Elizabeth August - Paternal Instincts

“Figured Roxy’d know best what to do with him,” the farmer concluded, and with a small salute of goodbye he turned back to his truck. Pausing by the youth, he shook his head. “You best start putting some meat on those bones. A strong gust of wind could blow you away.”

The boy made no response. Not even acknowledging the farmer’s presence, he continued to stand rigid, staring at Eric.

“Strange one, that one,” the farmer muttered.

“Thanks for dropping him off,” Eric called out, suddenly realizing he should say something.

The farmer cast back a glance that indicated that he wasn’t so certain he’d done Eric a favor, then he climbed into his truck and left.

Eric barely noticed his departure. His attention had returned to the boy. If he was right about the child’s identity, then Roxy’s attachment hadn’t been one-sided. “Roxy’s in town working,” he said. “How about if I fix you something to eat while you wait?”

The boy nodded and headed toward the house. Eric followed him inside. As the child continued up to the second floor, obviously with a destination in mind, Eric went into the kitchen.

A few minutes later the boy joined him. He’d washed his face and hands and made an attempt to smooth his tangled mass of hair. Maude had always insisted the boys come to the table with clean hands and face, Eric recalled.

There had been fried chicken left from the night before and he’d put the platter on the table along with a glass of milk and a loaf of bread. The boy ate hungrily. Standing, leaning on the counter watching him, Eric wondered when he’d last had a meal.

“There’s some ice cream if you have room for dessert,” he offered when the boy finished a third piece of chicken and didn’t reach for a fourth.

The boy nodded.

In an experiment to see if he could make the boy speak, Eric asked, “Vanilla or chocolate or both?”

For a long moment the boy made no response, then he held up two fingers.

Eric was now certain of the identity of this newcomer. He dished up two bowls of ice cream and seated himself at the table. “I’m Eric,” he introduced himself.

The boy looked up momentarily from his bowl of ice cream in acknowledgment but said nothing before returning his attention to the sweet treat.

“Can I assume you’re Jamie?” Eric asked bluntly.

The boy merely looked up at the clock on the wall. It read three-fifteen.

Taking a guess that the child was wondering when Roxy would be home, Eric said, “Roxy’s on the seven-to-three shift. She was going to do a little shopping when she finished work. I’m expecting her back around four.”

Quickly finishing his ice cream, the youth carried his bowl, plate and glass to the sink, washed them and put them in the dish drainer. Then he put the chicken and bread away and left the kitchen.

Eric washed his own bowl, then went looking for the boy. He found him sitting on the front porch step, his gaze locked on the road.

“I was caulking windows,” Eric said. “If you need me, just yell or make some sort of noise.”

The boy gave no sign that he’d even heard.

“Make yourself at home,” Eric added, and went back to work. Old memories flashed through his mind as he climbed the ladder. He’d sat in that same place, with that same intense expression on his face, for days after his grandparents had brought him here. As lousy as life with them had been, accepting the fact that they’d dumped him off like a bag of garbage had been difficult. He’d imagined them coming back in tears, telling him that they’d realized they loved him and wanted him back. But they hadn’t come, and eventually he’d accepted the fact that as far as his family was concerned, he was disposed of, never to be thought of again.

The sound of a car’s engine caught his attention. He looked toward the main road and saw Roxy turning onto the long drive. Climbing down from the ladder, he walked to the corner of the house and stopped. From there he could observe her and the boy.

Nearing the house, Roxy blinked, certain she was seeing things. Then the tears began to flow. Parking the car with a screech, she jumped out and hurried toward the porch. A few feet from Jamie, she came to an abrupt halt. He had risen, but his expression wasn’t one of happy greeting. His back was straight with defiant pride and he was looking at her with hurtful accusation.

“I didn’t come to visit like I promised because they wouldn’t tell me where you were,” she said, brushing at her tears. “I’ve been working, getting the house into shape, hoping they would let me have you back.” She saw his bottom lip tremble and then go crooked and knew he was biting on the inside to keep it firm. “I missed you,” she said, holding her arms out toward him.

Suddenly he was running into her embrace.

Watching them, Eric couldn’t deny the bond between them, and he envied Jamie. He’d never had that kind of love. Maude had loved him, but she’d loved all of her boys the same. She’d been more of a kindly aunt than a mother. The relationship between Jamie and Roxy clearly went much deeper.

Holding the boy close, Roxy felt panic sweep through her. He was much too thin. Loosing her hold, she gently grasped him by the upper arms and moved him a little away from her for a more thorough inspection. “Didn’t they feed you? And those clothes. Surely the social services people provided money for you to have clothes.”

He shrugged as if to say those things didn’t matter.

Continuing to kneel in front of him, she combed his hair away from his face with her fingers. “How did you get here?”

From the pocket of the baggy pants, he pulled out a map and proudly displayed it.

“You found your way here on your own?” she demanded, and the hope that he’d been legitimately returned to her vanished. “You ran away?”

Again he shrugged as if that didn’t matter.

“Where did you run away from?”

He pointed to Philadelphia.

Horror at what could have happened to him along the way caused her stomach to knot. “That’s over thirty miles.”

He frowned as if her concern was childish.

Tears of joy and relief again flowed as she drew him back into her arms.

“Looks like we’ve got company coming,” Eric said, moving toward them.

Roxy recognized the car. Her hold on Jamie tightened. “It’s Mary Chambers from social services.”

Two pairs of accusing eyes turned on Eric.

He scowled. “I didn’t tell anyone he was here, but it stands to reason that the authorities would check to see if he’d made contact. Or maybe the farmer who picked him up felt it was his civic duty to report him.”

“Go inside,” Roxy ordered the boy, and he quickly obeyed.

“Looks like Jamie found his way back,” Mary noted, getting out of her car and approaching Eric and Roxy.

Keeping his expression friendly, Eric made a quick appraisal, sizing her up for battle. She was medium in build with graying hair and had the manner of someone there on official business, but there was a softness in her eyes that suggested that she was not an enemy.

Roxy stepped in front of the woman, barring her from continuing to the house. “He looks as if he hasn’t eaten in weeks and his clothes are a disgrace. You assured me he was being well looked after.” A bitter edge entered her voice. “Better than I could look after him.” She repeated the social worker’s words.

Mary’s official manner softened and apology showed on her face. “We had to send him back to Philadelphia. That’s where his family was. They tried to reunite them, but no one would take him in, so he went into the system there.”

Roxy knew Mary had a good heart. “You want to see what happened to him?” She glanced over her shoulder toward the house. “Jamie, come out.”