Sara Lost and Found (13 page)

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“Sneaker okay?” Anna is sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs. Her pink flannel nightgown has little green flowers all over it. She pokes a finger through a buttonhole. It's morning. We've just finished breakfast and are getting dressed. Mrs. Craig called to say that she's on her way over to take us to our new foster home.

“I don't know if she is or not,” I answer, surprising myself. Usually I make something up so she'll feel better. “I hope she's okay.” I sigh.

When Mrs. Craig arrives and says she's ready to take us, Anna and I refuse to come downstairs.

“Anna! Sara! All this way she has come, and you hide on the steps?” Rachel scolds.

I know Anna's feeling what I'm feeling. Ben once told us that if we ever get scared, we should go to a place in our minds that's safe—a place where no one can hurt us. I realize that the safest place of all is here at the Silvermans'. The very place we can't stay.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Rachel ushers us to the kitchen. “You and the girls should help yourselves to doughnuts,” she says to Mrs. Craig. “I'll gather the rest of their things.” Her large legs make a familiar
swoosh, swoosh
noise, reminding me how much I will miss hearing her shuffle about.

Anna grabs a doughnut and hugs Abby. When Mrs. Craig sits next to her, Anna raises Abby high and roars like a lion.

I laugh. Since Mrs. Craig didn't hear Ben's story, she doesn't understand Anna's roar, but she laughs with us.

Rachel soon appears, out of breath, in the doorway, holding up two bags of clothes.

“Where's Ben hiding himself?” Mrs. Craig asks, looking around.

“Ben! Come in here and see the girls off,” Rachel calls, puttering around the room as if she half expects him to jump out from behind the table or chairs.

“There you are!” She shuffles to the doorway and holds his arm.

I frown, wondering why Rachel is acting so strangely—and why does Ben take her hand and walk over to us, as if Rachel can't make it on her own?

“So, you're leaving, are you?”

I look up into his brown eyes. They sparkle as usual, but there is a flicker of sadness in them.

“Look what I have here for the each of you.” He holds out his free hand—a bear paw, cracked and stained from grease and work.

“Pennies?” I say, trying to hide my disappointment.

“Not just any pennies,” he says, letting go of Rachel's hand and giving a penny to each of us. “Lucky pennies. Turn them over.”

I squint to see what's on mine. “What is that?”

“A wreath of wheat. Wheat is—what in English do you say for—?” He turns to Rachel and says a word that sounds like
par-noo-silly.

“Prosperity,” offers Rachel.

“Yes. Prosperity! Money can buy many things, it's true. But prosperity grows out of generosity and finding good in ourselves and others.”

“So, where did you find these?” I slip my penny in a pocket.

“Where?” Ben gathers us close. “I will tell you the story of where. When I left Russia many, many years ago to come to America, I was separated from my family and did not know if I would ever see them again.”

“Just like us,” I murmur.

Ben looks at me. “Yes, just like you and Anna,” he says gruffly. “So, I was on one hand happy to go, because I wanted to come to America. But on the other hand, sad—leaving my family behind. You understand about that?”

Anna and I nod.

“It is a long, long way across the ocean to New York, and I will never forget.” He pauses, and his eyes get a faraway look in them. “You know how it is when you get carsick, Sara? Well, I was seasick the whole time we crossed the Atlantic—all ten days! The food was horrible, and I lost a lot of weight. You would never know it now by looking at me, eh?” He pats his belly, and a low laugh rolls out of him.

His eyes again glaze over and his voice softens, as if he's in another place and time. “After the boat dropped me and all the other immigrants off at Ellis Island and I had to answer questions and more questions, then suddenly we were free. But who knew what freedom was? I stepped onto the ferry to Manhattan, and, just like you with these little bags, the clothes on my back were the only things I had to my name.

“What I gave you,” he says, clasping our hands, “were the first two pennies I earned in America. They were shiny and new back then. Look at the date—nineteen hundred and twenty-three. They are very old, those pennies. Later someone told me pennies are good luck. And for me, maybe that was true.

“I did all right for myself and my family,” he adds, winking at Rachel. “Now I am passing on to you something old to take with you on your new journey. Who knows who had those pennies before me? But I took care of them all these years, waiting to give them to someone special.”

I finger the penny in my pocket, wondering if there is any luck left in them for me and Anna.

“Thank you, Ben. You too, Rachel. We'll miss you.” I give Ben a big hug. For all I know, it's the last time I'll ever see or hug him again. “I'll keep mine forever,” I promise, hoping it's a promise I can keep.

It will be like having a part of him with me.

AS WE DRIVE OFF, I
hear a familiar soft popping noise and look over at Anna. She's pulling her doll apart. She's hardly spoken since the near accident, and there's an absent look to her eyes, as if there's no roar left in her. One by one, I collect the pieces and put her doll back together.

“We have to make one stop,” Mrs. Craig says, checking her watch. “I was going to do this later, but I'm running a little late, so we'll take care of it before we go.”

I stare out the window, not paying much attention to her chatter. At the corner, a man is selling flowers. Big, long, purple ones.

“Look at those beautiful irises. Should I buy some for the Chandlers? You'll really like Edith and Dan.”

Great. Another Dan, another dad.

The flower man walks over to the window, and Mrs. Craig buys two long stems of flowers that are stuck together at the bottom.

“You pay just one,” the man tells her, smiling. He has a front tooth missing.

“How nice. Thank you.” She hands him a dollar and pulls away from the curb full of flutter. “A twin bulb!” she bubbles. “What a lucky draw!”

I glance at Anna. Like me, she has no clue what Mrs. Craig is talking about.

“Flower bulbs like these are called perennials. They die down in the winter but come back every spring. And sometimes”—she clicks on her turn signal—“they are separated to help them grow.” She waits for a car to pass, then makes another turn.

I look at the flowers. “How do you separate them?”

“Well, actually, you just pull them apart. It doesn't hurt the plant. It just makes two plants out of one.” She slows and puts her signal on a third time.

I stare out the window at the littered street, listening to the
click-click-click
of the signal. Fall is here. School will start up soon. I wonder where we'll be—at a new school? In a new house? Will we be home, with Daddy?

As we drive, Mrs. Craig drones on and on. It's the same story I've heard many times before. How nice the new family is. How much they are looking forward to having a sister for their little boy, and that all he wanted for his sixth birthday was a big sister. How his name is Kevin, but everyone calls him Kev, and isn't that cute?

“A sister—?” I start to say, when we turn onto an unfamiliar street. I look over at Anna to see if she's alarmed too, but she has fallen asleep. I look back up at our caseworker.

“Sara,” she says in a low, creepy voice that scares me. Anna should be awake and hearing this. Mrs. Craig never whispers. “I know it's hard for you to take care of Anna.”

She was right. Anna takes a lot of energy. I glance at my sister looking all peaceful and back at Mrs. Craig.

“Everybody needs a break, now and then. You know, to relax a little and—”

“You mean like Mama,” I whisper hotly. “Did she need a break from us so bad that she had to run away? Maybe they're called breaks because broken things need them.”

I look down at my hands, then shoot a side glance at Anna. She doesn't look broken when she's sleeping, but she's definitely broken when she's awake. What about me? Am I broken?

Mrs. Craig keeps talking but my thoughts talk louder.
There's all kinds of broke,
I remind myself.

“Do you see this is the best solution?”

“I guess.”

A smile breaks her smooth face into curved lines and dimples. She takes a deep breath and relaxes her shoulders. “I knew you'd understand,” she says, turning her wrist to look at her watch.

“Oh no! The time. We need to get a move on.”

“If your watch broke, you'd need a break,” I tell her, and she laughs, waking up Anna.

“You might be right, there, Sara. My watch is my compass. I have over one hundred cases a week to process, so I'm glued to time.”

“One hundred cases of what?”

“Kids needing homes.”

Before I can get the image of kids packed into boxes out of my head, she turns into a parking lot.

“Where are we? What is this?”

“We're on the west side of Maple View Center, the residential treatment place I was telling you about, and this is where Anna will live for a while,” she says, pulling up to the front door.

“Why just Anna?” I ask, my voice shaking. “Why can't I stay here too?”

Mrs. Craig turns and looks firmly at me. “Sara, we talked about this. It's a special place for Anna.” As she talks she punches in a number on her phone.

“You talked, you mean.” Two men come out of the front door and walk toward the car.

“Sar—”

“Run, Anna!
Run!”
I shout, before Mrs. Craig can finish her thought. I push Anna out the door. She turns back to the car, crying. “Abby! Abby!”

I toss Abby to her. “Run! They're going to lock you up! Run!” I jump out and rush over to grab my sister's hand, dragging her past the car, but the attendants have already reached us. One of them clamps a hand around my arm, and I fight to get away. The muscle in my arm burns. He tells me not to worry, that everything's going to be okay, but I barely hear him. All I can hear is Anna saying—doing—nothing! The other attendant kneels down and puts an arm around her. She doesn't scream. She doesn't spit. She doesn't bite. What's wrong with her? Of all the times to act normal.

I kick and scream, biting and clawing at the air. “Let me go! Let me go!”

Anna droops like a rag doll—no fight left. She clutches Abby. One arm, I notice, is missing.

“You lied! You lied to us!” I scream at Mrs. Craig. “You said we were going to a new house!”

“Take deep breaths, Sara.” Mrs. Craig turns to the attendants. “I'm so sorry. I meant to drop Sara off first, but . . .” She turns to me. “I know this will be hard for a while.”

Every word she says feels like a nail being hammered into my skin. Hard?
Hard?

“Like we talked about in the car, Sara, Anna has to stay here for a while. She needs special care, and the nice people here will give it to her. The Chandlers—”

I start kicking the guy holding me as another attendant leads Anna away. In a matter of moments, Anna is gone.

When the door closes behind her, something closes inside me, too. “You can't do this!
Help!
Somebody!
Help! Help!”
I shout, but nobody comes running to help.

Mrs. Craig opens the car door for the attendant, who stuffs me into the backseat and belts me in. Then Mrs. Craig hastily walks around to the driver's side.

I fight to get the buckle unbuckled and hear the distinctive
click
as the doors are locked, trapping me in the car.

“You can't do this. You can't hold me against my will. Wasn't that one of the rules in the Foster Youth Bill of Rights they read to us at the Cottages? You can't lock me in a room,” I add, looking back at the residential treatment center getting smaller and smaller. When we turn a corner, it disappears altogether.

“You are right, Sara, but there was also the part that says, ‘Your foster care provider may impose reasonable restrictions . . . if they determine that any restrictions are necessary to keep order, discipline, or safety. . . .”

I clench my hands together. “What are they going to do to her?” I look out the back window, hoping to see Anna running down the street after the car.

“The specialists will test Anna, and she'll eventually be placed in therapeutic foster care. That's like a home for special people.” Mrs. Craig stops at a red light and looks back at me, but I stare straight ahead, fuming inside.

“It's green,” I almost shout, and she turns back, stepping on the gas.
Special?
“Isn't that what you called jail? Special? There's nothing special about that place.” I gulp down tears. “When will I get to see her?” My throat is raw and sore from screaming. Where is Daddy? Why can't he drive up
now
and save her?