He had been twenty.
Busy with his girlfriend.
Finishing school.
Looking toward his own life.
He had listened just enough to be kind.
Not enough to remember.
Claire wiped her face.
“Why were you fostering?”
Margaret smiled sadly.
“Because I wanted more children.”
Daniel looked up.
Margaret had never said that so plainly before.
She and her husband had tried for years after Daniel.
There had been two miscarriages.
Then surgery.
Then quiet acceptance.
When Daniel left for college, the house became unbearably empty.
A woman at church worked with foster families.
Margaret and her husband trained.
They received short-term placements.
Two brothers for three weeks.
A baby for nine days.
Then Claire.
“What happened to the others?” Claire asked.
“They moved where they were supposed to move.”
“You didn’t want to adopt them?”
“One went to an aunt. The baby went back to her mother.”
Margaret smiled.
“You were different.”
Claire looked down.
“Why?”
“You stayed long enough to stop asking where your bag was.”
Claire’s eyes closed again.
Margaret continued.
“The first month you slept in your clothes because you thought you might have to leave before morning.”
Daniel looked at his wife.
Claire said nothing.
“You kept shoes beside the bed,” Margaret said.
Claire whispered, “Edith said I made that up.”
Margaret froze.
