Chapter 9.

Lena

Stef and I tried to forget about what Mike had told her over the weekend, to treat the girls just as we always had. There was no reason not to; we didn't know the whole story yet. But we made arrangements for Bill to meet with us on Monday, so we could get the answers we needed while the kids were out of the house. However, that morning Callie came down to the table alone.

"Is your sister coming down?" I asked her, passing her a bowl of cereal.

She looked up from the juice she was pouring. "I guess so. She was still getting dressed when I left."

"Let me go check on her," I offered. I went up to the girls' room and knocked on the door. "Sophia, hon? Can I come in?"

"Yeah," she said, and I let myself in.

Sophia was sitting on her bed, her pants halfway pulled up, as if she'd started to put them on and just forgot. She seemed distracted and sluggish. "Honey, are you okay?" I asked her with concern.

"I'm fine," she told me. Her round face was flushed, and I knew she wasn't fine at all.

"Maybe you've had a little too much excitement this weekend?" I put my hand on her forehead and was surprised by how warm she was. "Sweetheart, are you sure you're feeling alright? I think you might have a fever. I'm going to grab the thermometer and check your temperature."

When I returned, she was still sitting in the same position, looking listless. "Open up," I said, sticking the thermometer under her tongue. When it beeped, I read it. "One-hundred and one degrees. Sophia, you're sick. Why don't you get undressed and get back into bed?"

"I'm fine," she protested, giving me a frightened look. "I can go to school."

"Nope," I said, shaking my head. "You need to stay home. Come on, sweetheart. Lay down and I'll bring you some ginger ale and crackers."

"Well... okay," she reluctantly gave in.

I went back downstairs and fixed a tray for her. "Sophia isn't feeling well," I informed the others. "She's going to stay home today. Callie, will you pick up her homework?"

"Of course," she agreed. She watched me suspiciously for a moment. "Are you mad?"

"Why on earth would I be mad?" I asked, turning back to her.

"Because she's sick." She shook her head. "Never mind. It's nothing."

"Kids get sick, love," Stef told her. "We understand that. I don't know how it was in other homes, but if either of you aren't feeling well, you can tell us. We won't get mad."

"Right," I said. "She just needs a day or two of TLC. It's no big deal."

I brought the tray back up to Sophia, and was taken aback by how small and innocent she looked, laying in her bed, her arm wrapped around her stuffed horse. She didn't look like a murderer. She looked like a sick little girl who needed love.

"Here, honey," I said, setting the tray down on the bedside table. "Looks like you get to be queen for the day." I sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair. "Where do you feel sick? Can you tell me?"

"My ear hurts," she said. "And my throat is kind of scratchy."

I patted her hand and tucked her in tighter. "I'll take the day off to take care of you, sweetheart. And if you're still feeling bad later on, we'll take you to the doctor."

"Thanks, Lena," she said softly. "You don't have to fuss over me like this."

"It's my pleasure to fuss over you," I smiled. I leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'll check on you in a bit."

Stef

"So, how are Callie and Sophia doing?" Bill asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "Everything working out?"

"They're doing fine," I assured him. "They're very polite, they pick up after themselves, they do what we ask without arguing..." I paused. "But that's not really why we asked you here."

Lena brought Bill a cup of coffee. "Thank you," he nodded, taking it from her. The steam from it curled up and evaporated into the air. "What's going on?" he asked. "Is there a problem?"

Not much of a coffee drinker, Lena stirred honey into her cup of tea. "We know about what happened in the girls' last home," she said calmly. "We know that the foster father was shot, and that Sophia was responsible."

"How could you not have told us about this?" I asked Bill. I kept my voice low so Sophia wouldn't hear from where she was resting upstairs, but I couldn't stay as calm as my wife. I understood that Bill was overworked, with too many cases to handle, but it was hardly likely an incident like this could have slipped through the cracks. "Didn't you think this was something we should know?"

Bill looked down into his lap from the chair where he sat. "I apologize for not telling you," he said, somewhat nervously. "I just wanted Callie and Sophia to be placed in a decent home. I did, and still do, think that you guys are good for them. They're not bad girls, and they deserve a fresh start." He gave us a sheepish look. "I was afraid that if you knew, you wouldn't want them."

"We just want answers," Lena said, holding her teacup between her hands. "This has all come as such a shock to us. We want to know what happened."

The social worker nodded. "I understand that. You deserve to know." He set his coffee mug on the table and rubbed his chin. "I wasn't there when it happened," he told us. "I picked them up at the police station after the fact. But what happened was an accident. A terrible accident." He shook his head regretfully. "Sophia was playing with the gun, and it went off somehow. The foster father died in Callie's arms."

Lena gripped my hand, and I squeezed it back to reassure her. "Oh my gosh," she breathed. "Those poor girls. That must have been awful." Her voice was thick with tears.

"Did Callie get blood on her by any chance?" I asked. Finally, a piece of the puzzle was coming together.

"She did," Bill replied. His eyes became distant, haunted. "Why do you ask?"

"She has nightmares," I explained. "Terrible nightmares about blood. It scares us half to death."

Bill gave us a knowing look. "Callie and Sophia are not violent, but I understand how this might be disturbing. I can take them to a group home as soon as Callie gets home from school, if you'd like."

I sucked in my breath, surprised by how upset I was at the idea of losing them. They were becoming part of the family, and they needed us so much. What would it tell them if we just gave up on them like everyone else? "You're not taking them anywhere," I said, firm in my decision.

"You mean you still want them?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

I looked to Lena and our eyes locked. Lena nodded. "Of course we still want them," she said. "We don't care what happened. We love them."

After Bill left, Lena and I sat at the kitchen table, talking. "This explains Callie's night terrors," my wife said with a chill. "That must have been so scary."

"We have to get them into therapy right away," I said quietly. "They need to talk to someone."

"We'll look into it today," Lena agreed. "I just can't imagine living with something like that." She hugged herself. "No wonder Sophia was so afraid of your gun."

I nodded uneasily. What we learned from Bill should have cleared everything up. But it seemed like for every question he answered, we were left with another one unanswered. Sophia was twelve. Wasn't she old enough to know better than to play with a gun? Our kids certainly were at that age. And why wasn't a loaded gun locked up in the first place? And what about Callie's beat marks? I still believed it was the foster father who did it, even if the rest of what she'd told me was a lie.

"Suppose it wasn't an accident," I ventured, feeling guilty for even thinking it.

Lena's eyes widened. "Are you saying Bill lied to us?"

"It's possible Bill doesn't even know the truth," I told her, quickly explaining the reasoning behind my fears. "Mike said the foster father was already dead when the paramedics arrived. And we're almost positive that man abused those girls."

"I don't want to believe it," she replied, shaking her head. "Sophia doesn't seem like a killer. She's just a baby."

"Well, you'd be surprised what a person might do to protect someone they love," I told her, taking my empty mug to the sink. "If someone were hurting you or the kids, I-"

Lena's head jerked up, and she looked to the doorway. I followed her gaze and saw Sophia standing there. "Honey, what are you doing out of bed?" I asked, wondering how much she had heard.

"I needed a drink," she said, taking a step back. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," Lena told her. "I should have brought one up to you sooner. You need to stay hydrated." She filled a glass with water and handed it to our foster daughter. "Here you go, sweetheart."

"I saw Bill's car out the window," she told us. "Why was he here? Do we have to leave?" Her eyes, though glassy from fever, were full of fear.

"No, baby," I assured her, getting up to hug her. "You and Callie are here to stay. Okay?"

"Okay," she said, but she still looked doubtful.

"Come on, sweets," Lena said. "Let's get you back up to bed." She took her by the hand and led her upstairs, leaving me alone with all my unanswered questions.

Callie

"How's Sophia?" I asked, setting my backpack down after school. "Is she okay?" I'd been worrying about her all day; I couldn't help it, and I was anxious to get home to see her.

"She's sleeping," Stef told me. "Lena put her down about an hour ago."

"Oh," I said with a nod. "She probably has an ear infection. She used to get them all the time when she was little." I couldn't explain it, but the atmosphere of the house felt different somehow. I couldn't put my finger on what had changed, though.

"If she's not better by tonight, I'll take her to the doctor in the morning," Stef promised me. She reached into the cookie jar on the counter and took out two oatmeal cookies. "Why don't you have a snack, and then you can go up and see her?"

"Okay," I shrugged. I ate the cookies as fast as I could, then hurried upstairs. When I got to our room, it was empty. "Sophia?" I called. I went to check the bathroom, but it was empty too. It reminded me of that night, and a felt myself start to get panicky, even though I knew nothing like that could happen here. I turned back to our bedroom, my blood pounding in my ears.

This time, I looked around the room more carefully. The Barbie house was neat and organized, my sister's new doll sitting in the top floor. The covers on Sophia's bed were rumpled. Her stuffed horse was gone. It was then that I saw the note on her pillow, torn from the notebook I'd given her. I reached for it, and unfolded it with shaking hands.

Callie,

Stef and Lena know about The Brian Thing. Bill told them. I can't stay here, but you can. You deserve a good home. You didn't do anything wrong. You're the best big sister in the world.

I'll miss you.

Love,

Sophia

I gripped the note so hard it crushed in my hands, and I turned to the bedroom doorway. "Stef! Lena! Help!"

They were up the stairs in seconds. "What is it, baby?" Stef asked. "What happened?"

Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I didn't care who saw them. I handed them the note. "Sophia ran away."

To Be Continued