At the time, Reggie believed she’d place her quickly—Erica was young, bright, easy to love.She was wrong.
Where most foster kids tried to impress, Erica pushed back, acted out, and ran away.She left destruction in her wake.One by one, prospective families bowed out.
Eventually, Reggie stopped looking and resigned herself to keeping Erica until she turned eighteen.She’d done it with other kids who had nowhere else to go.Not out of obligation, but choice.
Around here, they call Reggie a saint.
Reggie would tell you it’s simpler than that.
It’s a calling.
And for Erica, it’s the closest thing she’s ever had to home.
After the hug, Reggie holds her at arm’s length, her hands settling on Erica’s shoulders.“You’re so thin.Are you eating enough?Sleeping?”
Erica shrugs with a practiced smile, but Reggie’s gaze flicks to me, etched with concern and, finally, belief now that she’s seeing with her own eyes.
As a mother figure to Erica, Reggie and I have had this conversation before.More times than I can count.Especially in those early years after Erica and I left Winslow Grove, when my calls to her were frequent and desperate.Every time I dialed her number—or answered when she called—there was only ever one subject.
Erica.
“I’m fine.”Erica bounces.“What I could really use is some money for food.”She flashes a quick smile.“I’ve been craving Pop’s burgers.”
Reggie nods slowly.“We can do that another night.Come home with me.I’ve got supper in the crockpot, and I’ll fix up the breakfast nook for you.”
“The breakfast nook?”Her smile falters.“What about my room?”
“Rickie, it isn’t your room anymore.”Reggie softens her tone, the way she always does when the news won’t land easy.
It usually works, but not this time.
“Fuck that.”
“Erica—” Reggie’s eyes narrow, her patience thinning, but she doesn’t get the chance to finish.
Agitated and restless, Erica thrusts her hand out toward Reggie, palm up.“Give me some money.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”Her voice sharpens.“You said you’d help me.That you were there for me, so prove it.”
Reggie shakes her head, flustered but steady.“Iamhelping you.You said you were coming home, and I said you could stay with me.I’m giving you a roof, a warm bed, and food.”
The two leave, bickering, and I stand there longer than necessary, hands shoved deep into my pockets, breath coming slow and deliberate.I didn’t want her back in Winslow Grove, but everyone who needs to know about Erica does.I did my part.Now, I need to keep her out of my life.
Eventually I turn toward the square, toward the lights, toward Grace, who I left too abruptly.A thread of unease pulls taut in my gut as I scan the crowd, the outskirts of the square, the doorways.
The look on Grace’s face when I turned away—the way she didn’t ask anything, didn’t chase, just let me go.Like she expected it.
That lands harder than it should.
In looking back at her arrival in town and my first reaction to her, our attraction, whatever we have feels like it was inevitable.While new and different, and not without complications, it’s a far cry from the only other relationship I’ve ever had.
Grace isn’t taking anything.She’s just there, steady and quiet and real, and before now, I was looking and counting the reasons to back away.But Erica showing up reminded me what waiting costs.I waited too long to leave.
I’m not waiting for Grace to come to me.I need to find her.
I may not be able to explain everything because it’s not all mine to tell.But I need her to know that kiss meant something.I need her to know I didn’t leaveher.