Finding Perfect

Page 23

He and the teacher holding the other end obliged, spinning the rope more quickly. The girl kept up easily, laughing as she jumped.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several boys on the jungle gym. A flash of red caught his attention. He turned and saw Peter climb to the top. In a moment that was like something out of the movies, Raoul saw what was going to happen, even as he knew he was too far away to stop it.
Peter started to lower himself down. His hand slipped. Raoul took off running, the boy grabbed for the bar, slipped again, screamed and tumbled to the ground. Despite all the noise around him, Raoul would have sworn he heard the thunk of the fall. Peter landed on his arm, and Raoul knew before he reached him that it was going to be bad.
“Stay still,” he instructed as he reached the kid’s side.
Peter looked more stunned than hurt. He started to get up, then his face went pale and he gasped. Raoul saw the awkward angle of Peter’s forearm.
The boy’s face screwed up. “It hurts,” he said and began to cry.
“I know. It’s your arm. Do you hurt anywhere else?”
Peter shook his head. Tears spilled down his cheeks.
He helped the boy shift his arm against his chest. Peter screamed once, then continued crying. Raoul gathered him up in his arms and stood.
A bunch of students had gathered around. Teachers came running.
“He’s broken his arm,” Raoul said as he walked. “I don’t know if he’s hurt anywhere else. I’m taking him to the hospital. It’ll be faster than waiting for an ambulance. Call the hospital and let them know we’re coming. Call the police and see if they can meet me at the bottom of the mountain to escort us to the hospital, then find his foster parents.”
Peter weighed practically nothing, Raoul thought, hurrying out to the parking lot. One of the teachers had come with them and fished his keys out of his jacket pocket. She opened the door. He crouched down and carefully slid the boy onto the seat.
Mrs. Miller appeared on his left. “I’m coming, too. I’ll drive my own car and follow you down.” She bent down and smoothed her hand over Peter’s face. “You’re going to be fine. We’ll take care of you.”
The boy continued to cry.
Raoul fastened the boy’s seat belt. Mrs. Miller stepped back and he closed the door.
“You know where the hospital is?” she asked as Raoul hurried to the driver’s side.
“Yes.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
NEARLY TWO HOURS LATER, Raoul sat in the emergency waiting room. Peter had been seen almost at once. X-rays showed a clean break that should heal quickly. He was off getting a cast on, while Mrs. Miller waited to talk to the social worker who had been called. So far Peter’s foster parents hadn’t shown up.
“Mr. Moreno?”
He looked up and a saw a tall, blonde nurse with a chart. “Yes,” he said as he rose.
“Hi. I’m Heidi. Peter’s going to be just fine. They’re finishing up now. I wondered if I could talk to you for a minute.”
“Sure.”
He followed her into an empty examination room.
“How do you know Peter?” she asked.
“Through the school. He goes to the one that burned down, so all the kids are up at my camp. I’ve played ball with him and his friends a few times. Why?”
She pressed her lips together. “He’s very thin for his age. We have some concerns about the food he’s getting. His bones aren’t as dense as we would like. From what Mrs. Miller told us about the playground, he shouldn’t have broken a bone in that fall. Do you know if he gets enough to eat?”
He shook his head, ignoring the rage that bubbled inside of him. He had no patience for people who didn’t take care of the kids entrusted to them. He’d been through plenty of that himself as he’d been growing up.
“Are you going to do any tests?” he asked.
“We need to talk to his parents about that.”
“Foster parents,” he corrected. “He lost his parents a while ago.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Heidi said. “Now I know why Mrs. Miller wanted us to call social services. I’ll talk to the caseworker when she gets here and ask her to follow up.”
Raoul looked at her. “Are there any signs of physical abuse?”
“We didn’t see any. Do you suspect that something’s going on?”
“I was there during the fire. Peter was one of the last kids to leave. When I went to help him out of the room, he pulled away. It could have just been one of those things, but…”
“Maybe.” Heidi didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll mention that, as well. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious.” She made some notes. “Thanks for the information.”
He and Heidi walked out of the room. He saw Mrs. Miller hurrying toward him.
“Can you come to Peter’s room,” the teacher asked as she approached. “He’s not doing well.”
“What’s wrong?” Heidi asked. “He was fine a few minutes ago.”
“The cast is on and they’ve given him something for the pain,” the older woman said. “It’s not his arm.” She lowered her voice. “Apparently the last time he was in the hospital was after that horrible car accident that killed his parents. He keeps talking about them and asking for you.” She looked at Raoul. “I think seeing you would make him feel better.”
“Sure.”
“You go ahead,” Heidi told them. “I’m going to check on the caseworker and see when we can expect her.”
As Peter was due to be released in an hour or so, he hadn’t been given a room on one of the regular hospital floors. Raoul followed Mrs. Miller through the maze of hallways that made up the E.R. Peter sat up on a bed, looking small and pale. The cast went from his wrist to his elbow and was Dallas Cowboy blue. But the kid looked anything but okay as he covered his face with his free hand and tears ran down his cheeks.
“Hey, buddy,” Raoul said as he walked into the room. “What’s going on?”
“I want to go h-home,” the boy cried.
“We’re getting ahold of your foster parents,” Raoul told him.
“N-not them. I want my mom and dad.”
Raoul swore silently. This was a problem that couldn’t be fixed. He looked at Mrs. Miller, who was obviously fighting tears of her own, then back at the boy.
Raoul moved to the bed and pulled the boy into his arms. Then he carried him to the chair in the corner and sat down, holding Peter close.
The kid clung to him, wrapping his uninjured arm around Raoul’s neck and crying into his shoulder.
He was so damn skinny, Raoul thought. All bones and angles, too light for a kid his age. He held Peter, rubbing his back, not saying anything. After a few minutes, the crying softened and the kid seemed to go to sleep.
“I feel so bad for him,” Mrs. Miller whispered. “I’ve called all the numbers his foster parents left and there’s no answer. Mr. Folio’s employer said the man was out of town for a few days. But if that’s true, who’s looking after Peter?”
Raoul didn’t have any answers. He knew the situation with the boy wasn’t all that unusual. That being underage and alone in the world was never a good thing. There were excellent foster parents out there, but plenty of them were only in it for the money.
An older woman entered. She looked worn and tired, with her gray hair pulled back and glasses hanging from a chain around her neck.
“I’m Cathy Dawson,” she said, then saw Peter and lowered her voice. “Is he all right?”
“The break was clean and, according to the doctors, he should heal quickly,” Mrs. Miller said. “I can’t get ahold of his foster parents, however.”
The social worker frowned, then put on her glasses and read the papers in her hand. “I see there is also some concern about his physical well-being. He might not be getting enough to eat.” She sighed. “All right. Give me a few minutes.”
Just then Peter stirred and sat up. He blinked at Raoul, then turned.
“Hi, Mrs. Dawson,” he said, then yawned.
“Hello yourself. It looks like you fell.”
Peter nodded. “I broke my arm.” He held up the cast, then glanced at Raoul. “It’s Dallas Cowboys blue.”
“I noticed that,” Raoul said. “Are you going to let me sign your cast?”
“Uh-huh.” The boy smiled shyly.
“Good.”
Mrs. Dawson pulled up the other chair and sat across from them. “Peter, where have you been staying for the past few days?”
“With the lady next door.” He gave the name.
“How long have your foster parents been gone?”
Peter shrugged. “A while.”
Mrs. Dawson’s expression stayed friendly. “Since the weekend?”
Peter wrinkled his nose. “Before that, I think.”
“I see. Do you know when they’ll be back?”
He shook his head, then cradled his arm against his chest. “Are they gonna be mad because I got hurt?”
“Of course not,” she said firmly. “They’ll be happy you’re all right. We all are.” She paused. “You know what I think?”
“What?” Peter asked suspiciously.
“I think you probably need a little ice cream. I know they have some down in the cafeteria. If you don’t mind, I’m going to get you some.”
Relief showed in Peter’s expression. He grinned. “I don’t mind.”
“That’s very nice of you. But you know, it’s a big hospital. Would you mind if Mr. Moreno showed me the way?”
“Okay.”
Raoul wasn’t sure what the social worker was up to, but he stood and put Peter back on the bed. “I might have some silver-star stickers at my office,” he said. “I’ll check tomorrow and if I do, we can put some on your cast.”
The boy grinned.
Mrs. Miller moved toward him. “I’ll wait for you here,” she said.
Raoul followed Mrs. Dawson into the hallway.
“The cafeteria is that way,” she said, pointing.
“So you don’t need my help finding it.”
“I wanted a chance to talk to you. I assume you have people in town who know you?”
“Yes,” he said cautiously.
“Good. That will help us push through the paperwork. I know a sympathetic judge. If you’ll give me two or three people to use as character references, we can get this done in an hour or so.”
“Get what done?”
Mrs. Dawson stopped and stared at him. “Having Peter stay with you until his foster parents return and we can figure out if it’s safe for him to go back with them, of course.”
PIA ARRIVED AT RAOUL’S place at seven. There’d been so much to carry, she’d had to drive. Now she grabbed two shopping bags and headed toward the front door. He had it open before she made it to the small porch.
“What’s all that?” he asked.
“Dinner for many days to come. There’s more in the car.”
“More what?”
Poor man, she thought, handing him the bags. “Food. Word got out about you taking in Peter. People didn’t know when you’d get home, so they brought it to me.”
He was still standing there looking confused when she went back to her car for the second load. She collected the last three bags, shut her car door with her hip, then returned to the house.
“I don’t understand,” Raoul said, following her to the kitchen.
“Pia!”
She turned and saw Peter running toward her. He had a cast on his skinny forearm and had already changed into race-car pajamas.
“Hey, you,” she said, putting her bags on the kitchen table. “What happened?”
“I fell.” He held out his cast. “See.”
“Very impressive. Does it hurt?”
“No. I have drops.”
Some kind of pain medicine, she would guess. “Cool. Have you had dinner?”
Peter shook his head. “Just ice cream.”
Pia raised her eyebrows.
“Don’t look at me,” Raoul told her. “It was Mrs. Dawson’s idea.”
“A likely story,” Pia teased, then shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the back of a chair. “So, what are we in the mood for? There are lots of choices.”
She moved to the counter and started taking casserole dishes out of the various bags. “Lasagna, always a favorite. Seven-layer tamale pie.” She read each item as she set it down. “Chicken-and-noodle casserole, a vegetable bake.” She wrinkled her nose at Peter. “Probably not that one, huh?”
He laughed. “I like lasagna.”
“Me, too.” She glanced at Raoul. “Would you set the oven to three-fifty? It’s not frozen, so it won’t take long to heat up.”
He stood there, staring at her. “I don’t understand.”
She faced him. “When people heard that Peter would be staying with you for a few days, they brought food to help out. So you don’t have to cook dinner every night.”
“How did they hear?”
“Someone told them. Have you learned nothing about small-town living?”
She turned on the oven, then walked to the fridge. “Tell me the freezer’s empty, because you have food for days.”
He nodded, still looking shell-shocked.
“Why don’t you go help Peter wash his hands? You know the cast can’t get wet, right?”