“Let me reframe that,” Velle said in that soft, reasonable tone of his. Like I was a dog about to race off into traffic, and he was trying to coax me toward the shoulder. “What Caymen, in fact, said, was that he didn’t think his foster fatherwould be interested in this. He never said that he wouldn’t. From everything I’ve heard him say about this foster home, and everything you’ve told me he’s told you about it, he is very open to this.”
“I hope so. It would be a really shitty birthday present if he’s upset or uncomfortable about it.”
I had made sure to thoroughly vet the foster father myself before I even thought about saying anything about Caymen. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to do damage when I was trying to help if the foster father turned into a mean old man or didn’t look back fondly on his fostering days.
As it turned out, Sam Stratford was still fostering. Mostly focusing on older teens who were about to age out of the system. He seemed to be giving them life skills and the support they needed to go off into the world and not feel completely lost.
From my one (not super creepy) stakeout, I saw him teaching a few teenagers how to work the grill, do something under the hood of an old car, and relocate a giant snake.
Everything about him and the kids seemed happy and open and everything Caymen had described.
Once I was sure he wasn’t a risk, I approached him, introduced myself, and name-dropped Caymen and Dixon.
“The Cider boys?” he asked, immediately breaking into a grin. “I’ve always been worried about those two. Rough home life. They okay?”
“They are. All grown up now. In a bike club because they said you had such good things to say about yours. And Caymen still cooks a mean steak on the grill.”
“You’re his girl, aren’t you?” Sam asked, his golden eyes crinkling.
“I am.”
“He good to you?”
“The best.”
“Good. Good. I worry about all my kids. But some I worry about more than others. I knew Dixon would be alright because he had Caymen. Wasn’t sure how long Caymen could take all that pressure before he snapped.”
“He never did. He got them into the club and that was good for both of them. It let him step back and let Dixon come into his own. And it let Caymen finally shrug some of the weight of the world off his shoulders.”
“He deserved that. Been carrying it his whole life. Glad to see he’s got someone in his life too.”
“That’s actually why I’m here. I was curious if you would be interested in reconnecting.”
“For his birthday?” Sam asked. I swear my heart swelled at his words. Because he did truly care about his kids. He remembered a birthday from over a decade ago. “I still write all their birthdays on my calendar when I fill it out every year,” he said, reading my expression. “Keeps the memory alive.”
“That’s sweet.”
“It’s a fulfilling thing, giving teens some stability and guidance. But it’s a heartbreaking calling too. So many kids you will never see again, never know how they are doing, if what I did had any impact.”
“It did. More than you know. I don’t know who Caymen would be today if he hadn’t come across you when he did.”
“Thank you,” he said, his eyes looking glassy. “And, yes, of course. I would love to see those boys again. But only if it’s on his actual birthday. I have four extracurriculars I need to show up for the rest of the week.”
“It will be,” I assured him.
We talked a few more minutes, I gave him the address and time, then left and prayed I hadn’t done the wrong thing.
“This is good, Noa,” Velle assured me, reaching out to squeeze my wrist. “Trust your instincts.”
Everything in me screamed that some part of Caymen needed this, needed to reconnect with the father figure that had set his life on the path that led to the club. To his found family. And, yes, to me.
“Why are you so pale?” Caymen asked, coming over toward where I was standing in the backyard, away from the crowd so I could keep an eye on the driveway.
“Hm? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the, uh, lighting.”
“You mean the sun?” Caymen asked, shooting me a confused smile.
Velle gave my hand another squeeze as a truck pulled into the lot. Not Sam. My dad. Who, yeah, had also become a bit of a father figure to Caymen. The two talked more than I talked to my father, I swear.
