I kept the telephone in my hand.
Bentley watched me from Ray’s old chair.
Maddie had finished her pancake and was rubbing syrup between her fingers.
I wanted to make the call quickly.
I also wanted Bentley to understand that I wasn't going to disappear into another room and leave him wondering what I had done.
“I'm going to contact the hospital,” I told him. “I'm going to ask about your mom.”
He swallowed.
“Will you tell them about us?”
“I'll tell them you need help.”
He stared at the table.
“Everything?”
I thought about that question.
“I'll tell them the truth.”
He looked frightened again.
I pulled my chair closer.
“The truth isn't something you need to be ashamed of, Bentley.”
He didn't answer.
I wasn't sure he believed me.
I dialed the number for Ball Memorial Hospital.
While I waited, I watched Maddie pick up a crumb from her plate.
She examined it carefully before putting it into her mouth.
That small gesture hurt more than I expected.
Children should not have to think about whether a crumb was worth saving.
The telephone rang several times.
When someone answered, I asked to speak with someone who could help me locate a patient.
I explained that I was a neighbor of a woman named Amber who had reportedly been admitted after a fall at work.
I gave them the information I knew.
Then I waited.
The person on the other end asked questions I couldn't answer.
I didn't know Amber's full medical details.
I didn't know the date of her surgery.
I didn't know whether she had been moved to another unit.
I only knew what her ten-year-old son had told me.
And I knew she had not returned home.
I gave the hospital my contact information and explained that the children were currently with me.
I could hear Bentley shifting in his chair.
He kept glancing at the telephone.
When I ended the call, he immediately spoke.
“Are they coming?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Did you tell them about Maddie?”
“Yes.”
He looked at his sister.
“Are they going to take her?”
I set the telephone down.
“Bentley, I can't promise you what every person will decide. But I can promise that I'm going to keep speaking up for you both.”
He looked at me for a long time.
Then he asked, “Can we stay here?”
“For now, you're both staying with me while I work out the next steps.”
He nodded.
It wasn't relief exactly.
It was the smallest possible permission to breathe.
I cleaned the plates while the children remained at the table.
Maddie asked for another pancake.
I gave her one.
Bentley started to divide it between them.
I stopped him gently.
“There's enough for both of you.”
He looked at the pancake.
Then he looked at me.
This time, he kept his portion.
That small decision felt important.
I wanted him to understand that eating his own breakfast wasn't selfish.
I wanted him to understand that a child could be cared for without owing something in return.
But I couldn't teach him all of that in one morning.
There was too much else to do.
I asked whether he knew where Amber kept her important papers.
He shook his head.
“What about her phone?”
“It's at home.”
“Do you know if it's charged?”
“I think so.”
“Have you tried calling her?”
He nodded.
“What happened?”
“It went to the message.”
I felt a fresh pang of worry.
“Every time?”
“Mostly.”
“Did you leave her a message?”
He looked embarrassed.
“I don't know what to say.”
I reached for his hand.
“You can tell her you love her. You can tell her you and Maddie are safe with me. You don't have to figure out anything else.”
He stared at his fingers.
“I don't want her to worry.”
That was another thing I hadn't considered.
He wasn't only frightened of losing his mother.
He was also trying to protect her from knowing how frightened he was.
I remembered the blue jar.
The money Amber had left behind.
The food she had believed was in the freezer.
She had made some preparations.
She had apparently expected to be away for a short time.
But she hadn't prepared for nine days without being able to care for her children.
I couldn't tell whether she had misunderstood the seriousness of her injuries or whether something had happened after the last call.
I refused to guess.
I would have to wait for information from someone who actually knew.
In the meantime, the children needed supervision.
They needed food.
They needed a safe place to stay.
I looked at the clock again.
The morning was slipping away.
“Bentley, when does your school day end?”
He told me.
“Does your teacher know what's happening?”
He shook his head.
I wondered whether he had managed to concentrate on lessons during the previous week.
Perhaps he had spent every school day wondering what he would find when he got home.
Perhaps he had worried about whether Maddie had eaten.
I could only imagine.
“Would you like me to let the school know you're safe?”
His face tightened.
“Will they call somebody?”
“I don't know exactly what they'll do. But we need to make sure the adults responsible for you know what's happened.”
He looked down.
I waited.
Finally, he nodded.
“Okay.”
It was a small word.
It cost him something to say it.
I could see that.
I also understood that asking him to trust me didn't mean I should expect him to stop being afraid.
Trust wasn't a switch.
It was something I would have to earn.
I put fresh water in Maddie's cup and helped her wipe her hands.
Then I looked at Bentley.
“You've done enough worrying for this morning.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
I thought that was progress.
Not because everything was better.
Because, for the first time since Amber had gone to the hospital, Bentley wasn't the only person trying to hold the family together.
I was there now.
And I wasn't going to pretend I hadn't seen what was happening.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Blue Jar, the Empty Refrigerator, and a Telephone That Never Rang Made Me Realize How Little I Knew About Amber’s Last Days
I Thought My Neighbor’s Boy Just Needed a Bathroom, Until One Quiet Morning Revealed What He Had Been Hiding
Part 5 of 20
