs.

Emma had adjusted the rules slightly for Porter too, allowing him some more materialistic items because kids should want things like a new bike and video games. But while he would sometimes post ads for the newest it toy (those never stayed up for long, Neal almost always bringing some contraption home, grinning at Emma's raised brow and, with a sheepish shrug, he would say, "Just because."), Porter's contributions to the former board usually consisted of a rotating cycle of fuzzy animals - dogs mostly, but cats made the list too, along with gerbils, horses and, during one very strange phase, an emu. Emma had tried to ban these from the wall, arguing that they would never have the farm full of livestock Porter so obviously wanted, but Neal had argued that everything but maybe the emu served as a legitimate wish.

(Mostly because Neal obviously wanted a dog too.)

But today Emma noticed a new addition to Hope. She caught it just out of the corner of her eye and she did a double take before promptly spitting out her coffee, blinking at the words owlishly because written in Porter's uneven scrawl (and followed by a smiley face) was: Little Sister.

She stared at the board for quite some time before grabbing Neal by the shirt, pulling him away from whatever mindless Saturday cartoon he and Porter had on with a murmured, "We need to talk."

Porter didn't even blink as she dragged his father from the living room, depositing him at the kitchen's entrance and, jerking her head at Operation Hope, asked, in a somewhat accusatory tone, "Did you know about this?"

"No." A wide grin spread across his face, eyes twinkling with sudden mischief, Neal obviously missing the gravity of the situation. "Though I'd be up for getting started on number two. Wanna -"

"Neal," Emma scolded, "this is serious."

His brow furrowed. "Is it?"

Emma nodded.

"Only it's not, Em." He pointed out a picture of a dog, one of many, just below it, "he's been waiting on a pet for years now. He knows it's not gonna just up and happen."

"Yeah, but," Emma bit her lip, "do you think he's lonely?"

Neal, at least, gave this question proper consideration, before relenting. "Maybe. I don't know. He's always talking about one friend or another, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but none of them live nearby, do they?" she said practically, "He can't just go to a friend's house whenever he wants. Not unless we drive him."

Besides. They both knew that loneliness came in different shapes.

"We've talked about this though," Neal said and, at Emma's questioning look, he added, "Another baby."

They had.

And while both had agreed that another baby was absolutely something they both wanted, the words someday always seemed to follow. Because they had new jobs and school and a house to finish. Except she had finished school and they had settled into their jobs and the house was finished. Things were good.

Emma bit the pad of her thumb, eyes studying the slip of paper as if that would somehow reveal the hidden message it contained. One glance at Neal though, looking all crazy hopeful, said he wanted to jump. She just need to say go.

"Maybe it's time." She said the words carefully, as if they were a test, and found that she didn't mind them. She didn't mind them, at all, and Emma matched Neal's grin, big and bright, eyes crinkling.

The giddiness of this maybe, sorta decision took them through the weekend and then things changed.

Because trouble, Emma had learned over the years, always came in a set.

That wasn't her pessimism talking. Okay. It wasn't just her pessimism talking, but things just always seemed to get worse before they got better. Neal broke his arm, for example, and then it rained and everything got all soggy because in their rush to get him to the hospital no one thought to cover the roof.

And it didn't even have to be cause and effect. Because Porter fell and then just two weeks later poor Mr. Portobello had a stroke. He made a full recovery, he was fine, but in her and Neal's attempt to help him out around the farm in the aftermath they also had to deal with, well, chaos. Because it wasn't just that Porter fell.

(Though, really? Wasn't that bad enough?)

"I just don't understand how you fell in the first place, Porter?" It had taken her and Neal some time to finally compose themselves but when they did, that was the first question she asked. "The trails are clearly marked and blocked off."

"I had to get the doll." And then he made a motion as if to say over.

Emma sputtered because it was such a ridiculous, stupid thing to do and the worst thing was that The Doll, as Porter called it, hadn't been a doll, at all. It had been a body. A young boy no older than Porter himself and the police later told them that they had no idea how he could have even seen it in the first place.

"An adult couldn't lean over far enough to see where it'd been wedged, let alone a child."

And then they said he had been very lucky indeed to come out of that as well as he had.

The whole thing horrified Emma, and it got worse. Because despite refusing interview after interview, the incident still landed him on the news. He was the miracle child and then, suddenly, he had solved a missing person's case that was years old. And so again, she tried to get the whole story out of him because she couldn't make sense of it. The only thing she could think was, maybe, Porter had been climbing on things he shouldn't have been. But when he said no, she couldn't detect the lie.

All she really got out of him was, "I just saw it."

So yes. She was worried. Because trouble never traveled alone and they still didn't know why Porter had punched that Sam kid.

It kinda baffled her that Neal didn't feel the same.

"Of course I'm concerned, but Porter tells us everything. So I have to believe that there's a reason he's not telling us this."

So she agreed that they would give Porter a week. A week to tell them the truth. And she trusted, more than anything, that Neal would never do anything that might endanger their son. But in that time, Porter's behavior took a turn for the worse.

It got so bad that Emma would have gloated if the situation wasn't so serious.

First they had to sign a spelling test and yes, bad grades were bound to happen, but compare that to his long streak of gold stars and it was enough to raise a red flag. Then Neal caught Porter stealing from his wallet and food started to disappear from the fridge in ridiculously large quantities.

(Emma responded by stuffing money into his coat pockets and packing extra food into his lunch box. Because she had to believe Porter only had the best of intentions and she would much rather take part in his deception then watch as he lied to her face.)

She thought the streak would end with her lost cell phone (she'd spent all morning looking for it and seriously still couldn't find it anywhere). But no. It ended with a call from the school who apparently just wanted to confirm that Porter was sick, and the secretary, in a deceivingly sweet tone, made sure to remind her, "We ask parents to call in when they'll be keeping their child home for the day."

Emma's jaw clenched, "I didn't call in because he's not at home. I put him on the bus this morning."

"You saw him get on the bus?"

"Yes." Emma counted to three and then, very carefully, "Are you saying that you don't know where my son is?"

"I'm sure it's just a mistake." But the secretary's upper hand had crumbled and now she just sounded flustered.

"Well, then," Emma took that sickly sweet tone for herself, adding to it the promise of a threat, "Why don't you double check. I'll wait."

Neal had already left for work by this point, which Emma found rather unfortunate. A thousand different possibilities raced through her head, each even worse than the last, all ending with him down a cliff somewhere (because with that image came a very real reality.), and her legs buckled beneath her, Emma sliding down the kitchen wall, taking away the worry of holding herself up so that she could, maybe, think more practically. Because say nothing sinister had happened and he had only decided to play hooky. Where would he go?

"Ms. Swan?"

Emma straightened, "Yes?"

"He's not in class and his teacher says she hasn't seen him at all today."

Emma swallowed the lump forming in her throat, making a point to focus on her anger. "So my kid got off the bus and somewhere between there and the front door you just lost him."

"Ms. Swan, I understand -"

"- You're supposed to keep him safe." Only no, she realized. Yelling wouldn't help and while anger held her together, it wasn't productive. "I've got to go."

She called Neal and she had no conscious memory of what she said, but she must have gotten the right words out because when he replied, he was full of worry and plans. "I'll be right there. Call the police and I'll get Leo to call Effie. See if she can do anything."

A high-pitched sound escaped Emma of its own accord. Because Neal, who waffled between distrusting cops and downright fearing them, must think things were serious if he wanted to involve the authorities. And because it was right there. That image of Porter bruised and lifeless.

He said her name sharply, and then, louder, "Emma, baby, are you listening?"

She nodded and then remembered phone. "Yes."

One word and her voice still cracked.

"We'll find him, Emma." He adopted a lighter tone, but even Neal couldn't hide all his fear. "He's probably just playing video games -"

But Neal's words got mixed up with and drowned out by another, " - There's a bathroom through there -" and the words didn't register but the voice did. Because that was Porter's voice carrying through the house, accompanied by the slam of a door.

"He's here."

"There?" Relief and baffled, Emma realized, sounded odd when mixed together.

"Here." She scrambled to her feet and skidded into the hall where she didn't even hesitate. She just embraced him, taking in that Porter Swan scent (all library books and cinnamon and hay), wrapping her arms around him tight enough that he had to gasp out that he couldn't breathe.

"Porter." Relief coated his name as she pulled back, just enough to look at him critically, the forgotten phone grasped in a hand on his shoulder as Emma examined him for any sign of injury. She found none, thank God, and she pulled him back in for another hug. "Porter, where on earth were you? We were so worried."

"Mommy?" He sounded surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Emma blinked and then pulled back, squinting at him sharply. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you in school?"

Porter's eyes widened in a sort of panic, moving quickly from side to side as he tried, Emma assumed, to come up with a reasonable excuse. Finally, he tried, "I needed to do something."

"You needed -" Emma sputtered and then squeezed her eyes shut.

"Is that Daddy?"

Indeed, that was Neal shouting through the phone, and so she brought it back up to her ear. "Don't change the subject. You're eight. The only thing you need to do is go to school." She flinched. "Neal, baby, you don't need to yell."

Both Porter and Neal started talking at the same time, a flurry of excuses and questions, that got cut off by the unmistakeable sound of a toilet flushing. As Emma waffled between confusion and then suspicion, Porter took on the look of a deer caught in the headlights.

"I gotta go, Neal, Porter brought home a special guest."

His questions continued, cut off only when she hung up the phone, her question gaze remained fixed on her son. "Who is in my bathroom, Porter Neal?"

He did nothing but match her stare and while it was the opposite of a defiant glare, enough was enough. She reached for the doorknob, past the point of giving a damn about anyone's privacy. Not when she had a thousand horrible thoughts dancing in her head.

"Don't!" His shout came quick and loud and he tugged on her arm desperately. "Mommy, please. I promised I wouldn't tell."

"See, Porter, that just scares me more." Emma tugged the door open with a sharp jerk because this wasn't a game. But while she, maybe, had some horrible idea of who (or what) might be behind the door, the little girl staring nervously back at her definitely hadn't made the list.

"I can explain."

"Porter." She was really, very calm. It was amazing, really, just how calm she was considering how many things were wrong right now. "Go to your room." He protested and with her gaze trained on the little girl, who had taken to looking nervously between Emma and Porter, she finished with a firm, "Now."

"She had nowhere else to go," Porter told her and, maybe, if he hadn't just scared her half-to-death with his little disappearing act, Emma might have managed, at the very least, a twinge of pride. "Her mother just left her."

"She's coming back." This seemed very important to the girl that she know this and Emma painted on her most reassuring smile as she pointed to the ether with a finger still shaking from nerves and, maybe now, the cruelty of some people.

"Room, Porter."

"But I have to pay the cab driver."

"The cab … Oh, for the love … Room, Porter, now." A thought occurred to her. "And my cell phone, Porter."

He reluctantly pulled her phone from his pocket and then stomped the whole way.

Emma regarded the girl for a moment. Smudges of dirt marred her skin, and despite looking in desperate need of a hot meal, her clothes still showed a good deal of her ankles and wrists. Her overall size made it hard to tell, probably due to a serious lack of nourishment, but she looked close to Porter's age - maybe a year or two younger.

"I have to -" Emma pointed outside before she nodded down the hall. "Did Porter tell you about the swing? We have one inside." Neal had put it in for Porter when the Northeast winters got a little too cold and everyone got a little too stir crazy stuck inside. "You can check it out if you want."

She considered this, eyes turning in that direction curiously, before she stepped forward hesitantly as Emma grabbed the purse she kept by the door. "It's right by the stairs."

Resisting the urge to take her frustration out on the door, Emma approached the cab driver who, not seeing any kind of problem, just echoed a number at her and slowly, deliberately, Emma counted out the bills. She made to hand it to him, before snatching her hand back, leaning forward.

"You and I have a problem," she glanced at his license, "Frank. And right now I'm trying to decide if you're the blessing in disguise that kept my son from hitchhiking or someone I need to report -"

" - Look, lady -"

Emma raised a brow because really and Frank deflated. "I just need to know where you took my son. This seems pretty steep for a ride between here and the school."

"Just to pick up that little girl." Emma stared pointedly. "I swear."

"I'm gonna need that address." She plastered on her sweetest, fakest smile, "And Frank? If I find out you're picking up any other minors without their parents' permission we're gonna have a problem."

(She had no idea if that was actually against the law or not, but it seemed like it should be.)

Frank swallowed and when he handed Emma the address, she traded it for the money. He skidded out of the driveway, kicking up dust in his wake. She took a moment, tried to gather her composure and then found the little girl sitting on the swing, fingering the rope as she looked around curiously only flinching when she caught sight of Emma.

"It's okay." Emma's mouth lifted slightly, forming a gentle and (hopefully) calming smile as she held out her hand, wriggling her fingers for the little girl to take. She hesitated and Emma crouched until they were at the same eye level. "We're just going to the kitchen. I figured we could get something to eat."

Another moment of hesitation and then a cold, sweaty hand slipped into hers. Emma squeezed gently, leading her around the corner, questions and plans running through her head. Because she had an obligation to call the police. Something Porter must have known. But she could, maybe, try to find out some information first. Before the police took her back from wherever she came from or, given the way Porter had described the situation, threw in the system. Something that would most definitely shut down the information highway, putting up a roadblock that both Emma and Neal, even with all their connections, would have a hard time getting around.

(She so wished Porter had just come to them first. It wouldn't change much, but people tended to offer at least a smidgen more cooperation if proper procedures were followed.)

"I'm Emma, by the way. Porter's mom if you hadn't guessed. Here," Emma pulled out one of the stools in front of the island, spinning it around because kids loved that (well, her kid at least), and then gave it a quick pat, indicating she should climb up. "Would you like some hot chocolate … Sorry, I didn't catch your name, sweetheart."

The girl bit her lip. She looked even smaller sitting down.

Finally, barely above a whisper, she offered, "Carina."

"Carina." Emma smiled, "That's a beautiful name."

Carina ducked her head, a hint of red heating her cheeks.

"Would you like some hot chocolate, Carina?"

This question also required some thought but when she nodded, it at least seemed enthusiastic and Emma matched it with another smile, turning to get the water ready. "Now how about some food. Are you hungry?"

The nod came much quicker this time.

Emma pressed her lips together in thought, taking a quick inventory, before grabbing a bag of party mix from the pantry, pouring a bit out on the counter. That should get Carina started while she surveyed the fridge for something more substantial. She had deduced that this was the person getting the extra food in Porter's lunch. She had made it a point to pack his least favorites - egg salad and tuna fish - hoping that utter disgust might force his hand and something twisted in her gut because, quite possibly, Carina had been stuck with nothing but Porter's lousy cast-offs for however long.

"How about grilled cheese? That sound any good?" Something warm might do her some good and Carina agreed, nodding with such enthusiasm that Emma couldn't help but laugh. "That's my favorite." She grabbed the cheese and the butter and then deciding that Carina could probably do with something a bit more balanced, grabbed some fruit too.

"Mine too," The words were soft but they caught Emma by surprise and she nearly dropped the orange she was trying to balance.

"Me three!"

Porter had shouted from down the hall and Emma didn't miss a beat, shouting right back. "Don't make me come get you, Porter Neal, because you will not like it when I do" She indicated this was an empty threat (though Porter was past pushing his luck) to Carina with a shake of her head and exaggerated eye roll. "He should know better by now. Not to disappear without telling anyone. Not your fault, of course," Emma assured Carina, voice slightly strained as she reached to unhook a pan from the iron rack that hung above the island, "but he did cause a bit of a panic."

Bit was an understatement, but noticing the shame-filled look Carina gave the counter, Emma switched back to the proven safe topic. "But grilled cheese, huh? You know what I like mine with?"

Carina shook her head, biting hesitantly into a miniature pretzel after pushing a checkered square off to the side. Porter didn't like those either and it was always Neal that finished them off.

"I like to dip it in a nice big bowl of tomato soup." Carina scrunched her nose and Emma laughed. "Have you even tried it?" She signaled another no and when Emma asked if she wanted to, Carina gave a big shrug, causing Emma to nod decisively. "I think we should try it."

She made enough sandwiches for four, expecting Neal to come rushing in any minute now, and poured the soup into a pot, lighting a third burner before starting on the fruit salad, peeling oranges, slicing bananas and strawberries, and mixing them into a big bowl with blueberries and a mix of purple and green grapes. When the kettle whistled she remembered, suddenly, that work was past expecting her and so as she added the boiling water to the mugs, she dialed work and filled them in on which appointments could be rescheduled and which someone would have to take over, finally promising Hannah that she would fill her in on the details later. Then, both hands free again, she dolloped on the whipped cream and cinnamon to her and Porter's before, catching Carina's curious gaze, she started, "Would you-"

The front door slammed shut, cutting Emma off, the sudden noise causing Carina to flinch.

"That's just Neal," Emma assured her over the desperate call of her name. "Port's father. In here, babe." She slid the hot chocolate across the island, followed by the cinnamon just in case and then held up the whipped cream canister in the show of a silent question. Carina nodded and Emma heaped on a generous amount, nodding at the spice, "It's good. Hey."

Neal had entered the kitchen with rumpled clothes, red-rimmed eyes, and hair that stuck up at odd angles. Emma offered a tight smile.

"He's really back?" His voice was rough as he sought the confirmation and, maybe, Emma should have passed along more details to accompany the bits and pieces he might have picked up before she hung up on him.

"Just waltzed in through the front door," She jerked her head at Carina, "With a friend."

He regarded Carina for a moment and asked, "Is this?"

The reason behind Porter's odd behavior? Emma nodded. She had to be.

His jaw tensed, "That doesn't -"

"Excuse Porter's actions today?" She finished shortly. "No, I agree. He's in his room." And then, louder and far firmer, "Or should be."

The unmistakable sounds of Porter scurrying off reached her once more.

Neal let out a sigh. A heavy, exhausted sort of thing, almost as if he had held it in the whole ride home. Below the cover of the country and out of Carina's view, Emma found his hand and squeezed tightly, offering him a strength that allowed the tense lines of his body to steadily relax until he loosened up enough to grin across the counter at Carina.

"Hello." Neal held out his hand which, after an encouraging nod from Emma, Carina shook gingerly. "I'm Neal."

"Carina."

"I see Emma's got you hooked on her cinnamon-hot-chocolate monstrosity already." His voice was light and teasing and Emma rolled her eyes as she slid sandwiches from pan to plate. "I can't stand it myself."

"That's because he has no taste." Emma nudged him playfully before slicing the kids' sandwiches in quarters, offering Carina a conspirator's wink and receiving a surprising girlish giggle in reply. She turned, masking a relieved smile (because that had to be a good sign), by stirring the soup.

"I'm wounded." His voice remained amused, but she caught his gaze, intense and serious, as he handed her four bowls.

"Let it cool a moment," Emma warned Carina (and Neal, she supposed, as he looked ready to dive in too), scooping out soup and then fruit salad, and sliding it all across the island.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." She started to a load a tray for Porter and glanced at Neal, "Do you wanna take this into him?"

"Not particularly." His tone and the fact that he hadn't rushed to check on Porter hadn't escaped Emma. Neal didn't get mad at Porter, not to this extent, but he picked up the tray anyway, sparing a final glance at Carina, who was far too busy eating to pay the words much attention. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Carina."

Neal passed Emma closely, leaning in to her, finger giving the counter a quick tap before gripping the tray once more. "Effie," he murmured and Emma gave a minute nod, understanding that Neal had blown the horn. He had probably signaled to Leo as he'd been telling her he would.

It pressed her time table, but Effie would be on their side. She could make sure Carina got taken care of properly. At least until Emma could, hopefully, weasel her way back in and make good use of her own connections.

Still …

She regarded Carina carefully for a moment, watching as she dunked her grilled cheese into the bowl with gusto. "Carina, do you have any family you would like me to call for you?" Not the mother, of course, and considering one's behavior she could guess that the father wasn't much of an option either. "Like a grandparent maybe?"

"There's Mommy," Carina told her and then, confidently, "She'll be back soon."

Carina believed that and maybe she would come back, but even if she did, that didn't mean she was fit to care for a child. Parents shouldn't leave children to fend for themselves. End of story.

She reached out a hand, covering Carina's smaller one, and offering a slight smile, she told her fiercely (and maybe stupidly), "I'm going to help you, Carina. I promise."

And no matter what, Emma would fight to keep that promise.