Slowly, I crept out of bed and cringed when the springs creaked. Lou murmured a little more and flipped onto her side. I rose, pulled up the blanket she had kicked off, and tucked her in tight. I gently glided my fingers over her chubby cheeks and slipped loose strands of her black, coily hair behind her ear. Her restlessness quieted, and her breathing evened out. It wouldn’t last, not with the nightmares that plagued her, but at least, for now, the seven-year-old slept in peace.
I sat at the little desk under the bedroom window. Moonlight gleamed through the sheer curtains, giving off enough light for me to see the ripped pieces of my photograph.
With languid tears running down my cheeks, I reassembled the puzzle pieces. My fingers ran over what used to be my mother’s face, her smile wiped out from torn edges. Splotchytears wet the back of my hand as I cut strips of tape and glued the puzzle back together.
The doorknob jiggled, and I startled. My heart thumped in my ears. Marlene didn’t usually check on us at night, and I’d already heard Charlie zigzag his way off to bed. I hurriedly wiped my cheeks and nose dry on my sleeve and waited.
“Anzy,” Boyan’s little voice called. The door jolted against his soft knocking. “Anzy, pwease.”
I hurried to unlock the door before the noise woke the Hayeses.
The door latch released with a click that seemed to echo in the hallway. Boyan stood at the threshold, half my height. He rubbed his tired and pleading eyes with one hand and clutched a frayed tiger security blanket to his chest with the other. Tears glistened down the divots along the burn scars on his left plump cheek. The yellow from the hallway nightlight reflected off his dirty-blond hair and the shiny bare section above his left ear. He’d been found walking down Fell Street three years ago, covered in soot, with second-degree burns. Police researched recent fires in the area, but they never found any leads on his relatives or where he was from.
I crouched in front of him. “Chipmunk, you shouldn’t walk around at night.”
“I had a ite-mare,” he said through a sob.
“Why didn’t you wake Micah?” I whispered, glancing toward the Hayeses’ closed door at the end of the hallway.
Boyan’s eyes widened with horror. He shook his head.
“Right.”
Last time Boyan came to me in the middle of the night and I took him back to bed, Micah chucked his alarm clock at us, mumbling about how an elephant was quieter. Micah then turned around and snored his way back to sleep.
“You want to tell me about it?”
Again, he shook his head.
“You want to stay with me?” I asked.
Boyan nodded vigorously. I sighed.
“Okay, come on then.”
Instead of slipping his little hand into mine, he rammed into me. I wheezed out in pain as he gripped me as hard as he could. His face burrowed into my hip.
“Fudge brownies,” I muttered with a gasp, gritting my teeth.
Boyan grinned up at me, completely oblivious to the throb of my ribs. I couldn’t help but smile back at the little chipmunk. There was so much trust in his honey-gold eyes, not a single trace of malice or guile. If only there was a chance for him to remain that carefree and innocent.
“Come on, off to bed.”
I flipped the latch on the door and put the chair back in place as Boyan’s gentle footsteps rushed to the bed and jumped in. The springs creaked as he slithered close to the wall. He held the blankets up and tapped the unoccupied side of the bed.
“Come and sweep with me.”
My smile turned watery. It was like seeing Noah in miniature format. I remembered, shortly after my parents’ deaths, Noah used to cradle me through my nightmares. It felt like a sign, like Noah was telling me this was exactly where I needed to be.
I climbed in, clenching my teeth through the strain of every tug and pull of the muscles in my abdomen. With Boyan cradled against me, I stared at the platform of the bunk bed above us, counting the shadowed carvings and indentations left by the previous foster kids who had slept in this bed before me. The softness of his little body pressed against mine, and his clean, soapy scent lulled me.
“Anzy?” Boyan asked softly. When I didn’t respond, he kissed my cheek like I often did to him and gripped two of my fingers between all of his. “Can we make bwownies tomowow?”
My cheeks puffed. It wasn’t an easy request.
I made brownies once for his birthday three months ago. It was the first time in my life I’d ever stolen anything, but since Marlene kept the bare minimum in the house to prevent us from pilfering food, I’d shoplifted some ingredients just to see him smile on his birthday.
For fourteen years, I took what my parents and then Noah gave me for granted. They gave me safety. I never had to worry before. I never fell asleep wondering if I would dream a nightmare that would come true. I never had to wonder when the next punishment came or if I’d be deprived of a meal.
