It was raining by the time Toby pulled into his driveway. The police were already there, standing huddled up next to door. Rushing forward to meet them, Toby snagged his umbrella on the sliding car door, cursing violently as he yanked it off. As he hurried up the walkway, he saw that there were two policemen, and one small, very wet figure between them, shivering. One of them had given her his jacket, but she still looked very cold. Her short brown hair was all plastered down around her face, and she had her head bent over her crossed arms, so that he couldn't make out her expression. CJ's comment came back to him. Poor kid.
"Hey," he called as he approached them. "It's nasty out here, come inside." Pushing the door open, he ushered the three of them into the house, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl's face. Her shoulders were heaving up and down, and she was emitting small, choked noises. She must be in pretty bad shock, he thought. Who could blame her?
"Hi, Rachel," He managed, trying to sound normal. Rachel didn't look at him. "Um...do you all want something to eat? Like I said, it's...really quite nasty out there. Cold. Right." He wasn't making much coherent sense, he realized. Better to cut to the point. "So...?"
"We haven't been able to get in touch with Vince Birne...he's not at home. In fact, according to those we've asked, he hasn't been at home for weeks." The taller policeman shrugged unhappily. "Which leaves you. Frankly, I'd feel safer leaving her with you, being as you're known, and all."
Toby let out a long breath. "Wait, can I...can I talk to you two gentleman in the other room for a moment?" He glanced at Rachel, but she showed no signs of moving. In fact, she didn't even seem to be listening to the conversation. Did it matter to her where they put her? Had they taken that into consideration? The policeman nodded and murmured, and Toby led them out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. "Hey," he said, once safely out of earshot, "I can't...it's not that I don't see the problem, but I'm not...not currently capable of taking in a fourteen year old girl. I work in the White House. I work full time in the White House. Sometimes I don't come home. I'm divorced, I'm irritable, and I'm just not equipped for this. I don't think you really understand, I can't," and he stressed that last word heavily, "take care of her. I'm really sorry. But..." He trailed off, glancing from face to face. The policeman both looked puzzled.
"Sir...you're the one the parents specified. There...there jus isn't anyone else, right now. We could get her a foster home, but that would take a bit of time, and..."
Toby sighed, yet again. "Ok, ok, I get it." He stood for a moment, hands shoved into his pockets, thinking. This wasn't a good idea, he knew. But he couldn't just put her out for adoption, and foster homes so often didn't work out. And it was raining. And she was scared, and horrified, and cold. "Yeah," he muttered slowly, "Yeah. I'm giving you one month, ok? One month to find this Vince guy, or somebody, some relative, some friend, somebody. One month. You got that?"
The policemen looked immensely relieved. Toby shook their hands, and escorted them to the door, after they'd paid a quick goodbye to Rachel, who still didn't respond. Then they left, and he was alone, with this girl who he didn't even know that well, and his grief, and a very quiet kitchen.
"So, Rachel..." He couldn't figure out anything to say to her. He couldn't say he was sorry about her parents, because that would only make it worse for her, right now. He couldn't just leave her in the kitchen alone, and nothing he said, or did, could really help her right now. He knew about that, he knew about grief, and about loss, and about death. This was probably her first big contact with it, so close to home. Except, she'd known her grandfather, hadn't she? But that was different.
"So, Rachel," he tried again, more firmly, "You're all wet. Let's get you dried off." Stepping into the bathroom, he didn't bother turning on the light, searching with his hands along the walls for a towel. He pulled one off the rack, and came back, thrusting it at her. She raised her head, blinked, twice, and then slowly reached for it, tucking it around her shoulders.
"...Thanks." She whispered, hunching up again. The tearstains on her face were quite evident now. "...Sorry."
Again, there was nothing Toby could say to that. 'It's all right' wouldn't really cover it. In fact, it wasn't all right, it was all very wrong. He was the Director of Communications of the White House. He was running a campaign. She would not be happy here. He was not, in all honesty, happy to have her here.
"It's all right," he said. His conscience ate away at his brain.
Rachel shifted slightly in her chair, rubbing ineffectively at her now reddened and puffy eyes. Craning her neck, she glanced around the room, apparently taking in her surroundings for the first time. Toby watched, and waited. There was no change in expression on her face. "Where am I gonna have to go?" She sounded like she didn't really care, at this point.
"You're going to stay here for a month or so," Toby told her, determined to sound light about it. "They're going to try and get in touch with your uncle soon, so that you can go there."
She nodded, and ducked her head again, so that he couldn't see her reaction to that statement. Deciding to pretend he hadn't noticed, Toby continued. "I work all day...at the White House, you know."
"Yeah," Rachel muttered, "I know."
"Right." Of course she knew. This was stupid. "Anyway, I guess...you'll be home alone, most of the time." Rachel's head snapped up. "Or...I guess you could come to the office." Toby was really, really not sure about that. In fact, now that the words were out of his mouth, he regretted even posing the idea. "It's really boring, though," he went on.
"I...I don't really want to stay by myself," the girl admitted, shrugging slightly. Toby nodded, slowly. He should have expected that. She'd just lost her parents. Being by herself most of the time would give her nothing to take her mind off of it. But what could a fourteen year old possibly do at the White House? Maybe he'd buy her a book or something, to keep her occupied.
"Fine," he said, nodding. She looked up at him, and gave him the tiniest of smiles. Something in Toby's heart snapped. Damn, he thought. What am I getting myself into?
"Hey," he called as he approached them. "It's nasty out here, come inside." Pushing the door open, he ushered the three of them into the house, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl's face. Her shoulders were heaving up and down, and she was emitting small, choked noises. She must be in pretty bad shock, he thought. Who could blame her?
"Hi, Rachel," He managed, trying to sound normal. Rachel didn't look at him. "Um...do you all want something to eat? Like I said, it's...really quite nasty out there. Cold. Right." He wasn't making much coherent sense, he realized. Better to cut to the point. "So...?"
"We haven't been able to get in touch with Vince Birne...he's not at home. In fact, according to those we've asked, he hasn't been at home for weeks." The taller policeman shrugged unhappily. "Which leaves you. Frankly, I'd feel safer leaving her with you, being as you're known, and all."
Toby let out a long breath. "Wait, can I...can I talk to you two gentleman in the other room for a moment?" He glanced at Rachel, but she showed no signs of moving. In fact, she didn't even seem to be listening to the conversation. Did it matter to her where they put her? Had they taken that into consideration? The policeman nodded and murmured, and Toby led them out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. "Hey," he said, once safely out of earshot, "I can't...it's not that I don't see the problem, but I'm not...not currently capable of taking in a fourteen year old girl. I work in the White House. I work full time in the White House. Sometimes I don't come home. I'm divorced, I'm irritable, and I'm just not equipped for this. I don't think you really understand, I can't," and he stressed that last word heavily, "take care of her. I'm really sorry. But..." He trailed off, glancing from face to face. The policeman both looked puzzled.
"Sir...you're the one the parents specified. There...there jus isn't anyone else, right now. We could get her a foster home, but that would take a bit of time, and..."
Toby sighed, yet again. "Ok, ok, I get it." He stood for a moment, hands shoved into his pockets, thinking. This wasn't a good idea, he knew. But he couldn't just put her out for adoption, and foster homes so often didn't work out. And it was raining. And she was scared, and horrified, and cold. "Yeah," he muttered slowly, "Yeah. I'm giving you one month, ok? One month to find this Vince guy, or somebody, some relative, some friend, somebody. One month. You got that?"
The policemen looked immensely relieved. Toby shook their hands, and escorted them to the door, after they'd paid a quick goodbye to Rachel, who still didn't respond. Then they left, and he was alone, with this girl who he didn't even know that well, and his grief, and a very quiet kitchen.
"So, Rachel..." He couldn't figure out anything to say to her. He couldn't say he was sorry about her parents, because that would only make it worse for her, right now. He couldn't just leave her in the kitchen alone, and nothing he said, or did, could really help her right now. He knew about that, he knew about grief, and about loss, and about death. This was probably her first big contact with it, so close to home. Except, she'd known her grandfather, hadn't she? But that was different.
"So, Rachel," he tried again, more firmly, "You're all wet. Let's get you dried off." Stepping into the bathroom, he didn't bother turning on the light, searching with his hands along the walls for a towel. He pulled one off the rack, and came back, thrusting it at her. She raised her head, blinked, twice, and then slowly reached for it, tucking it around her shoulders.
"...Thanks." She whispered, hunching up again. The tearstains on her face were quite evident now. "...Sorry."
Again, there was nothing Toby could say to that. 'It's all right' wouldn't really cover it. In fact, it wasn't all right, it was all very wrong. He was the Director of Communications of the White House. He was running a campaign. She would not be happy here. He was not, in all honesty, happy to have her here.
"It's all right," he said. His conscience ate away at his brain.
Rachel shifted slightly in her chair, rubbing ineffectively at her now reddened and puffy eyes. Craning her neck, she glanced around the room, apparently taking in her surroundings for the first time. Toby watched, and waited. There was no change in expression on her face. "Where am I gonna have to go?" She sounded like she didn't really care, at this point.
"You're going to stay here for a month or so," Toby told her, determined to sound light about it. "They're going to try and get in touch with your uncle soon, so that you can go there."
She nodded, and ducked her head again, so that he couldn't see her reaction to that statement. Deciding to pretend he hadn't noticed, Toby continued. "I work all day...at the White House, you know."
"Yeah," Rachel muttered, "I know."
"Right." Of course she knew. This was stupid. "Anyway, I guess...you'll be home alone, most of the time." Rachel's head snapped up. "Or...I guess you could come to the office." Toby was really, really not sure about that. In fact, now that the words were out of his mouth, he regretted even posing the idea. "It's really boring, though," he went on.
"I...I don't really want to stay by myself," the girl admitted, shrugging slightly. Toby nodded, slowly. He should have expected that. She'd just lost her parents. Being by herself most of the time would give her nothing to take her mind off of it. But what could a fourteen year old possibly do at the White House? Maybe he'd buy her a book or something, to keep her occupied.
"Fine," he said, nodding. She looked up at him, and gave him the tiniest of smiles. Something in Toby's heart snapped. Damn, he thought. What am I getting myself into?