7 years old

Lizzie squealed as Red got out of the car and threw her over his shoulder, holding her around the waist so she wouldn't fall with one arm as the other hand came up to tickle her mercilessly.

"Stop! Daddy, Stop! I can't breathe!"

Red laughed with her and finally relented, putting her back on the ground, groaning.

"Oh Sweetheart, you're getting too big. I'm not going to be able to pick you up soon."

Lizzie rolled her eyes at him, taking his hand as they walked to the house where Sam was cooking dinner. "I'm not much bigger than last time, Daddy. You were just home last month."

"Oh? Sick of me already?"

"No! Course not!"

Red had been coming to visit more often since last Christmas. He'd been calling more too. They had a routine now. He'd call almost every evening, just before bedtime and she'd follow along in her own book, sitting at the kitchen table, her pajama-clad legs swinging under the chair, as he read to her.

8 years old

"I promise, you're going to get it, Sweetheart. You've just gotta keep at it." Red patted Lizzie on the shoulder as he stood up from his crouched position next to her on the floor. "I promise, you're already getting better. You just have to listen and feel."

"But why, Dad? Why do I have to learn this stuff? Can't we go get some ice cream or something?" She fiddled with the stethoscope hanging around her neck. It had been fun to play with at first, but she's been practicing for the last hour and her butt was numb from sitting on the floor.

"C'mon Lizzie, just one more try. You never know when these things will come in handy."

Lizzie sighed and placed the chest piece of the stethoscope back against the safe.

"So stupid." She muttered under her breath.

"Lizzie ." Red rumbled from behind her. "Just one more try. Then we'll do whatever you want."

A cabbage patch doll and a new Optimus Prime action figure greeted her as she opened the safe.

9 years old

"Jesus Christ, Ray. I'm not a damn orphanage! How am I supposed to explain this to the neighbors?" Sam kicked the cabinet in frustration, sighing heavily.

Red craned his neck to see out the screen door, where the boy sitting on the porch steps didn't seem to have heard, he turned back to lean forward on the couch and look at Sam.

"Listen, I know. But I can't take him with me. The last few months have been hard enough while I had him tutored in English." Red took his fedora off, setting it atop his suit jacket that was neatly folded on the armrest beside him. Combing his hands through his close cropped hair, he sighed. "I get it Sam, really. I do. It's going to draw attention and that's the last thing I want. But I couldn't desert him! You should have seen—"

Red shook his head, unable to voice the horrors of that waking nightmare he'd walked into the day he found the boy."

"Alright. Fine. But what's the cover story, Red? You said he can speak English. Can we pull off… I don't know. Can we get away with saying he's a foster kid?"

/\/\/\/\/\

"Lizzie, I want you to meet Dembe. He's going to live here with you and Sam, okay?"

Lizzie looked from Dad to Pop, then to Dembe. He looked so sad and he seemed to find his shoes very interesting cause he hadn't looked up from them once.

"Hi Dembe. It's nice to meet you." She mumbled shyly. He didn't respond. Glancing up at her dad, Lizzie was taken aback by his huge grin. She didn't know what she did but if it made Dad that happy, she guessed she better keep doing it. "You wanna go play on the tire swing?"

It took a minute, as if it took a moment for it to sink in that she was talking to him. But slowly, Dembe's head rose from where he was studying his shoes and focused intently on her before nodding his head slowly.

/\/\/\/\/\

"Where you from?" She asked gently as she pushed herself back and forth in the swing with her foot, dragging it in the dirt as she swayed.

"South Sudan." Everything he said was so quiet and careful. Like he had to think real hard about his answer.

"Where's that?" She asked, closing her eyes and leaning back on the swing as far as she could without letting go of the rope.

"Africa."

"Really? Cool. Is there a North Sudan?" She opened her eyes just in time to see a corner of his lips twitch.

"No. Just Sudan."

"Oh. I thought, well cause there's a North Dakota and South Dakota… and a North Carolina and a South Carolina, there should be a North Sudan and a South Sudan." It seemed perfectly logical to her. Dembe merely shrugged his shoulder from where he leant against the tree.

"How old are you?" Lizzie felt the need to break the silence.

"Fourteen."

"Cool. I'm nine."

"Yes. I know."

"How? We just met." Lizzie squinted at him in suspicion.

His lip did that quirky thing again.

"Mr. Raymond speaks of you often. I hear him on the phone with you sometimes."

She blushed and suddenly Lizzie didn't want to be out here on the swing with Dembe. Mumbling about going to get something to eat, she ran back into the house and up to her room, ignoring as Dad and Pop yelled after her. Slamming her door, Lizzie climbed onto her bed, her back to the door as she clutched her bunny to her chest. Stupid Dembe. What made him so special? She heard the door creak open as she played with one of her bunny's charred ears.

"Lizzie? Sweetheart? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Her voice broke slightly and she angrily cleared her throat. She didn't need to cry. Crying was for babies.

"Lizzie, talk to me. What's bothering you? Did Dembe say something to upset you? I'm sure he didn't mean to." He placed his fedora atop her head. She couldn't help the small smile as it sat off kilter as she laid on her side. He was always wearing these fedoras now. She liked them. Especially when he let her wear it. "C'mon Lizzie, sit up and talk to me."

Lizzie huffed but did as he said. Well, part of it. She sat up. Staring at her lap as she sat cross-legged, Lizzie played with the laces of her shoes.

"Lizzie—"

"Why does Dembe get to come with you?" If word vomit was a thing, Lizzie would have just made a terrible mess of her blankets.

"Lizzie, Sweetheart—"

"No! Stop saying my name! Just tell me why!" She threw her bunny and it flumped in a most unsatisfactory way at the end of the bed. She was angry. She needed the stupid rabbit to rip a hole through the wall. Break something.

"He doesn't, Lizzie. That's why he's here. He's been with me for a while, yes. But there was no choice. You are here because it's safe. Because you're a little girl and you need to be somewhere with a tire swing and a dirt road for a driveway, somewhere that you can slam your door when you're angry at your dad or pop. You need somewhere to grow up." Red lifted her chin with his fingers, caressing her cheek and wiping her tears with his thumb. "And so does Dembe. That's why he's here. Now. He's had a hard life, Lizzie. He deserves a home. We can give him that — you and Sam can give him that."

Lizzie stared at him for a moment, her brow furrowed in anger as she searched for something on his face.

"I love you Lizzie. Forever and a day."

There it was. That's what she was looking for. She huffed angrily, jumping off the bed and stomping back downstairs, ignoring him as he called for her to come back. Lizzie searched downstairs, stomping the whole way, ignoring Sam as he told her to knock off the attitude. Finally she found Dembe sitting in the kitchen, looking at his stupid shoes again.

Lizzie stood in front of him until he looked up at her.

"I'm sorry if I said something—"

"Shut up." Lizzie folded her arms across her chest. "I've always wanted a brother. So now you're it. You okay with that?"

Dembe nodded his head slowly, wide eyed.

"Good." Lizzie huffed, walking back out of the kitchen. "Come in my room or touch my rabbit, I stab you with a colored pencil!" She yelled.

"Lizzie!" Red reprimanded from where he stood on the stairs.

"I'm still mad at you!" She shouted as she breezed passed him and back up to her room.