Margaret Daley - Family Ever After

“I told you not to worry about anything.” Although he was concerned about the teen’s injuries, Noah schooled his voice into a soothing cadence.

Adam lifted a tear-streaked face to Noah. “I can’t go to the hospital. I have to get home. I have—”

“I’ll call your dad and let him know what happened. He’ll need to meet us at the hospital.”

The teen’s eyes grew even rounder, panic replacing the apprehension in them. “No!”

“I won’t tell your dad about you stealing money from me. Let’s just forget that. What’s your number?” Noah could feel Cara’s comforting presence behind him; he could hear her panting as she caught her breath.

Pain twisted Adam’s face. “He’s not home.”

“Where does he work? I’ll call him there then.” Noah raised his voice to be heard over the siren blaring from the ambulance that came to a stop nearby.

Adam clamped his lips together, tears continuing to run down his cheeks.

“Adam?” Now kneeling beside them, Cara placed her hand on the boy’s arm. “We need to let your family know what’s happened.”

The gentle tone of her voice erased some of the tension in the teen’s expression. Adam looked toward her. He started to say something, but instead snapped his mouth closed and averted his head.

Two paramedics approached with the stretcher, stooped and began examining Adam. Noah and Cara rose and stepped back to give them room.

A police officer approached. “Can you tell me what happened here?”

Noah relayed the events to the man while keeping his gaze on Adam. This was his fault. He shouldn’t have chased the teen. He should have let it go.

“I’ll report your description of the car and see if we can find it.” The officer walked back to his vehicle to call it in.

The paramedics lifted Adam onto the stretcher and secured him. They started wheeling him toward the ambulance.

“Wait! Mr. Maxwell,” Adam called out.

Noah hurried toward the stretcher. “Yes? What’s your dad’s number?”

“He’s gone. My brother and sister will be by themselves. They’ll get scared. Please…” He shifted as though he needed to sit up. He winced and groaned.

“I’ll take care of them. Don’t worry about them. Where’s your dad?”

The teen closed his eyes. The paramedics hefted the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

Noah heard the teen say, “Out of town.” Then the door shut.

With dusk descending, Cara stared down at the address written on the paper then back up at the number on the mailbox that leaned against the curb, propped up by several large rocks. “This is it.”

Sitting in the passenger seat, Noah stared at the house that easily could be described as a shack. What paint remained on the wooden structure had turned a dull gray, and two of the windows were missing a pane while one of the steps up to the sagging porch was broken.

Sweat coated his forehead and beaded his upper lip. Transported back twenty years ago, Noah remembered, that last time he’d come home as though it had transpired yesterday. He would never be rid of the memory. It would haunt him to his dying day.

“This place doesn’t even look safe.” Cara pushed her door open.

“We’ll get his brother and sister and take them to the hospital. We can leave a note for his dad. Adam said he was out of town. Hopefully just for the day.”

“Have you met either of them?”

“His younger brother. He’s come by the restaurant several times while I’ve been there. I let Rusty help out in the back until Adam was ready to leave.”

“Good. Then he’ll know you.” Cara mounted the stairs, stepping over the one that lay in two pieces.

Noah knocked. Sounds of a television competed with a dog’s barking. A minute crawled by. Then another. He started to pound on the wood again when the door swung open. A little girl, with big blue eyes and long blond hair, stared up at Noah. She held a stuffed bear with a missing button eye and part of his brown fur rubbed off in several places.

Not knowing the girl’s name, Noah said, “Hi. Is your brother home?”

She slammed the door in his face.

C ara stepped in front of Noah. “Let me try. You can be pretty intimidating.” She raised her hand to knock when the door opened again. This time a taller boy, maybe nine years old, with red hair and freckles stood in the entrance. “Rusty?”

The child frowned at Cara. “We don’t want—”

Noah stepped into view. “Rusty, do you remember me? I’m Adam’s boss at the restaurant.”

The boy swept his gaze to Noah and nodded.

“Adam has been taken to the hospital. He was hurt. We told him we’d take you and your sister to see him,” Noah explained.

“He’s hurt? How?” Rusty asked, wide-eyed.

“He was hit by a car,” Noah said.

The boy blinked, all color draining from his face.

Cara came between the two. “I’m Cara, Rusty. I work with Adam. He’ll be all right once he’s patched up at the hospital. Why don’t you get your sister, and you two will be able to see for yourselves.”

“We’ll just write your dad a note in case he comes back,” Noah said over Cara’s shoulder.

Rusty’s mouth twisted. “He ain’t coming back.”

“What do you mean?” Cara asked, drawing the boy’s attention back to her.

Noah moved into the house and surveyed the place. The inside was as bad as the outside. Off to the side in the living room, the little girl lounged on a brown couch with its stuffing spilling out of various tears. The only other furniture was two wooden cartons stacked together as a table, on which the television sat.

Noah looked back at the boy in time to see him shrug.

“Ain’t supposed to say,” Rusty said.

Cara came into the house. “We’ll write him a note anyway. Can you get me some paper?” She rummaged in her purse and withdrew a pen.

Rusty stared at Cara for a long moment, as though trying to decide what to do. Finally he dug into a backpack by the front door. He ripped a sheet from a notebook then gave it to her.

While Cara scribbled a message to the children’s father, Noah walked into the kitchen and inspected the refrigerator. A quart of chocolate milk and a pizza carton from his restaurant were the only items on the bottom shelf. The top one held a few slices of American cheese and several pint-size boxes of apple juice.

When he shut the door and turned, he found Rusty staring at him with wariness in his eyes. “Not much in the fridge.”

“Nope.” The boy dropped his gaze.

Something was definitely wrong here. Noah opened a cupboard and discovered bare shelves. Some dishes were stacked in the next one. In the third cabinet one cereal box, a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread sent off alarms in his mind. Were the children living here by themselves? Was that why Adam had been in such a panic to get home? Why Rusty wasn’t supposed to talk about where his father was?

Cara entered the kitchen; the concern in her gaze reflected his own. “I left the note on top of the TV.”

Noah nodded. “Are you all ready to go, Rusty?”

“Are you sure Adam is gonna be okay?” the boy asked, his teeth biting into his lower lip.

“Yes, the doctor will take good care of Adam.” Noah strode to the child and clasped his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Rusty didn’t move, a serious expression on his face. “We ain’t got any money for a doctor.”

Noah smiled reassuringly. “Don’t you worry about that. I’m taking care of the doctor. I told the paramedics that.” He felt a tug and peered behind him.

Adam’s little sister tilted her head, her eyes huge, and asked, “Can I bring Molly?”

“Molly?”