Chapter 10 - The First Night Home
Thomas and Clare bought the accessible brownstone.
Not because they wanted to erase Emma’s home.
Because neither could reasonably retrofit the old townhouse without turning it into a construction site for a year.
The new place had:
A ground-floor bedroom.
Wide doors.
Roll-in shower.
Low kitchen section.
Small residential lift.
A back patio level with the living room.
Thomas designed nothing extravagant.
Clare stopped him from installing automated doors everywhere.
“She can open doors.”
“I like technology.”
“She likes independence.”
Fair.
Elise arrived with two bags.
One wheelchair.
Bear.
A box of medical supplies.
And a folder bigger than her torso.
Nurse Ada stayed three hours.
The placement caseworker stayed two.
Then everyone left.
Elise watched the door close.
Thomas’s chest tightened.
“Dinner?”
“No.”
“French toast?”
“No.”
“Emergency.”
Clare said:
“Mac and cheese?”
Elise nodded.
She ate six bites.
Then asked:
“Where do I sleep?”
Clare showed her room.
Not Emma’s furniture.
New bed.
Low shelves.
Stars on one wall because Elise chose them during a pre-placement visit.
She looked around.
“Is this mine?”
“For as long as you’re staying.”
Thomas hated the phrase.
Maya required accuracy.
Elise nodded.
“Can you take stuff out?”
“Your stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Only if you ask or if it’s dangerous.”
“What if I’m bad?”
Clare’s face changed.
“Still yours.”
“What if I yell?”
“Still yours.”
“What if I break something?”
Thomas said:
“We talk about what broke.”
“What if I don’t like you?”
He smiled.
“Devastating, but still your room.”
Elise looked down.
“Okay.”
At midnight Thomas heard wheels.
He found her in hallway.
“Everything okay?”
She held Bear.
“Can’t sleep.”
“Pain?”
“No.”
“Want water?”
“No.”
“What do you want?”
She stared at front door.
“To know if car is there.”
Thomas looked.
“My car?”
“Yes.”
“Come on.”
They went to window.
His car sat below.
Elise nodded.
“Okay.”
“Why?”
“The Parkers packed at night.”
Thomas felt sick.
“Did they leave while you slept?”
“They took me back in morning.”
She rolled herself toward bedroom.
Thomas said:
“Elise.”
She stopped.
“I’m not going anywhere tonight.”
She looked over shoulder.
“Okay.”
Not trust.
Information.
Enough.
The first week was messy.
Elise refused one medication because it tasted bad.
Thomas argued.
Clare read the care plan and found it could be mixed with applesauce.
Elise won.
A transfer went wrong and Thomas nearly dropped her.
He panicked more than she did.
“Stop saying sorry.”
“I almost dropped you.”
“You didn’t.”
Clare laughed.
“Architect has weak arms.”
Elise agreed.
They developed routines.
Clare handled morning catheterization assistance because Elise preferred her.
Thomas handled bedtime.
Not because gender rule.
Choice.
At the thirty-day review, Elise told caseworker:
“They still live here.”
The caseworker smiled.
“Do you want to stay?”
Elise looked suspicious.
“Yes.”
That night Thomas cried in shower so no one saw.
Clare saw anyway.
She said nothing.
Then Voss’s Northbridge records arrived.
The $1.2 million reserve investment had produced losses of $380,000.
Worse:
Voss’s advisory company received $92,000 in fees connected to the investment.
Self-dealing.
And he had never disclosed conflict to probate court.
Sarah’s case strengthened.
Then she found another transfer.
$450,000.
Destination:
St. Michael’s Capital Support Fund.
Thomas stared.
“Voss donated to orphanage?”
Mrs. Dupont had no idea.
The money had been given through an intermediary foundation three years earlier.
It funded the physical therapy wing.
Voss had indirectly paid the orphanage caring for Elise.
Why?
Bribe?
Guilt?
Or something else?
Mrs. Dupont looked horrified.
“We thought it came from Mercer Children’s Foundation.”
It had.
That foundation was controlled by Voss after Helen Mercer’s death.
Sarah said:
“Do not assume this was to help Elise.”
Thomas asked:
“Then what?”
The grant agreement contained a clause.
St. Michael’s had to notify the foundation of any change in legal guardianship status for children receiving designated complex-care support.
Elise was one.
May you like
Voss had built himself an alert system.
Every time someone tried to adopt her, he knew.
