The truth of his words hits me harder than anything else could have, like ice water to my soul. He is right, again. The orphanage isn’t a fortress; it is old and in disrepair. It is barely a sanctuary. If someone with real power wants to gain entry, they could, and there would be nothing either Jay or I would be able to do about it.
“Then what do you suggest we do?” I ask, my voice small as I slump into the chair across from him. “The system doesn’t work for kids like him. Kids like us.”
With a deep sigh, Jay pinches the bridge of his nose before putting his glasses back on. “One week, Chloe. I’ll give you seven more days. Get something out of him that helps us help him. Otherwise, we will have to do what we should have done in the first place. Report it and trust that the system will work this time.”
I nod, then stand to leave, moving toward the door, but as my hand settles on the handle, Jay’s voice stops me.
“Chloe? I need you to make me a promise.”
I turn back. “What?”
“If someone does show up for him, don’t try to be the hero.”
His request feels impossible to even consider agreeing to. And realistically, he knows me better than that. If someone threatens any of the children, I’d fight. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself even if I tried. It is my job to protect them.
Despite knowing that, I nod. “You got it, boss.”
I can tell by the huff sound he makes that he doesn’t believe me, but he lets me go without another word.
Slipping out of the office, I make my way back to the kitchen. Most of the children have dispersed to various activities, the older ones to schoolwork and the younger ones to the playroom. I find Mei and the boy right where I left them at the small table, bent over a piece of paper.
He is drawing, his hand moving across the page while Mei watches with intrigue. He looks up as I approach, and his entire expression changes. The wariness fades some, replaced with relief.
“What are you drawing?” I sign as I move to stand beside them and look down at the paper. On the page is a garden, flowers, trees, and a small figure that could be a child, but the proportions are off in an undefined way that children’s drawings usually are. “Beautiful.”
He points at the small figure, then to himself. Placing the pencil back to the paper, I watch as he adds a second figure. Taller than the first with long dark hair.Me, I realize. He’s drawn me standing beside him in the garden.
Pointing at me, he smiles, making sure that I understand. My heart clenches again. One week. Jay gave me one week to unravel the secrets that this innocent soul is hiding.
The days stretch on; maybe it is simply that I am on a deadline and becoming more desperate by the minute to learn anything about the boy and where he came from. I throw myself into the familiar daily tasks of the orphanage to distract myself, hoping that if I go through the motions, the boy will settle enough togive me a glimmer of information. He is never far away unless he is hidden somewhere.
His shadow seems a constant presence at my elbow. One that I don’t mind in the slightest. Still, he doesn’t speak, he doesn’t sign unless he is prompted to with a direct question. He is simply silent. Just orbiting near me constantly like my very own earthbound satellite.
By six o’clock on the fourth day after the conversation with Jay, I can’t take it anymore. We’re in the laundry room, the boy sitting on the floor working on another drawing while I fold clothes freshly out of the dryer. It’s as close to as alone as we’re going to get, so I take the opportunity and sit down on the floor across from him. Setting aside the shirt I’d been flooding. I wave to get his attention, which he gives me immediately, eyes both curious and alert. My heart hurts once more at his response.
“Sweetie, can we talk about something?” I ask gently.
He considers my request, then slowly shakes his head. And I recognize the hint of fear that crosses his expression.
“No? You don’t want a name at all then?”
My inquiry is met with another head shake, more emphatic this time. I bite back at the frustration welling up within me, deciding quickly to try a different approach.
“How about this: we make it a game. I’ll guess your name, and you tell me if I guess right or wrong.”
He hesitates for the briefest of moments, then nods in agreement.
“Okay. Let’s see…” I tap my hands together, thinking through names that might fit him in my head. “How about Christopher?”
He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head in response. I laugh at his adorable expression.
“No huh? What about Thomas?”
Another shake.
“Samuel? Nick? Andrew?”
No, no, and no. He continues to shake his head as I run through easily a dozen more names. Each one is met with a shake of his head. No.
