I'm Crossing The Ocean || Mullette

Chapter Twenty-Four: Alone

Lafayette|First Person

Exactly one week after my grandfather's death I am moved from the group home to a permanent foster home where I will be living until I turn eighteen. Three weeks from the last day of school I am packing up my dwindling belongings into my suitcase and duffel bags to load up into Mr. Morel's minivan. His babbling two year old little girl sits in the back in her carseat because Mrs. Morel had a meeting to attend this afternoon, leaving him to babysit. 

I sit in the front seat, not saying much as we drive to my new home. I didn't talk much at the group home either, so Mr. Morel isn't surprised. He and his wife were apparently so sympathetic to my case when they heard from a friend of theirs- who works looking for places for kids like me- that they decided taking me in for a few months couldn't hurt anything. 

No one mentiobed my grandfather after I signed the papers that would leave me what was left after taxes and whatnot once I was of age. No one wanted to upset the poor orphan boy who had been an orphan since he was born, but was now even more alone than he could ever imagine.

I didn't hear any of what happened that afternoon except from Erica who told me that my grandfather had a heart attack and collapsed in the kitchen, hitting his head on the counter and knocking himself unconscious. He died shortly after I was pulled from his side. 

Erica was also treating me with kid gloves like everyone else. I could handle the pity from the case workers and the Morels, but from her it was almost unbearable. 

I don't want to talk about what happened, but I don't want to pretend that it didn't. I just want to be left alone most of the time. Every time I wake up, I only have the overwhelming urge to go home, but then am painfully reminded that I no longer have a home. I just have Erica and the Morels and Hercules. 

And Hercules is an ocean away. He's never felt so far away, and I've never felt so absolutely alone. 

I stare out the window as we drive, my knees tucked up against my chest. I've had this awful empty, gaping hole feeling there since the paramedics arrived a week ago. The only thing that seems to dull it is making sure my arms are wrapped tight around my body- almost like it's squeezing everything together so that the hole doesn't seem so big. 

"Here we are," Mr. Morel says cheerily as we pull up into the driveway of a beige townhouse in the middle of a block of other townhouses. He clicks open the garage with a remote clipped onto the visor above him and parks to the side to leave room for another vehicle. "We're getting the floors in the kitchen redone, so I apologize for the mess," he mutters, already beginning to to open his door. 

I've noticed that he speaks in broken French if at all, and his accent is American- somewhere southern. He mentioned once that he was from Georgia, but I wasn't paying enough attention to retain anything else. His wife, on the other hand, is a Paris native. She's inherently motherly and speaks in a soothing French accent to everyone she encounters. 

I climb out of my side of the car, trying to ignore the hole that widens again as I stand. Instead, I focus on gathering my bags while Mr. Morel unbuckles his daughter from the backseat. She coos in his arms as he hoists her onto his hip and shuts the door behind himself. 

"Alrighty, I think it's naptime, Alice, don't you think?" He coos back, as his daughter grins up at him. 

I follow behind them into the house, which opens up into the kitchen and then to the living room. The whole house is plastered with family photos. Pictures of the Morel's wedding, pictures of Mrs. Morel when she was pregnant, pictures of Alice from the day she was born, all the way up to her second birthday party. Every inch of the walls are covered. 

"I'll show you your room real quick, and then I have to put this one in her crib for a nap," Mr. Morel says- half talking to me and half talking in an adoring voice to his child. I don't say anything, just drag along my bags behind him up the stairs and down the hall to a mostly-empty bedroom. 

He leaves me to get settled in and takes Alice down the hall to her room. I stare for a while at the plain grey walls, not decorated with happy family pictures or artwork. There's just a set of brown curtains against the window and a mirror hanging above the dresser. Even the bedspread is a dull off-white color. 

I heave my duffel bag up onto the dresser and lean my suitcase against the foot of the bed before sitting beside it. I rub at my eyes tiredly and then wrap my arms back around my chest. I need a nap- or a hug. I'm not sure which one. 

I scoot back to lean against the wall, kicking off my sneakers and pushing them onto the floor with my toes. I curl into a ball on my side and sigh into the pillows that smell like a strawberry that's been soaked in hand soap. My eyes droop a little, and eventually, I let them close. 

===

I'm awoken by Mrs. Morel's gentle voice and her light hand on my shoulder. 

"Lafayette," she murmurs. "Réveille mon chéri," she urges. I force my eyes open and blink blearily at the wall and then up at her. She smiles warmly. "Mr. Aero is here, he wants to talk to you," she tells me. 

I sit up slowly and glance around the room. Behind her is my caseworker in his signature charcoal grey suit getup. I don't think the guy has changed his clothes since he met with me the first time at the police station before taking me to the group home. Nor do I think that he's smiled once. 

Mrs. Morel steps aside to let Mr. Aero approach. He sits awkwardly on the end of the bed and doesn't say anything until my new foster parent has left the room and shut the door behind herself. He clears his throat scratchily and flicks through a few papers clutched in his hands. 

"Bonjour," he greets. I don't say anything. He sighs and looks up out the window before glancing back at me. "Lafayette, I have some bad news," he admits. I pinch my fingers together nervously. "I was looking through your file and I saw that you spent some time in New York earlier this year." 

I look down at my lap and force myself to swallow anxiously. This could go so many ways that I'm not sure what to be afraid of. 

"I called the woman you stayed with- Anna Laurens," he continues. "Lafayette," he pauses and I can feel his sympathetic eyes on me. I don't look up, I can't bear it. "You- you know you can't go visit again this summer, right? You can't leave the county again until you're eighteen."

Tears well in my eyes. I can hear Mr. Aero begin to shuffle his papers again and then stand from the bed. He says a few more things I can't quite pick up from over the ringing in my ears. I stare intently at my lap until I see his shiny black loafers disappear out of the room and the door close behind them. 

I reach for my phone then, still in my pocket where it has been since the last time I called the only number I use anymore. I gulp back my emotion while I listen to the ringing, knowing that if I cry now I'll never stop. 

"Hello? Laf?" 

His voice is like liquid chocolate- so smooth and sweet in my ears. He sounds so hopeful and concerned, and my name sounds like the most eloquent thing in his mouth.  

I open my mouth when I hear his voice, forcing out the first words since  the day my grandfather died after I left him to drown in his own blood. My voice is scratchy and croaky and isn't pretty like his at all, and the words I say are even uglier. 

"I think we should break up."

Hey, so disclaimer, I don't know if the whole not leaving the country thing is an actual thing, but you know, plot device. Also, apologies about the cliffhanger, but not really. I feel like I haven't written in so long and it feels good to get words on the screen. 
<3