RaeAnne Thayne - Sugar Pine Trail

He still looked reluctant, so she tried one more card, playing a hunch. “Would you feel better if I call my friend, Chief Emmett, to give you a ride home in his police car?”

In the glow from her open door, she saw a flash of fear in his eyes. Julia felt bad for putting it there, but not if it meant the older boy would let her give them a ride home.

“We can take a ride, I guess,” he finally said.

She made sure they were buckled safely in the backseat of her vehicle before she pulled slowly onto the road.

“Where am I going?”

“Five-fifty Sulfur Hollow Road,” Davy said promptly.

Traffic was basically nonexistent as she drove with care to their house. The roads were slick enough that she couldn’t go fast. Her hands were tight and clammy on the steering wheel by the time they made it to the address they provided.

The sight of the small, thin-walled house was not reassuring.

“Here we are. The lights are off. Where did you say your mom was?”

“She’s home, I bet,” Clint said. “She’s probably sleeping. She works at night sometimes.”

“Oh? I thought you said she lost her job. Did she get another one? Where does she work? And who stays with the two of you when she’s working?”

He mumbled something she couldn’t hear, unhooked his own seat belt, then his brother’s and then practically jumped out of the vehicle, tugging Davy out after him.

“Thanks for the ride. We have to go. Bye, Miss Winston.”

“Bye,” Davy said. He beamed at her. “Thanks for the sandwich and the brownie. You’re a good cook.”

“Um. Thanks.”

The boys hurried up the walk. Clint pulled a key out of his coat pocket, and before she knew it, they had yanked open the door and rushed inside.

Julia stood for a moment, watching a pale light go on inside.

Dropping them off at home had done nothing to ease her concerns. If anything, seeing the small, dingy house gave her fresh reason for concern.

She was trying to manufacture some plausible reason to go to the door when she suddenly spied something red on the backseat that hadn’t been there before the boys climbed inside.

One of Davy’s ragged mittens.

Had he left it there on purpose? She couldn’t be sure, but returning it to its rightful owner seemed exactly the excuse she needed.

Apprehension settled in her stomach as she made her way through unshoveled snow to the sidewalk. She had no idea what she would encounter on the other side. Was their mother a gorgon? Maybe she was ill, and the boys were staying at the library until all hours to give her some peace and quiet.

She had to know.

She knocked, clutching the collar of her coat closed to keep out the vicious wind.

A moment later, Clint opened the door, his expression pinched and wary. He hadn’t yet taken off his coat, she noticed—probably because the air inside the small house felt every bit as cold as the outside air here on the porch.

“Davy left one of his mittens in my car.” She held it out.

“Oh. Thanks. Bye.” He grabbed it from her and started to shove the door closed, but she pulled the old trick of shoving her boot in it before he could, and pushed her way inside.

The house was lit by only a bare bulb here in the hallway. It was clean, but there was a palpable air of neglect.

She saw a space heater in one corner and a couple of sleeping bags neatly rolled up nearby. Were the boys sleeping in here with the space heater?

She could hear no sign of their mother, or, indeed, any adult.

“Clint. I need to talk to your mom. Is she here?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “No. She must be working.”

“Where does she work? Can you give me her work phone number?”

He said nothing and she tried again.

“Does she have a cell phone number I could call?” she asked.

“You could try, but she’s not answering.”

His voice broke on the last word, but he clamped his mouth together tightly, as if afraid that once he started talking, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Something terrible was going on here. She still didn’t know what, but she suddenly knew she couldn’t stop until she found out.

She uttered a fervent prayer that she could figure out the best way to reach him. Somehow she sensed he would respond better if she were on his level, so she knelt down and took one of his cold hands in hers.

“Clinton,” she said softly. “How long since you’ve seen your mother?”

He hitched in a ragged breath, eyes wide. She could see he didn’t want to answer her, but his fingers curled in hers, and she saw all his bravado begin to crumble. Tears welled up in his eyes, and one trickled down the side of his nose.

“Friday. She had a doctor’s appointment at the army hospital place in Boise, and she...she didn’t come back. And the furnace is out, and I don’t know how to make it work, and I tried to start a fire, but I couldn’t do that either. It’s cold everywhere except in here with the space heater.”

“You said she’s not answering her phone?”

He shook his head. “I tried and tried and tried to call her, but she didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to do so I just took care of Davy the best I could, and we spent the days at school and the library, where it was warm and safe.”

“Oh, honey.”

Four days they had been on their own. She couldn’t imagine what he had been going through. He was only eight years old, far too young for that kind of responsibility.

He sniffled again, and it was too much. Heart breaking, she held out her arms. “Come here. Come here.”

He sagged against her, as if sharing the burden he had been carrying had left him boneless and exhausted.

“Please, don’t call the cops. If you do, we’ll go to foster care, and they’ll split us up.”

“I have to call someone, honey. Children aren’t supposed to be left alone for days at a time.”

“Please, don’t. Just go.” He slid away from her and stood looking fearful and impossibly young.

“I can’t do that,” she said softly. “You know I can’t. You need help, and I have a good friend whose job is to help children in just this kind of situation. I’m going to call her, and she’ll fix things.”

He didn’t look convinced as she hit her speed dial for Wynona Emmett, who used to be a police officer but was now a social worker with the state child welfare agency.

As she waited for Wyn to answer, Julia had the uncomfortable realization that an hour ago, her biggest problem was a lingering hangover and the stupid crush she had on the neighbor upstairs.

CHAPTER FIVE

“WHAT’S GOING TO happen to them?” Through the kitchen doorway, Julia eyed the two little boys sitting side by side on the tattered, raggedy sofa.

Since the moment Wynona Emmett showed up, Clinton had been visibly—and audibly—upset, full of accusations and pleas for them to go away. Davy mostly seemed confused, though he took his cues from his brother and sniffed every once in a while.

Julia felt horrible about the whole situation. Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten involved, should have simply looked the other way.

How could she have, though? Any person with an ounce of compassion would have done the same thing she had, called in the state’s department of child welfare. If ever two children’s welfare needed looking after, it was Clint’s and Davy’s.

The boys couldn’t stay here in this cold, cheerless house. Their mother was nowhere in evidence, and it looked as if they hadn’t had a decent meal in days.

“I don’t know what will happen to them,” Wynona admitted. Her eyes were soft with compassion as she looked through the doorway at the boys. “They’ll go into foster care, definitely, probably a short-term facility in Boise for now, until we can find a longer-term placement.”