An early Saturday in March found the Busby-Mount residence blearily waking up from a long week. Patsy and Delia wandered out of bed at around eight, which was 'sleeping in' for them. They began to make breakfast, speaking in soft tones as Delia made coffee and Patsy set out a pan to make some eggs and bacon. The morning was foggy, and it was forecasted to be drizzly all day. Delia switched on the news in the living room, allowing some background noise to drift into the kitchen before she began to help Patsy. As usual, around nine Ellie hobbled down the stairs, rubbing her eyes while wearing her football shorts and a tank top as Fanw waggled after her, nails clicking on the hardwood.
"Mornin'," Ellie yawned, seating herself at the counter, still looking half asleep.
"I swear, you somehow manage to wake up later and later," Patsy said with a smirk, pressing the eggs around the pan.
"Sleep is my best friend," Ellie said with another yawn, before reaching over and pouring a mug of coffee, using the rest of what was left of the pot. Her Welsh mother drained the rest of her own mug before rinsing it out and refilling it with ice water, as she usually did to counteract the beverage's dehydrating tendencies. Placing it on the counter, Delia returned to flipping over the bacon, its heavenly aroma filling the house. The brunette then put the cover back on and began to flip through a magazine that had been left on the counter.
The peaceful quiet was disrupted by Delia's phone buzzing.
Ellie's mam glanced at the caller ID but the number was not recognized. With a frown, Delia went to slide the bar over the answer it.
"Hello, this is Delia Busby-Mount," Ellie whispered mockingly under her breath, her voice lilting like Delia's usual Welsh chirp. Patsy muffled a snicker in her elbow, but both balked when Delia reached into her glass of water and scooped out the ice cubes before flinging it in Ellie's direction. With a soft cry, Ellie went to dive beneath the counter, but the ice caught her in the shoulder like a shot gun blast.
"Ow!" Ellie hissed, though there was mirth on her face.
Patsy snorted before forcing a controlled look over her features.
Sparing them both a glare, Delia turned back to her phone.
"Hello, this is Delia Busby-Mount," Delia said, her voice bright and in stark contrast to what she just did.
Patsy idly stirred the eggs, glancing at her wife, an amused smirk still on her lips. Ellie had commandeered the magazine, listening to her mam on the phone.
"…oh…hi," Delia said in a strange voice, several octaves high.
Delia looked hurriedly at Patsy, a panicked look on her face.
'Who is it?' Patsy mouthed.
"The adoption agency," Delia whispered back. Patsy's face paled and for a moment the two older women turned to stare at their daughter, who looked up, bewildered. Delia turned away, plugging her other ear and shrugging up her shoulders as she wondered into the living room. Patsy flicked off the stove and quickly followed suit, worry etched on her face.
"Yes…no, you're fine…yes, I'm much better, thank you." Delia seemed to subconsciously brush her fingers along her the left side of her chest, remembering the breast cancer she was cured of. The other person on the phone seemed to be giving quite the monologue, in which Delia quickly straightened and a dumbfounded look came over her.
"Oh! Well I… I'm sure we can figure out something… Of course I will."
Delia turned and placed a hand on her hip, her brow furrowed with concentration as Ellie and Fanw soon entered the room.
"That's terrible…no, I understand, mmhmm. Yes. I'll call you back once I've discussed it with them. No problem. Bye-Bye."
Delia hung up and saw Patsy and Ellie staring at her expectantly.
"Well?" Patsy nearly exploded.
"That was Heather Randle, the social worker who inspected our house," Delia said slowly, "She was calling because they've got a three year-old boy who was just admitted to the hospital for suspected poisoning and physical abuse. They need someone to help transition him for the adoption agency, but they can't use any nearby foster homes because the boy freaks out whenever he sees another man."
Patsy blinked in surprise.
"They want us to take him in?" Patsy exclaimed.
"Only until they can get someone more suitable…they want to put him in a stable place as soon as possible," Delia explained, "…that is, if we agree to it."
"I…well…we're aren't exactly financially ready for something like this," Patsy pointed out, "and we don't know how long this will last." Delia was already shaking her head.
"She said that they would cover the necessaries, as long as we collected receipts."
Patsy gave pause, biting her lip.
"We still have that crib, in the storage unit…" Patsy began slowly. Delia's face brightened up like a sun. Ellie raised her eyebrows.
"So you're going to adopt a kid, just like that?" Ellie asked in disbelief.
"We are not adopting, we are acting as a foster home for him, until he can be rehabilitated and transferred into the adoption agency," Delia said, returning to her phone to dial the number.
"So, technically I'm getting a sibling?" Ellie continued.
"Technically," Patsy said, allowing a soft smile touch her lips, "A temporary one."
"I've gotta go tell Nicole!" Ellie said excitedly, bounding up the stairs.
"She said that he needs to be observed for a few more days at hospital; they found antifreeze in his system," Delia narrated as Patsy drove to said hospital.
"Why would someone do that to a kid?" Ellie asked hotly from the back. Patsy and Delia shared a sorrowful look with each other, remembering the condition that Ellie was in before they adopted her.
"I don't know," Patsy said softly.
The family of three were ushered into the children's ward and soon came across a familiar face. Heather Randle had aged quite a lot and at the moment looked exceedingly harassed as she trotted towards them, a police officer leaning up against the wall beside her.
"I'm so glad you agreed to come, I know it's terribly inconvenient and short notice," the social worker said breathlessly, shaking their hands. She paused at Ellie and gazed inquiringly at her.
"My, you've grown," Heather said, "How old are you now?"
"Seventeen," Ellie said promptly.
"Time flies, doesn't it?" Patsy said with a soft smile.
"Indeed," Heather said absently before turning to the brunette.
"I am sorry to hear about that," she said, turning and leading them further down the hall, "How long have you been cured?"
"Almost a year now," Delia said with a reassuring smile.
"Congratulations," Heather said, pausing at a door.
"You can go see him…just be mindful that he is disoriented and might not react very well to strangers," Heather said, wringing her hands.
The three glanced at each other before Delia took the lead, followed by Patsy and then Ellie.
The hospital room was dim, the shades drawn closed and for a moment the family was flung back during that terrible time with Delia's surgery.
Shuffling in further, Delia's eyes landed on a nurse who was leaning over a crib, multiple machines surrounding the bed.
"He's asleep," the nurse explained, pulling back, "C'mon."
The three crowded over the crib.
The boy was small, his dark skin clashing with the whites of his hospital clothes. He breathed deeply, one hand heavily plastered as it held host to dozens of tubes and wires while the other was in a pure white cast, indicating a broken arm. His lips twitched and his eyes fluttered, oblivious to the small crowd around him.
"How long does he need to be here?" Delia murmured softly to the nurse.
"The doctors are saying about three days to clean his system and get some the bruising healed up," the woman whispered back.
Delia reached down and brushed a forefinger along his clenched fist and observed the resulting twitch in awe.
Patsy discreetly grasped Delia's hand and rubbed her thumb over her knuckles.
"Who would do this?" Delia whispered softly.
Patsy pressed her lips on Delia's temple and murmured, "I don't know."