At Close Range

Corrie leaned against the railing. “No one knows where José came from. He just showed up here one day when Jeannie was first finishing renovations on the place. We’ve searched and searched, but no luck, and if José knows, he’s not saying. Jeannie and Chance have moved five or six mountains to try to unravel the paperwork involved in adopting a child who has seemingly sprung from nowhere. They’re not through the wringer yet, but with the status here for long-term foster care, we all hold high hopes. Dulce was orphaned as a child and was shuffled from one foster home to another until she was so filled with attitude and distrust that she could hardly say her name without spitting at you.”

Mack wondered if Corrie knew her cadence had slipped into a storyteller’s rhythm, graceful and filled with hints of magic. He leaned against one of the large, round viga-pole supports and said, “She’ll be a beauty, that one.”

Corrie agreed and continued, “Tony has parents, but his father is in prison and his mother placed him in the foster-care system because she couldn’t handle things. He’s been in the system now for three years.”

“A lifetime to a kid his age.”

“One third of it, anyway. And Jenny’s father took off shortly after she was born and her mother’s in the hospital having her fifth child. Five children, five different fathers. Not one of them involved with their contributions to the world.”

“What about her brothers and sisters?”

“The grandmother can manage them, she says, but claims Jenny wouldn’t do anything she was told.” A sharp note edged Corrie’s normally soft tones.

“That’s the little girl who never said a word tonight, right?”

“That’s our Jenny. She’s eleven and behind three grade levels, though there’s nothing wrong with her mind.”

“And Juan Carlos?”

Corrie gave a soft chuckle. “That child is a handful. He came to us from a group home in Portales. That’s a town about a hundred and thirty miles north and east of here.”

Mack knew where it was. He’d finished his student teaching there on an exchange with Texas Tech. “What brought him to you?”

“Firecrackers in the toilets,” she said matter-of-factly, with a strange little smile. “I guess the system figured that we were so remote, we probably didn’t have plumbing, so he couldn’t hurt anything.”

“And has he?”

She looked up at him and smiled. Again, he felt that fever. “He hasn’t blown anything up, if that’s what you’re asking. Has he gotten in trouble? That’s his middle name.”

“And what about the other boy, the one with the crush on Dulce?”

“Jason? Does he have one?” Corrie asked. “I should have guessed. He’s always really quiet around her. He’s here for just a few weeks. His mother took off when he was three. His dad’s a fireman and was called up to go to one of the fires in the Northwest.”

“No relatives?”

“Not a one. Poor guy.”

Mack didn’t know if she meant the father or the son. “And Analissa?”

“She’s our resident ray of sunshine. Her parents skipped out on her years ago and her aunt’s just gone into drug rehab for the umpteenth time. The authorities found Analissa when they busted the aunt for dealing. The poor baby was literally wearing her own waste and so hungry she couldn’t keep anything down for the first three days.”

“Jeez,” Mack said. “Did they bring her straight to you?”

“After the hospital, yes. You can see why she wants promises.”

“Everyone wants promises,” Mack said roughly.

“Do you?” she asked.

Her question jackknifed through him. He felt the heat of the fire that changed his life. He heard the screams of children calling for help. He smelled the putrid-sweet scent of burning flesh.

“No,” he said too harshly, then realized his quick exclamation sounded like a denial.

“And why is that?” she asked almost lazily. Dreamily.

“Are you doing a story?”

“No. Are you ducking the question?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. He could see why she’d managed to interview the amazing personalities she had over the years. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I just don’t believe in promises anymore.”

“Miracles, but not promises?”

“If you like,” he said.

“That’s rather sad, Mack Dorsey.”

“Realistic.”

“Is there a difference?” she asked, and pushed herself away from the railing. “It’s been my experience that reality and sorrow seem to travel hand in hand.”

“That’s life,” he said, still refusing to look directly into her eyes.

“Has it always been like that for you or did something happen that made you feel that way about life?”

He didn’t dare answer her, although just being with her almost made him want to.

“Not everything is sad,” she said quietly.

“But some things are too sad to bear.” He thought of the parents waiting outside the schoolhouse that day, the way they held on to each other, as if the weight of their tragedy was pulling them down to the ground.

“That’s what Jeannie used to believe, after her first husband and baby died. We thought for a while we were going to lose her, too. When she cried, it came from her very soul, not just her heart.”

“I didn’t know,” he said. He felt as if he were choking.

“Then she moved here and found her miracle.”

“Chance?”

“And Dulce and José. This place. All of the children.”

“And you?” he asked. “Have you found your miracle?”

She turned away from him a bit. “It’s a miracle enough just being here,” she said in a muffled tone, and he knew she was avoiding his question. She had a look of such longing on her face he wanted to put his arms around her and tell her that she deserved more than just being here, that a miracle was waiting for her just around the corner. But she, who had been trained to listen for the truth, would hear the lack of faith in his voice. He kept silent, watching her tuck her hands into her loose sleeves and hunch forward, giving herself the hug he hadn’t dared give her.

“It’s cold out here,” she said.

In other circumstances, he’d have agreed, but with her standing too near him, it felt anything but cold.