52
Gianna (22 years)
Julian brought the car to a halt and I stared through the windshield at the soft lemon-colored house beyond the white picket fence and the little pink flowers creeping over the trellis beneath the windows. How quaint. When I was younger, I always imagined myself staying in a beautiful house like this with an attractive husband and two gorgeous little sons. All that was just a dream floating on a white cloud now.
“You want me to come in with you?” Julian asked, dragging me out of my musings.
“No. It’s okay, we don’t want to overwhelm him.”
He nodded and I climbed out of the vehicle. As I pushed past the white gate and walked up the garden path to the front door, I thought of my father and his manipulations. It didn’t make sense that he’d kidnap this child after killing his mother and then just hand him over to a stranger to raise. My father always had an end game. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
I knocked on the door and it opened almost immediately. A tiny hand curled around the door as it opened before a mop of black curls appeared, then two glittering eyes. Wow. I stared as one brown and one green eye gazed back at me. I’d never seen anything that fascinating before. Then his whole face appeared, christened by pink lips wide in a smile.
As I stared at him, somewhere deep inside me, something stirred. A hidden ache I didn’t understand on the first prick. Then he stepped out fully from behind the door and I let my gaze wander over his spiderman t-shirt and navy-blue shorts. Now I understood that pain—that deep-seated hurt my heart bled for the child I lost. My bottom lip quivered, and my eyes welled.
Smiling, he beckoned for me to enter, and I bit my bottom lip to stem the flow of tears. I uttered a watery laugh and followed him, glancing around as I did. The cottage on the inside was just as quaint with mismatched furniture and lots of flowery knick-knacks.
“What’s your name?” I asked the boy, his chubby cheeks red like he’d been pinched too often.
“Well, hello there.” I looked up and the old lady with her gray hair, soft wrinkly skin, and bright blue eyes, stepping through the archway fitted perfectly with who I’d imagined the house to belong to. “You must be Gianna?” she offered me a hand accompanied by a beaming smile.
“Yes. Marybeth?” I took her petite hand in a warm shake.
She nodded. “Come. Sit.” She gestured to the brown leather couches, and I followed her. “What can I get you to drink, my dear?”
“I’m good thank you,” I replied, taking a seat. The little boy sidled up to me and touched the bangles on my wrist. “With you like to play with it?” He looked at me but didn’t answer.
“He doesn’t speak,” Marybeth said, her eyes on the child before she glanced at me. “His name is Maddox. The gentleman who brought him to me asked that I take care of him. He pays me a good deal of money to make sure the child is happy and as you can see, he’s a healthy boy.”
“May I ask, the gentleman that brought the child here, why did he bring him to you, and did he tell you anything about the child’s parents?”
Maddox jangled my bangles once more, he seemed to love the noise they made together. Removing four of the bangles, I handed them to him. He took them and immediately dropped to the floor next to my legs and began shaking the bangles.
“I take care of foster kids,” Marybeth said. “Every year social services bring me two or three kids. Some stay for a year, some longer until social services find good homes for them. As you can see, it's not state of the art.” She waved her hand in the air to encompass the room in her gesture. “I believe in comfort and a down-to-earth upbringing. The gentleman who brought the child to me, his wife used to be my volunteer contact at social services.” At the mention of my mother, my eyes misted over. “I believe she passed on,” Marybeth continued, oblivious to my sorrow. I dabbed at the corners of my eyes. “He asked that I only raise this child for now and in return, I’d be well compensated.”
Now I understood why my father brought the child to Marybeth. What I didn’t understand, was why he took the child in the first place. When Julian did some digging around and found out where the child was being kept, not only was I surprised at his investigative techniques, but he’d secured the appointment with Marybeth. How he managed that, I hadn’t asked then. Now I knew. He’d probably accompanied my mother here on her visits.
“Did the gentleman say when he’d come back for Maddox?”
“He just said that he will continue to pay me as long as it takes. Nothing more.”
“Has Maddox been to a pediatrician to determine why he doesn’t speak?” I watched him play, his fascination with the bangles made me smile.
“Yes. The pediatrician seems to think it has to do with some trauma as an infant and believes it will right itself when his body is ready. Although, he loves to play the piano.”
I frowned. “How old is he?” I asked, thinking he looked a little too young to be playing the piano.
She shook her head. “Because there were no papers and the gentleman couldn’t give me much information other than he was found in an abandoned vehicle, the pediatrician believes him to be around three or four years old. So, I call him my little genius Beethoven.” She laughed.
Maddox stood as if he’d heard his name and then did the most surprising thing. He turned to me, placed his hands, one on each of my cheeks, and rubbed his nose against mine. A ragged breath dragged through my throat, and I barreled down the agonizing pain radiating through me. Then he kissed my lips, the warm touch, so soft. This time I couldn’t hold back the tears. They powered forward and without thinking, I grabbed him to my chest and hugged him.
When he finally wiggled out my embrace, he giggled, his sound silent then dropped back to the floor. I looked at the other woman and her eyes were hazy.
“He’s never done that before. They say a child can sense warmth in a person,” she whispered.
I inhaled sharply to stop my tears and stood. Maddox was wrong I wasn’t a warm person, I was a killer.
