Grace Jennings never had wanted to be a foster parent. Four years of fertility treatments, thousands of dollars in travel expenses, the best clinics, and the most respected doctors had all failed to give her a child of her own. Why would she choose to raise someone else's?
But Daniel loved kids. He had been one of those guys who was just born to be a dad, someone who would coach Little League, go on camping trips, call his daughter "Princess". She'd hated to see him finally boxing up the cradle they'd bought before her first miscarriage, or trying not to smile at a baby in a stroller. So she'd caved.
Going through the application process had been a breeze. The state of New Jersey wasn't about to turn down a sweet young couple with a matching pair of Masters degrees. And so on September 18, 1987, they'd gotten their first foster child.
That was four years ago.
Things had changed.
Daniel was gone, driven away, Grace knew, by her infertility. Her failure. She was alone now. Well, except for the kids. But they didn't count.
They had never counted.
She's looking for a way out, trying to find a loophole. As far as she can tell, as soon as this next batch of kids gets shuttled off, that'll be it. Her ill-fated stint as a foster mother will be done, finished, kaput. And the sooner the better. One of these kids...she can't wait to see the system swallow him up.
There's not a lot she can say she knows about him, really. Not his age, (he could be anything from a tall eight to a scrawny eleven), not his name, (not one that he would respond to, at any rate), or even how he got those scars. He's hard to look at, all blond curls and brown eyes and raw pink wounds.
Grace can't stand him. He's tried to bolt three times in two months, and each time she's barely managed to collar him before he can hop the back fence. At dinner he'll poke at his food (she's never once seen him eat, though Goldfish crackers disappear by the box from her pantry), make sure she's watching, and then run his tongue along the inside of his mouth. The scars bulge grotesquely. They seem new, when she can force herself to stare long enough, barely healed over. The social worker said he came from an "unstable environment" and Grace hadn't thought to ask her to define "unstable". Maybe she should have.
It's easy to peek out the kitchen window from where she's standing, peeling potatoes over the sink. They're all out in the yard, Charlie, Liz, Victoria...she can't see the other one. Probably on the monkeybars. He spends hours swinging by his knees, laughing that weird, high-pitched laugh. She wonders what Daniel would think of her now. Is that what he had wanted? To see her playing mother to a freak?
She tries to dash the thought away, slams the peeler hard onto the counter, and begins to wash the potato skins down the sink. Him and his bleeding-heart theatrics. There are times when she thinks that all of this was a scam, some carefully-planned way to turn her into a frigid, resentful bitch. It gave him the perfect excuse to make tracks. It's not the kids' fault, she knows that. But they played a part, and she hates them for it.
Water starts to splash over the sides of the sink, slopping onto her shoes. With a curse, she leans over to turn off the faucet.
There's movement behind her, fast and unexpected and then...Pain. A sudden, lancing pain in her leg. She falls to her knees, trying to hold back a shriek. Someone's kneeling on the floor next to her, but she can't get her eyes to focus. Scars. That's all she can see. They stretch as he smiles, filling her vision. He's got the potato peeler in his hand and it's slick with blood. Her blood.
Grace sinks down until her face is pressed against the wood floor. She can't look. How could she possibly look?
She feels him batting at her ponytail like a kitten. "Gracie. Hey, Gracie...eyes up here." A small hand on her chin, and their faces are inches apart. He licks his lips and giggles. "Bye."
He's out the front door before she can blink, slamming it hard behind him. Only then does she risk glancing down. Her leg is covered in blood, and a long strip of skin dangles from the back of her calf.
She finds her voice, and screams.