Maddie was still asleep when we reached the bedroom.
She had pushed one foot out from beneath the blanket and curled her fingers around the corner of the pillow.
Bentley stopped beside the doorway.
He watched her for a few seconds before stepping inside.
“She always kicks the blanket off,” he whispered.
“Then we'll put it back when she needs it.”
He walked over and pulled the blanket up to her shoulder.
He did it gently, with the careful movements of someone who had practiced making as little noise as possible.
I stood near the door and let him finish.
When he turned around, he looked embarrassed to have been watched.
“You didn't have to do that,” I told him.
“She gets cold.”
“I know.”
He touched the edge of the blanket once more, then backed away.
I had put fresh bedding on the other bed earlier.
The room was simple, with a lamp on the small table and a drawer that stuck if you pulled it too quickly.
There was nothing special about it.
But it was clean, warm, and close enough to the kitchen that I could hear the telephone if it rang.
Bentley looked at the bed.
“Do I have to sleep now?”
“You don't have to fall asleep this minute.”
“Can I just lie down?”
“Of course.”
He sat on the edge and removed his socks.
He folded them together and placed them beside his shoes.
I remembered doing the same thing as a child because my mother used to tell me not to leave clothes scattered around.
The memory came and went before I could hold on to it.
Bentley climbed beneath the blanket without taking off his shirt.
I didn't ask him why.
I pulled the chair near the bed so I could sit while he settled.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
The house made its ordinary nighttime sounds.
The refrigerator hummed.
A pipe clicked somewhere behind the wall.
Outside, a car passed and faded into the distance.
Bentley turned onto his side.
“Do you think Mom knows where we are?”
I considered the question.
“She knows you have neighbors who care about you.”
“But does she know we're here?”
“I don't know whether she's been told.”
He turned back toward me.
“Could she be looking for us?”
The question caught me off guard.
“What makes you think that?”
“Maybe she called the house and nobody answered.”
I thought of the telephone in the kitchen.
I thought of all the times I had heard it ring in my own house and let it go to voicemail because I was cooking or carrying groceries.
I had never imagined a child listening for a call that might explain why his mother had disappeared.
“She may have tried to reach you,” I said. “I can't know that yet.”
Bentley pulled the blanket higher.
“If she calls the house, will she know we're here?”
“I'll tell her.”
“What if she thinks I did something wrong?”
I leaned forward.
“Why would she think that?”
“Because I wasn't at home.”
“You were trying to take care of Maddie.”
“But she told me to stay at the house.”
His words came quickly, as if he had been saving them.
“She said to stay there until she came back. She said there was money in the blue jar and food in the freezer.”
“I remember you telling me.”
“I tried.”
His voice broke on the last word.
He turned his face toward the wall.
I let the silence stay between us for a moment.
“You did try, Bentley.”
“I didn't know what else to do.”
“You were a child in a frightening situation. You weren't supposed to know how to fix it.”
“But Maddie needed food.”
“Yes. She did.”
“And she needed me.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“She needed someone to help her. That doesn't mean you were supposed to do everything by yourself.”
He didn't answer.
I could tell he was trying to decide whether I understood the difference.
To him, the difference might have seemed meaningless.
If Maddie needed food, he had to find food.
If she cried, he had to comfort her.
If she asked where their mother was, he had to find words that wouldn't frighten her.
He had taken every need as an instruction.
I wanted him to understand that caring about his sister did not make him responsible for the things adults had failed to provide.
I wasn't sure how to explain that to someone who had spent nine days learning the opposite.
“Do you know what I want you to do tomorrow?” I asked.
He looked at me cautiously.
“What?”
“Eat breakfast.”
He blinked.
“That's it?”
“That's one thing.”
“What else?”
“Get some rest tonight. Let me help with Maddie. And tell me when you need something.”
He looked at the blanket.
“What if I don't know I need something?”
“Then we'll work it out together.”
He was quiet for a while.
Then he asked, “Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“Because I didn't tell you?”
I shook my head.
“I'm not mad at you.”
“I should've said something sooner.”
“You were trying to protect your sister.”
He swallowed.
“I thought if I told someone, they'd take her away.”
I moved my chair a little closer.
“I understand that you were scared of that.”
“Mom said it could happen.”
“I know.”
“She said when she was little, she didn't know where she was going to live next.”
His voice became very small.
“She said she never wanted us to feel like that.”
I remembered what he had told me earlier about Amber growing up in three homes in four years.
I had pictured a frightened young mother making a promise to her children.
Now I pictured a ten-year-old boy carrying that promise as if it were a rule he could never break.
“Your mother wanted you and Maddie to feel safe,” I said.
He nodded.
“I was trying.”
“I know you were.”
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“I'm tired.”
“Then you should sleep.”
He settled onto the pillow.
I reached for the lamp, but he spoke before I could switch it off.
“Can you leave it on?”
“Of course.”
I left the small lamp glowing.
Then I stood and walked to the doorway.
“I'm just in the next room,” I told him. “The telephone is with me.”
He looked toward the hallway.
“Okay.”
I stayed there for another moment.
He was watching me, but he wasn't asking me to stay.
I knew that look.
It was the look of someone who wanted reassurance but didn't want to become another person's burden.
“You don't have to be brave for me,” I said.
His eyes filled, though he didn't cry.
“I don't know how not to be.”
I had no clever answer.
So I gave him the only honest one I had.
“You can learn.”
He turned his face into the pillow.
I waited until his breathing began to slow.
Then I stepped into the hallway and left the door open a little.
In the kitchen, the telephone sat beside the blue dish towel I had carried in from the table.
I placed it on the counter and looked at it.
I had hoped that one more call would bring a clear answer.
It hadn't.
But the children were warm, they had eaten, and Bentley had finally admitted that he was tired.
For that night, I would have to let those things count.
PART 10 END
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: In the Morning, Bentley Reached for the Crackers Before He Reached for His Breakfast, and I Saw How Hard It Would Be to Let Him Feel Safe
I Thought My Neighbor’s Boy Just Needed a Bathroom, Until One Quiet Morning Revealed What He Had Been Hiding
Part 10 of 20
