The next morning was a Saturday. It was surprisingly –and uncomfortably –quiet. Angel and Jeremiah had snuck out of the house early, slinking out so quietly they shocked themselves.
Evelyn puttered around the house later on, half-heartedly dusting, and rearranging little knickknacks. She hadn't heard a sound in the house since Angel and Jerry had left, and it worried her.
She'd led Bobby back to bed shortly after their conversation. But it was almost eleven o'clock; he still should have been up by now.
Evelyn ignored the slight twinge in her heart as Jackie slowly made his way down the steps. He stared around the railing at her for a moment, his blue eyes wide, as he clutched his new stuffed dog in one arm.
"I… made Bobby sad. Made you mad."
Evelyn dropped the little Precious Moments angel she'd been carrying. It was the first time she'd heard Jack talk, and it surprised her. And the words cut her to the bone.
She slowly walked over to the steps, and kneeled down, looking Jack in the face. "No, Jack, you didn't make me mad. I'm just worried about Bobby, that's all. I'm not mad at you. What's that?" She asked slowly, seeing the grocery bag he held behind him.
He looked up at her with tears in his eyes as he hesitantly held the bag out towards her. "Leavin'," He said softly.
Bobby was upstairs in his room, silently contemplating.
He'd never remembered anything before he'd woken up in the hospital at age ten. Everything before that in his life was a blank. The doctors had told Evelyn (back when she was just his social worker, not his ma) that it wasn't surprising, seeing the amount of cranial damage he'd taken. He'd been in a coma for three weeks; the doctors weren't sure if he'd pull through.
He'd been found on the side of the road, sometime in the early hours of December 23rd. His chances of survival weren't good. Between the malnutrition, dehydration, hypothermia, broken ribs, broken bones, brain damage, blood loss, and a collapsed lung, he'd had less than a fifty percent chance of survival. But somehow he'd pulled through.
It had been hard for Bobby those first few months in foster care. While other kids at least knew why they were there, why their parents had given them up (or why they'd been taken from their parents), or had at least some fond memories of childhood, Bobby had nothing. His life –as far as he knew –had started at seven thirty PM, January 15th. The night he had regained consciousness. The night he'd first met Evelyn.
The previous night was the first thing Bobby had remembered. He figured he must have been at least four, maybe five, in the dream…. Memory.
He'd spent his whole life looking, hoping for just one memory of his life before January 15th. He'd spent hours combing every record he could find, looking for some mention, even a birth certificate of 'Robert Browning', the name that had been sown into the jacket he'd been found in.
He didn't even know if that was his real name. It could have been someone else's jacket. But as Evelyn had always told him, it was a place to start. More than he had to begin with. Something to work with.
However there were one hundred and twenty two people with Robert as a first name, and Browning as a middle or last name in Detroit alone. Seven hundred in Michigan.
One hundred and forty of them were around his age. Of that number, thirty-four were untraceable, with their locations unknown. Chances were good that he was one of the thirty-four.
But nobody had ever come looking for him.
Bobby had always hoped maybe he had a family somewhere that loved him. He'd always hoped that maybe the scars he bore were the result of some accident. Some screwed up mistake. He'd always hoped that someday, he'd remember something that would prove he had a family that cared about him, and that he'd simply been lost that night of December. He'd always hoped that eventually, in all his searchings, he'd find someone searching for him.
After last night though, he thought it was highly unlikely that his family, or whoever had been his caretaker, was too worried about him.
He slowly forced himself out of bed. He felt ancient, his legs and arms rebelling against being made to move. He argued with himself; he didn't actually have to be up. Just lie in bed today... and tomorrow… Evelyn wouldn't care, she would understand.
What about Jackie? A little voice whispered.
That little voice was the only thing that kept Bobby moving towards his dresser. The only thing motivating him to get dressed, and make his way out his bedroom door.
Because he knew that Jackie would need him. Whether it was today, or tomorrow, the Elf would need him. So Bobby couldn't just curl up and (metaphorically speaking) die in his bed.