She said what I wanted to hear. “All right,” I tell her.
I grab a pair of shorts and a clean tee, change in the bathroom, brush my teeth, and head back to my bed, debating if I’m doing the right thing. August rolls over to face me. I pause in the doorway before making the final decision to climb in with her. “Please,” she says again.
I crawl into my bed, keeping space between us, and fold my hands beneath the back of my head. August scoots over to wrap her arm around my chest, places her head down on top of my heart.
I’m pretty sure I won’t move an inch tonight.
Morning comes quicker than I’d like, and it wasn’t until a half-hour ago that August rolled off my chest. She’s still asleep, and I have the urge to make her breakfast because I’ve never had the opportunity to make a woman breakfast in bed before. Of course, I have no food in the house, and cooking would require me to find a recipe.
I slip out of bed carefully, trying my best not to make the bed shift. I find a piece of paper out in the kitchen and scribble down a brief note, telling her I’ve gone to pick up breakfast and to make herself comfortable.
I live just down the street from Walden’s bakery, so I’m sure I’ll be able to find something there.
While gently closing my front door, I hear, “Yoo-hoo! Chance Miller, good morning to you.”
Didi is sitting on her front porch in a nightgown, sipping on a cup of tea. “Morning, Didi,” I reply with a quick wave.
“You aren’t going to come over and say hi?”
“I’m in a bit of a rush right now. Can I catch up with you later?”
“Golly, it sounds like you have someone camping out in your house. I saw you bring home a friend last night. Who’s the lucky girl?”
This conversation is the most forward Didi has been in a while. The tone in her voice is a little concerning, but it could just all be in my head.
“Yeah, just a friend needing a place to crash,” I tell her.
“I see,” she says, wrapping her bleached hair behind her ear.
“I’ll catch you later,” I tell her, heading off in the opposite direction.
I’m halfway to the bakery when I begin to wonder if Didi would be bold enough to go knocking on my door, knowing I’m not home but with a girl inside. She’s never done anything like that before, but she seemed off when I left.
When I reach the bakery, I find a small line pouring out the front door. It’s early Saturday morning, so I’m not surprised. I pull my phone from my back pocket to kill time when I see a missed call and a message on my phone, and I’m not sure when it came in.
I hold the phone up to my ear and listen to the message:
Hello, Mr. Miller. I’m Joyce Falcon, calling from Life Gift Foster Foundation in Austin. We have found a potential match for your application and would like to make an appointment to meet with you as soon as possible. Department of Children Services brought over a nine-year-old boy on Wednesday afternoon. We are about to transfer him to a foster care unit, but there’s no availability in the immediate area for a child his age. Again, please let us know right away if this opportunity interests you. Thank you, Mr. Miller.
I can’t—I can’t believe I just got that call. I hold the phone to my chest, not realizing the line to the bakery has moved on around me.
I step out of line to call the number back. I don’t want to make foundation wait. This opportunity is what I’ve been waiting for—it’s been years.
The number redials, and I wait for this woman to answer. I feel like the clouds are opening above me when the phone connects after one ring.
“This is Joyce Falcon. How can I help you?” she answers.
“Ms. Falcon, yes, this is Chance Miller. I’m returning your call about the little boy you have in your care.”
“Oh, yes, hi, Mr. Miller. Thank you so much for returning my call. Are you free at some point today to come down to our office and fill out some paperwork? We can fill you in on the details then.”
“Yes, ma’am. What time should I be there?”
“How does 1:00 sound?”
“I will be there.”
“We are at 1204 Walker Street, Suite 3.”
