The Liverly

IV

The next few days are a blur as I get used to both my new routines and the other people in the house. Tyrell works at a local hardware store while attending night classes at a college a town over. Ms. Husby has a knitting club every other night as well as luncheons, cook-outs and various other food-related activities with her church small group. Caleb...never leaves the building. That's a slight exaggeration since he left once to go get that third key made, but that was it. Most of the time he either stays locked in his room or downstairs in the kitchen, eating. I try to stay clear of him since he just confuses me. I can't figure out if I think he's a hobo or cute. He's somewhat both, but don't tell him I just said that.

For the most part, I clean and try to stay out of everyone's way. Tyrell is pleasant to talk to when he isn't half asleep from exhaustion, and Ms. Husby talks too much. She's a nice lady, don't get me wrong, she just talks a lot. Caleb rarely speaks which (really annoys me) is nice. We just skirt around one another, only speaking when it's absolutely necessary.

I want to make this work. I haven't had friends in a long time, and these people seem nice. I think I can grow to like them, maybe even more, if I try. I'm so scared to try, though.

I've already unpacked everything necessary after my third day of being here, but I wasn't sure what to do with my stack of papers. I sit down next to the pile, my life in pictures. Not all are photographs. Most of them aren't. I don't own a single photograph of my life as a kid because I never went home after what happened.

An elderly man in Kansas found me on the side of the road and couldn't get me to say anything about my family or home. He took me to the police who grilled me. I lied to them, told the I didn't know where I was from or who my parents were. I didn't want them to get hurt like mom, dad, and Gracie. The doctor they took me to said I was fine, but it seemed like I had blacked out my memory. The cops couldn't do any kind of fingerprinting test on me because my hands are too scarred to get a print. They said it looked like someone did it on purpose to hide my fingerprint, but a few of them whispered when they thought I wasn't listening that it looked like someone cut up my hands for fun. I don't remember really what happened other than screaming a lot and hurting. I try not to think about it. Since no one could ever figure out where I was from, I was put in foster care.

Before you start bemoaning my fate, let me stop you. I was lucky. You hear awful stories about kids and teens in foster care, but not every place is like that. I was lucky enough to be placed with a family who took care of me.

The framed photo of my foster family is on top of the pile. The Walkers are on either side of me, smiling. They wanted to adopt me, but I left before they could. Guilt courses through me and I grimace. I stole from them after all they did for me. I hate myself for it. I hate that I left, that I had to leave them. They were so kind—I could almost imagine they were my real parents. But...I couldn't stay. I couldn't risk them getting hurt.

I was still living too close to where they had found me, and that whole area gave me the creeps. Also...he was there. And that horrid place. I never want to go back. Ever ever.

I don't know if the Walkers looked for me. I took all the cash they had in the house while they slept so no one could trace me—I hope—when I ran. I made it to the Greyhound station, paid for my ticket here, and left. A day later, I wind up here. I look around at the brightly lit room and listen to Ms. Husby and Tyrell talking downstairs. Their voices twist around the stairs and come in, beckoning to go down and spend time with them instead of digging through this blackhole.

I take out the frame and gently remove the drawings underneath, spreading them out until the floor is completely covered in paper. I made sure to ask Ms. Husby permission to hang my drawings, and her response was to give me poster putty to tack everything up. She said this way it would look professional. I guess she didn't want tape all over her walls, not that I blame her.