Forever Homes Read online

  Forever Homes

  Marcy Pusey

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 Marcy Pusey

  Published by Miramare Ponte Press

  www.miramarepontepress.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  * * *

  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted.

  * * *

  Cover design by 100Covers

  Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-948283-21-2

  eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-948283-22-9

  * * *

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020922488

  1

  “I’m not going without him,” I say, trying to keep my voice from cracking. The social worker sits, prim and proper, on our couch. Tears sting my eyes but I won’t let them fall. “We are all we have left. I won’t let you break that up.”

  Our foster mom, Jamie, has taken Benny into another room to protect him from my tirade. Or maybe to protect the social worker from her tirade. I know she likes us and wants us to stay together, too.

  “I won’t go,” I say firmly.

  The social worker, Miss Harrison, nods at me with a sympathetic look. She’s pulled hundreds of siblings apart, I’m sure.

  “Of course, I completely understand, Meagan,” she says.

  Right.

  “But this family is offering you the best I’ve seen.”

  I huff and cross my arms. Here we go.

  “They have a daughter just a little older than you. She’s very friendly, and excited to have a sister. They have a huge house with a swimming pool—”

  “I don’t care about any of that. I could live in a shack. I just want to stay with my brother. He needs me. We need each other.”

  “Meagan, they’ve promised to let you visit and call and write as much as you want, as soon as the obligatory six months of no contact is over.”

  My fingers automatically find the familiar edges of my necklace. “I can’t leave him,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve already lost one of us.” I pace the room with my hands clenched so tight that my nails cut into my palms. I shake them out.

  “You haven’t lost Daniel. He’s in a great family and they keep him busy. You’ll see what it’s like when you get to yours. That reminds me though, I’m told Daniel’s family goes to the Hansens’ church. They’d be more than happy to connect you.” She pauses to make sure I’m looking at her. “But the Hansens have made it clear that they can only take one more child.”

  “They know Danny?” I ask, only daring to look at her from the corners of my eyes, my bangs hanging as a safeguard, like iron bars between us. I hold my breath.

  “It sounds like they’ve at least met him. They made the connection when the families shared their adoption stories. The Hansen family was thrilled to find your brother so closely connected to their community.” She shifts in her seat, uncrossing her legs and setting the big binder on her lap. The spine shouts the name MEAGAN BENSON from across the room. The last five or so years of my life typed up and stacked neatly. Just empty words. What do they know?

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, heading toward the door.

  “Meagan?” Miss Harrison implores.

  “I’m not going without my brother,” I call behind me.

  “This could be your dream home, Meagan,” she calls after me.

  “My dreams died with my mom.”

  2

  I enter my room and start to slam the door behind me but change my mind mid-shove. The result is a half-hearted bang that could be written off as the wind. And that’s what I’ll say if they ask. My heartbeat slows down and tiny beads of sweat drip down my hot face. What have I done? If I don’t take their offer . . . well, there’s really no option. The whole thing’s a charade. Them pretending I have a choice. Me shouting out my demands. They are coming for me whether I like it or not. They want to take me away from my little brother. Benny will lose everyone.

  We will all have lost each other.

  I’m lucky Miss Harrison didn’t call the Agency to come get me right now. Or worse, cart me off to the Agency’s kid-jail where non-compliant foster kids can be straightened out. I’ve had a couple of friends end up there. I never heard from them again.

  Shoot, I’ve never heard from anyone who’s been adopted, either. Miss Harrison says it’s because our friends are adjusting so well to their new lives. So good that their friends don’t matter anymore? I’ve always been skeptical. I don’t see how I could love a new life so well that I’d quit talking to my friends . . . or my brothers.

  The tears sting my eyes until they finally slide down my cheeks. I feel the pain like a dagger swimming around in my chest. Mostly, I keep it still but every now and then it jabs. I pick up a framed photo of Benny, Danny, and me. Danny has his big goofy grin, his dark hair resting in waves around his face and ears. His arm is around me, and Benny is snuggled in his lap, maybe four or five years old at the time.

  “How can I leave him?” I ask the Danny in my photo. His clear eyes blaze into me. So full of hope and confidence. I set the photo back on my nightstand. Even if the Hansens did take me to see Danny . . . how would I ever explain to him that I willingly left Benny? We knew this day might come, but still. We’ve lost so much already.

  I should be grateful for this opportunity. But what about Benny? He’s only seven. My stomach turns at the thought of leaving him. I sit on the bed to let the nausea pass. Do I go find Danny? Or do I stay with Benny? But if Danny’s so easy to find . . . why hasn’t he contacted us? I expected to hear from him after the six months of no contact passed, you know, so he could attach to his family without old ties getting in the way. But then six months turned to seven, then eight months . . . now it’s been ten months—and nothing. What if I leave and never actually get to see Danny? Then I’ve lost them both. The only thing I know for sure is that right now Benny and I are still together.

  I bend down and grab my backpack from underneath the bed. I open the inside zipper and p
ull out Danny’s letter. The one and only letter we’ve gotten since he left ten months ago. The edges are worn.

  * * *

  Dear Meg,

  I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner. I’ve been held up. But oh, Meg . . . I wish you guys were here with me. And yet, I’m glad that you still have some time. I’m not sure when I’ll get to visit or call, but I wanted to get this letter to you while I still could. We’ll be traveling a bit so it might be a while. Don’t give up on me. You are always on my heart and mind.

  Meg, always wear my gift. Trust me.

  Kiss and hug Benny for me. I miss that kid.

  Love, Daniel

  That’s it.

  The message is so cryptic . . . Danny never would have written a letter with so few details if everything was okay. I just can’t get past the feeling that something isn’t right.

  I look at the envelope. I’ve looked at it a million times.

  There’s no return address. I can’t even write back.

  What’s going on, Danny? Maybe there’s another reason he hasn’t written more or called or visited.

  Maybe he can’t.

  Just over a year ago, approaching his seventeenth birthday, he’d been the next lucky recipient of the most recent governmental agenda to reduce national spending. “Forever Homes.” I think of it in quotes because . . . well, what does that mean? Forever home. No home is forever. We’d already figured that out. We’d been lucky to stay together as long as we had. Most of our friends had been split up from the beginning. We were fortunate the Kruses were willing to take in all three of us.

  “It’s difficult to find foster families who will take a sibling set of two, let alone three,” Miss Harrison had said.

  Our previous home had been a disaster. We were actually glad when they kicked us out. Those people shouldn’t be around anything young, including animals. They could barely manage their relationship with each other, let alone three grieving orphans.

  Orphans. Ugh. I hate that word.

  The news is constantly reporting the success of the Forever Home Initiative. No more moving from placement to placement. No more turning eighteen and being thrown to the curb. I mean, I see why that could be good. But I think I’d be fine. I don’t need new parents—I need my actual parents. The ones who birthed me. The ones who . . .

  I run my finger along the edges of my necklace. Danny’s gift. It has a rounded door, like the door of a castle, maybe. It has tiny hinges, a knob, and a window in the door. It’s unlike any necklace I’ve ever seen. He probably made it in his art class. He was so creative, always coming up with the most beautiful pieces.

  “I won’t get sucked in,” he’d said in the moments before he was taken away, when we were sitting on his bed.

  I’d forced a smile at him. He’d been our rock. Our anchor. The strong one when Mom died and Dad ditched us. The hopeful one when we moved each of the seven times we’d moved in six years.

  “I’m not leaving you guys . . . not forever.” He’d pulled Benny into his lap. “We are all we’ve got. I need you guys, too. Once I’m adopted, everything changes. The government doesn’t own me anymore. And then, as soon as I’m eighteen, I’ll be back for you.” Of course, anything could happen in a year, either Benny or I could be in new homes. But I stayed silent, choosing to believe he’d find us.

  “I just wish we could go with you,” I’d whispered. I’d said it a million times, but it was all I could manage now. Anything louder would shatter the façade I was keeping together. I’d smiled down at Benny through my tears. He was using Daniel’s legs as a motorway for his cars. He was lost in his own fantastical car race. I wished we could shrink and jump into one of those cars so we could all drive out of here together.

  “Here, I’ve got something for you,” Daniel had said. H’d glanced out the door before getting up and pulling a small box off the shelf. I hadn’t even noticed it there. He’d brought it over. “I can’t explain it now . . . but it’s a way to find me later. Just . . . keep it. Don’t lose it. Wear it.” He set the box behind me and grabbed me in a big hug. “We’ll be okay,” he whispered.

  That was our last conversation. I wish he was here now to help me feel better about leaving. What’s the alternative, really? Sneak Benny into my luggage?

  On the back of my necklace is an inscription: “Every door has a key.”

  Well, it doesn’t seem this one does. I touch the little knob . . . the tiny ivy vines climbing the door, wrapping around the window.

  It may not have a key, but it does have a window.

  I know what I’m going to do.

  3

  “Shhh Benny,” I whisper, as I make him sit up.

  His head rolls in a sleepy lull and his eyes struggle to lift.

  “Sweety, we gotta go.” I scoop him into my arms and lift him to his feet. I try to set him on his own feet but his knees crumple so I tighten my hold. I lay him back down and grab the bag I had packed for us. My favorite jeans, some T-shirts, our IDs, and my letter from Daniel tucked inside. And my journal.

  I grab Benny’s favorite stuffed tiger, a handful of his clothes, and his favorite toy cars and add them to my backpack. That’s all we can fit. I loop my arms through and swing it onto my back. I scoop up Benny with his favorite blanket and cuddle him close to my chest. I take a deep breath.

  In so many ways, he still smells like Mom. Like home.

  A few days after her visit, Miss Harrison called to tell me I’d move in with the Hansen family a week before my sixteenth birthday. The magic age by which the Agency has determined that all orphans should be in a Forever Home is sixteen. Last year it was seventeen. Next year it’s fifteen. The year after that it will be fourteen years old.

  They are coming for me.

  But not for Benny.

  Why doesn’t she get it? I’m not leaving without him. So, this is my alternative. Scoop him up in the deepest dark of the night and run away. Getting out of the house unheard will be hard enough. Staying out of the Agency’s sight after that . . . well, I’ll cross that bridge as it comes.

  Ever since the Agency stepped in to make our streets safe again, no one ventures out after curfew. To do so would warrant a short interrogation and a long stint in jail. All acts of independence from the law are seen as rebellion from the greater cause, the efforts of our struggling reformed nation to remain autonomous. There’s no tolerance for it.

  Not even a teenage girl escaping to stay with her brother will be tolerated. But I have to do it. I have to try.

  “Don’t worry, Meagan,” Miss Harrison had said, “Benjamin’s in great hands here with the Kruses, you know that. You’ll see him as often as you want.”

  I can’t help but wonder if they fed that same line to Daniel. If it wasn’t true for him, why would it be for me?

  I take another deep breath of Benny as I move quietly toward the bedroom door. I’m careful to scoot aside the barricade of toys and books that threaten to imprison us in this room. I take Benny to the bathroom and lock the door.

  Each of our doors and windows have alarms, except for the one in this bathroom. It’s needed repair for a while. One major problem: the base begins at my eyeballs . . . and it’s about the size of Benny’s small frame. How I’ll get through it with him is a mystery—especially a sleeping Benny—but we have to do it. He starts to stir a little on my shoulder, and mumbles something about pancakes and Mommy. I can’t imagine he remembers much about Mom; he was so young then. But her pancakes were to die for.

  “Sweety,” I whisper again, “we’ve gotta get through this window, whaddya think?”

  He mumbles some more and tosses his head. I lay him on the floor so I can better inspect the window. I grab his stool and stick it in the tub. I climb inside and slide the window up to reveal the screen. I already did this earlier when I showered, to see if it was possible.

  We’re going for it.

  I pop the screen out. I hesitate with it for a moment. If I set it in the tub . . . I can put it all ba
ck together and pretend I never considered this.

  I toss it out.

  My head and shoulders fit easily through the small opening . . . it’s my hips I’m worried about. I glance down at the ground outside. It’s damp and grassy but not a bad fall, probably a five-foot drop.

  I climb down and tiptoe back to Benny. “Honey, I need you to wake up. You’ve got to climb through the window.” I go to the sink and wet my hands with cold water. I wipe them on his face.

  He opens his eyes, squints, and says, “Meg? Are we in the bathroom?”

  I smile. “Yes, love. We’re going on an adventure. Just you and me. We’re gonna go find Daniel and be our own Forever Home. Can you do that for me?”

  His eyes lift up to the screenless window. “Is Mama Kruse coming with us?”

  My heart sinks a little and I say, “No sweetie, she has her own Forever Home already with Papa Kruse. But we’ll write to them, okay?”

  He nods slightly. “Can I bring my book?”

  Oh shoot. His book. The one Danny gave him. I should’ve thought of that!

  “Benny, we’re in a hurry. Can I get you a new one?”

  “Nooooo,” he whines, “I want my book! Pleeeeease?”