 
A Place To Call Home

Adrien Leduc

Copyright 2011. Adrien Leduc. Smashwords Edition. All rights reserved.

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(Leduc, Adrien 1987- )

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

SYNOPSIS

After a harrowing escape from a bad foster home, Ron and Sarah find themselves on the streets of Toronto. Alone, and with nowhere to go, they seek refuge at a charitable shelter. Yet when the truth catches up to them, their luck runs out and the foster siblings find themselves back where they started. Will Ron and Sarah ever find a place to call home?

DEDICATION

For JM3, my beautiful, brown-eyed Irish girl who has never stopped believing in me and whose smile always brightens my day and;

For everyone searching for a place to call home

\- 1 -

MIDNIGHT ESCAPE

On a cool October night in Pickering's Liverpool neighbourhood, two figures could be seen hurrying down the walkway of 212 Primrose Crescent. A dog in the front window had his paws on the glass and was howling loudly after them.

"Hurry Ron!" hissed Sarah, the older one of the two.

"I'm trying!" replied Ron angrily, wincing every time he took a step with his left foot.

Sarah doubled back and wrapped an arm around her foster brother's shoulders.

"There, now just put your arm around my neck."

Ron did what she told him so that half his weight now rested on her.

"And just hop with your good foot."

Ron dutifully began to hop using his right foot. They made it to the end of the block, but that was it. Ron stopped, out of breath, and feeling as though he might vomit. He bent in half and touched his head to his knees.

"This is too tiring, Sair," he panted. He gripped his ankle and inhaled sharply. "I can't do this all the way to the store. My ankle..."

" _Ohhhh_ ," Sarah moaned, looking back at the Smolinski house. It was still dark - but it wouldn't be for long - not with Bowser barking up such a storm."Try to take smaller hops. Just take your time."

Ron grimaced painfully as he stood upright. "Okay...but I still can't make it all the way to the store. That's too far."

Sarah pursed her lips. "Okay. We'll skip the store..." she said, her mind searching for a solution. "We'll skip the store and...we'll hide at Mrs. Whittaker's! In the tree house! Yes! And then we'll wait until it's safe and we'll take a taxi to the train station."

The boy let out a heavy sigh. "Okay. I think I can make it to Mrs. Whittaker's."

Happy now that they had a plan, Sarah dragged her foster brother, hopping and hobbling along, until they reached the end of Primrose Crescent.

Bowser's barking had grown fainter, though it was still audible. Hank and Gloria would surely be awake by now - as would half the neighbourhood. It would only be a matter of time before Hank came after them. And if he brought Bowser...

Sarah shuddered as she thought of the Smolinski's ugly Rottweiler. If he wasn't snarling at them, he was chewing on their shoes or slobbering on their clothes. Whenever they were home, he would lock an eye on them and follow them everywhere. Always suspicious. If Ron or Sarah ever dared to shoo him away, he would bark until Hank came and inspected. Worse still, when it came to tracking, Bowser was like a Bloodhound.

Sarah flexed the arm wrapped around Ron's shoulders and shrugged off the burning feeling in her bicep. "It's just a bit further, little brother. You can do it."

They turned onto Dixie Road and pressed on. Twice Ron had to stop to catch his breath, but Sarah was patient with him.

"Does your ankle hurt worse than before?"

The young boy winced. "Yeah..."

Mrs. Cornelia - or "Cora" for short - Whittaker lived at the corner of Dixie Road and Meadowbrook Lane and it was there that Ron and Sarah had spent most of the summer with her grandchildren, Tom and Julia. Tom and Julia spent every summer with their grandmother and the kids had met at the neighbourhood park. The four quickly became friends and before long, there were sleepovers and trips to the local outdoor pool.

With the help of Tom and Julia's uncle, Charles ("Chuck"), Ron and Sarah had helped their new friends construct an impressive tree house in Mrs. Whittaker's backyard. For Ron and Sarah, that tree house had become a veritable sanctuary, a place of comfort and security far removed from the disorder and dysfunction of the Smolinski residence.

"Faster, Ron," Sarah pleaded, glancing over her shoulder, as Bowser's barking grew louder.

Was Hank coming to look for them? Was Bowser already hot on their trail?

"I'm trying," answered Ron breathlessly, tightening his grip around her shoulders.

They were nearly there. Meadowbrook Lane. The sign. She could see it. Mrs. Whittaker's.

Sarah strained as hard as she could, willing the muscles in her arms and neck to cooperate. It felt to her like Ron had gotten heavier in the last five minutes. Would they make it?

She fixed her eyes on Mrs. Whittaker's pink bungalow. It seemed to be calling them. A light shone dimly in the living room window and Sarah wondered if she might still be awake.

Should they knock on the door? Should she tell Mrs. Whittaker how awful their lives were at the Smolinski's?

Sarah quickly dismissed the idea.

She would never believe them. No one ever did.

The foster siblings hopped along in the darkness, their feet pounding against the pavement. There weren't many street lights in Pickering and Sarah was always nervous walking home, in the black of night, after making a delivery for Hank. On this night however, that darkness was their protection, and Sarah was grateful for it.

The pain caused by Ron's bony forearm pressing against the back of her neck, stirred Sarah from her thoughts.

If only they'd left sooner. Before Hank had a chance to hurt Ron this bad.

She shrugged off the pain and focused on the path ahead.

_Just one more block_.

Sarah could practically see inside the mouth of the yawning lawn gnome that stood at the edge of Mrs. Whittaker's front yard.

Surely by now Hank had discovered they had gone. How long until he came after them?

As though answering her thoughts, she suddenly heard his voice in the distance. Bowser's barking had ceased.

"Ronald! Sarah!"

Faint as it was, there was no mistaking Hank's voice. Especially when it sounded so angry - as it usually did.

He called their names again. Louder this time.

"RONALD! SARAH!"

"Quick Sarah! If - he - catches - us!"

Sarah realized that in her fear, she had slowed down, almost stopping completely.

"Let's go, Sair!"

The urgency in Ron's voice sparked a fire in her and she pushed forwards, clutching her foster brother even more tightly than before. Her brow scrunched firmly in concentration, she shook off the burning sensation in her arms and legs and concentrated on her breathing.

One. Two. Three.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

Come on, Sarah. You can do this. You can make it to Mrs. Whittaker's. You have to.

Behind them a dog barked, the sound piercing the relative silence.

Bowser.

There were now just fifty metres separating them from the tree house. Sarah could see its silhouette rising above the hedges that flanked Mrs. Whittaker's backyard.

They could make it.

Though her throat was bone dry, she managed to find her voice.

"Come on, Ron! We're almost there!"

Thirty metres.

"RONALD! SARAH!"

Hank's voice was getting louder - and closer. Sarah felt a jolt of adrenaline rush through her and with a strength that belied her skinny frame, threw Ron over her shoulder and sprinted the final distance. At the hedges she lowered Ron to the ground and pushed him through the narrow gap that they and Tom and Julia often used when they were too lazy to go around to the gate at the front.

Dropping to her hands and knees, Sarah followed him through. The branches scratched her face and poked her eyes, but after a minute she was on the other side and sucking in great lungfuls of air as she collapsed onto the grass beside Ron. A short distance to their left, the towering elm tree loomed over them.

"Quick - Ron! We - have - to - get - into - the - treehouse," she panted. "Up!"

Bowser's barking had grown much louder and it was almost deafening by the time they made it to the narrow rope ladder that hung at the foot of the tree. Sarah helped Ron secure his foot onto the first rung and together they ascended to the tree house.

"RONALD! SARAH!"

Hank's voice was certainly closer than it had been a minute ago. Had he seen them?

She didn't want to think about what would happen if they were caught.

Inside the tree house the foster siblings fell onto the wide straw bales that served as benches, practically convulsing as they struggled to regain their breath.

"Did - he - see - us?" asked Ron, his face sweating and pale.

"I - don't - know...I - hope - not."

While Ron lay on his back slowly recovering, Sarah positioned herself so that she could peek through a hole in the wood plank wall. Her mouth was dry and her lungs hurt. But they were safe.

Phew.

From her vantage point she had a perfect view of Mrs. Whittaker's backyard. It was quiet. Calm. Dark.

"Anything?" Ron whispered, still lying on the straw bale that sat against the opposite wall.

Sarah shook her head.

But then, suddenly, she saw the thing she dreaded most. Hank's head. Bobbing just above the hedges.

She froze.

He was holding a leash and looking at the ground in front of him. She couldn't see Bowser, but she knew he was there. They were standing right where she and Ron had come through the hedges a few minutes earlier.

"There's a good boy," said Hank.

The tone of his voice sounded both wicked and delighted and brought goose bumps to her arms.

"You find them boy, you find them. Find Ron and Sarah for daddy."

In the next instant, everything happened at once. Bowser, barking and dragging his leash, burst through the hedges and shot towards the rope ladder. Next, Hank, swearing and cursing loudly, broke his way through the branches and fell onto the grass. A second later, a light came on, casting a bright, yellow glow throughout the yard.

"What's happening?" Ron mouthed, his eyes wide and fearful.

Sarah put a finger to her lips, motioning for him to be silent.

The back door connecting the porch to the house squeaked open loudly and Sarah saw Tom and Julia's grandmother emerge, as tall and stern-looking as ever.

"Mrs. Whittaker!"

Hank's tone was one of surprise and Sarah could tell by the expression on his face that he was not pleased to see her.

Bowser, meanwhile, had begun to bark loudly at the base of the tree.

"Hank Smolinski," the old woman answered as she strode out to the edge of her balcony.

Enshrouded in the yellow glow of the porch light, she looked to Sarah like someone sent from the heavens.

"To what do I owe this visit? And at such a late hour I might add."

There was an edge to Mrs. Whittaker's voice that Sarah had heard only a few times before.

"Oh...well...I," Hank spluttered, "Bowser took off after a squirrel...and wouldn't you know it...he pulled me right into your backyard. Crazy mutt."

"Did he? Wow. That's mighty odd, because I can assure you that there are no squirrels in my yard at this time of night," she said, her eyes flicking towards the tree house.

Had she seen them?

"They usually get up into that big elm there for the night so they can sleep and not be bothered by creatures like _him_ ," she said, gesturing with her gaze towards Bowser who was now sat at the base of the tree, swishing his tail and moaning as he stared up towards the tree house.

"Furthermore," she continued, returning her gaze so that her eyes settled on Hank's oversized head, "if there were any squirrels in my backyard, Bowser would certainly not be welcome to harm them. They keep the crows out of my garden better than any scarecrow and so they're welcome anytime."

"Of course...of course," answered Hank quickly. "It won't happen again - and I'm sorry if I disturbed you. You were probably trying to sleep."

"Sleep?" scoffed the old woman. "Why I find that the most _interesting_ things happen during the evening hours. And I wouldn't want to miss all the excitement. Don't you agree, Hank?"

She cast a glance once more at the tree house and there was not a shred of doubt in Sarah's mind that Mrs. Whittaker had discovered them. The only question now was, would she hand them over to Hank?

"Er...yes...I suppose," he answered, slowly turning to look at the elm tree as Bowser growled and pawed at its trunk.

Hank looked up at the tree house and Sarah withdrew her eye from the spy hole.

"Would you mind if I took a look up - "

"I know Charles shares my sentiments too," said Mrs. Whittaker shrilly.

It seemed to Sarah that she was trying to draw Hank's attention away from the tree house.

"When he called me earlier today he told me that they'd caught a group of men last night preparing to rob a bank over on Brock Road. Like I said, _interesting_ things happen when _normal_ folk go to bed."

Hank coughed uncomfortably. "Yes...I suppose you're right about that. How is Chuck by the way? It's been awhile since I've seen him."

Sarah watched as Mrs. Whittaker moved closer to the edge of her balcony so that she now stood over Hank like a judge. "Well, as it so happens, this month marks his twentieth year with the force. He'll be receiving an award from the Durham Regional Police Service at a special banquet in November. Who would have imagined that the smallest boy on the Dunbarton High School football team would end up being a police captain, eh?"

"Not me, that's for sure" Hank said with what sounded like a sincere laugh. "I honestly can't count the number of times I had to scrape your son off the field."

Sarah found Hank's nice guy routine more sickening than usual. Perhaps because this time he was using it on someone she cared about.

"BOWSER!"

Hank's loud interruption caused Sarah to nearly fall off the straw bale. She managed to regain her balance though and she returned to spying through the hole in the tree house wall.

" - I would appreciate it if he didn't claw my beautiful elm to bits. Billy planted that, you know, when we first bought this place. That's a forty year old tree standing there."

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Whittaker."

"Oh, there's no need to apologize. Dogs will be dogs. I guess it helps if they've responsible owners though - but there are no guarantees in life."

Hank ignored the sting of her remark. "I mean...I'm sorry about Mr. Whittaker's passing. I never did get a chance to pay my last respects."

Sarah watched the old woman put a hand to her heart. "Bless your soul, Hank. That's very considerate of you to think of him."

Sarah had never seen Hank look as uncomfortable as he did now and she wanted to savour this moment.

"Er...yes...anyways," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he fidgeted nervously, "I really should get going...it's quite late...and tomorrow's a busy day. Say hello to Chuck for me...and congratulate him on his big award."

"Why don't you do it yourself? He'll be here on the weekend at some point. Stop in for a visit."

"Oh that's...that's nice, but...we're...we're busy this weekend Mrs. Whittaker. Gloria's got this thing to go to and the kids are playing in a soccer tournament (Sarah's eyes narrowed at this lie) and...it's just a busy weekend for us. But another time for sure."

"Oh that's too bad," the old woman sighed. "Another time perhaps."

Hank nodded and Sarah watched as he tugged on Bowser's leash and pulled him away from the tree once more.

"Anyways, Mrs. Whittaker. It's been great talking with you, but I've got to get home now and put this boy to bed," he added, chuckling softly.

Sarah cringed.

"Yes, I suppose _dogs_ need their sleep just like the rest of us."

Sarah grinned from ear to ear, sure that Mrs. Whittaker had intended the double entendre.

"Yes, they do," said Hank stiffly.

"Alright. Stop by and say hi sometime - only next time just come to the front door. It's much easier for me."

Despite the dim light, Sarah was certain she saw Hank's ears redden.

"Of course."

"Excellent. Well, good night then," said the old woman cheerfully. "Oh, and give my regards to Gloria and the kids for me too would you? It's been ages since I've seen them."

"Will do," he said, making his way to the gate.

"Good night, Hank."

"Good night, Mrs. Whittaker."

Sarah heard the gate slam shut and she listened carefully as the sound of his footsteps slowly disappeared. This was followed by several seconds of silence before Mrs. Whittaker called up to them. "You can come down now children. He's gone."

\- 2 -

MRS. WHITTAKER

"Now, did you two get enough to eat?" asked Cora Whittaker as she cleared the table.

Ron and Sarah nodded.

"Yes, Mrs. Whittaker. Thanks."

"Good. Because as Billy used to say, there's nothing worse than being hungry."

William Whittaker - or "Billy" as he'd affectionately been known - was Cora's late husband. He had passed away two years before and while Sarah had never met him, she could tell by the way Mrs. Whittaker and Tom and Julia spoke about him that he'd been a kind man. The house, despite her never having seen him there, felt empty without him.

She glanced around the kitchen as Ron helped the elderly woman rinse the dishes and load them into the dishwasher. Not much had changed since that evening in late August when they had shared a "last supper" with Tom and Julia - a giant homemade pizza topped with all their favourite fixings. There was the same pink and purple cuckoo clock. The wine cabinet with the little stained glass windows. The three-tiered fruit basket that hung from the ceiling, presently filled with apples, oranges, and bananas.

"I'll bet you two miss Tom and Julia," said Cora Whittaker once the dishwasher was turned on and humming gently.

"Yeah. A lot."

"Well, they'll be back next summer - but I suppose that's a long time to wait when you're young," she added with a chuckle. She finished wiping the counter and sat down at the table.

"Pour yourself another glass of milk there Ron and come join us."

"Okay."

As Ron hobbled towards the fridge and set about pouring a second glass of milk, the old woman turned her attention to Sarah. "So, now that we've eaten and calmed down a little bit, tell me what's been going on at the Smolinski household."

Sarah didn't know where to begin - but it felt good to finally be sitting in front of an adult who was willing to listen - and _believe_ \- what she had to say. And so she began with the very first time they'd met Hank and Gloria (and Bowser).

It had been a warm day in May and their social worker, Theresa, was in particularly high spirits. The entire drive to the Smolinski's, she had gushed about how nice of a couple they were and raved about the pool in their backyard, the sauna in the basement and all the other exciting amenities.

"They're just the most _amazing_ couple. Gloria - she's a knockout. And Hank makes a good living - he works in consulting or something like that. Anyways. Big house. All the things a kid could ask for. I just know that you two are _really_ going to like them."

And Sarah had to admit that Hank and Gloria had been very kind and generous and that their house lived up to Theresa's rave reviews.

Everything changed after the first week though - when the Smolinski's revealed their true colours.

Criminals, they manufactured counterfeit money and were members of the Redcoats - a prominent biker gang based in Durham County. The couple - well Hank mostly because Gloria was most often shopping or sunbathing by the pool - used her and Ron to deliver counterfeit money to their associates in Pickering and the Greater Toronto Area. In this way she and Ron had served as money mules for the Smolinski's.

Hank liked that they were young and didn't raise suspicions when making deliveries and Sarah suspected that this was the sole reason the Smolinski's had become foster parents.

At first, missing school to make deliveries for Hank wasn't so bad. She got to skip gym class and vaccination day. But by the end of the school year, Sarah had grown tired of it; the never-ending list of deliveries to be made meant she had no time to do assignments and study for tests. She began receiving Ds and her teachers warned her that she might be held back a year.

And the worst part wasn't her failing grades \- it was the beatings. Ashamed, Ron looked at the floor as Sarah recounted how Gloria would often strap her with a leather belt and how Hank would wail on Ron. She explained that he had pushed Ron down the stairs in a fit of rage earlier that day, nearly breaking Ron's ankle. This had been the final straw for Sarah and she decided that they needed to get out.

"But what about trying to contact your social worker...Theresa or whatever her name is? Why can't you call her and tell her about what's happening?" Mrs. Whittaker asked, perplexed.

"I called Child Services before. I called like ten times."

Ron affirmed this with a solemn nod.

Mrs. Whittaker raised her eyebrows. "And?"

"And Theresa said I was _lying_! She said that they'd interviewed the Smolinski's three times before bringing us there and that they'd passed every test. The one time that she _did_ come out to perform an inspection, Hank and Gloria turned on the charm and acted all concerned and said they'd take me to a therapist and all this, blah, blah, blah."

"A therapist?"

Sarah nodded. "Yes! Theresa and Hank and Gloria all said that I just wanted attention and that I was suffering from _attachment disorder_ and all that."

Mrs. Whittaker looked concerned. "And? Did they send you to a therapist?"

"Yes! And this woman, Doctor Leslie, prescribed me these pills and stuff."

Cora Whittaker shook her head in dismay. The skinny teenager seated before her was clearly distraught. She seemed of sound mind.

"Though you story sounds a little far-fetched \- "

"I'm not lying, Mrs. Whittaker."

" _Let_ me finish, please."

Sarah nodded and waited impatiently for the old woman to continue speaking.

"Though your story sounds a little far-fetched - Red Coats and counterfeit money and all that jazz - I believe you. I believe you Sarah Litchmore because you were over here a hundred times with Julia and not _once_ did you seem like a girl who has issues. You're a polite and respectful young woman and I've always known Hank Smolinski was a bad apple. Though I certainly never would have imagined that he'd be involved in stuff like _this_!"

Sarah and Ron exchanged a smile, happy that she believed their story.

"You know," the old woman continued, eyeing them both closely, her blue eyes blazing, "Hank and Charles were friends growing up - well until the tenth grade at least. At some point that year they had a falling out over a girl or something...I forget what the situation was exactly...it was so long ago now...but anyways, they had a falling out and never really spoke much after that. Hank and Charles both graduated in eighty-seven. His mother used to attend our church and I'd heard from her that he had plans to attend university - and that was about it. Mrs. Smolinski passed away in ninety-eight and Mr. Smolinski went the year after. Hank inherited some money and married Gloria a few years later. That would be about...oh...two thousand and two or two thousand and three. Anyways, I remember Billy coming home from the pub one night - he and his golfing buddies used to go to the pub to watch all the big tournaments - and he said to me, 'Cora, guess who I saw at O'Reilly's tonight?' and I asked 'Who?' and he told me he'd seen Hank and that they'd chatted briefly. It had been quite a few years since we'd seen Hank - apparently he'd been away in Mexico or Costa Rica or something. Anyways, Hank told Billy that he was getting married to a girl by the name of Gloria Schmidt. Now Billy was intrigued by that because he was pretty sure that she was the daughter of a Schmidt that used to work for him. Man by the name of _Gill_ Schmidt. Billy had to fire him after he discovered he'd been stealing from the company to feed a gambling habit. But this was years ago and Billy wasn't entirely sure if the Gloria was this man's daughter or not - but he seemed to think so. Anyways, that being said, when Tom and Julia brought you two here for the first time, I was _shocked_ to hear that the Smolinski's had fostered children. I took that as a sign that Hank was turning his life around. I guess I was wrong."

Sarah nodded grimly while Cora Whittaker sat back in her chair to reflect further on the matter.

"Just wait until Charles hears of this. He'll pass this information on to his buddies at the station and they'll be on those two like -"

"No!" Sarah cried. "You can't say anything! _Especially_ not to your son, Mrs. Whittaker...well, not yet anyways."

"Why ever not?"

"Because we need to find my dad first. If the police find out about Hank and Gloria, Child Services will just take us back to the group home...and that's _if_ they even believe us! We could end up back with Hank and Gloria!"

"Dear child," huffed Cora Whittaker, "the police will most certainly believe what you have to say. I'll make sure of that!"

"Well, so what then!" shouted Sarah defiantly. "All that means is that we'll end up in another foster home...and I'm sick and tired of foster homes! I want to live with my dad...and Ron wants to come too."

The old woman sighed heavily. "I understand Sarah, but in this situation -"

"No, Mrs. Whittaker. Please, I _have_ to find my dad first. Then once we're living with him, you can tell your son and go to the police and tell them everything. We'll even come with you and be witnesses."

"Sarah - "

" _Please_."

"Good grief, girl!" Cora Whittaker snapped. "Where is your dad anyways? I thought you were an orphan."

"My mom's dead, but my dad's still alive. He lives in Toronto."

"Whereabouts in Toronto?"

"I don't know...somewhere downtown."

Mrs. Whittaker looked at her with a bemused expression. " _Somewhere_ downtown? You mean you don't even know where he lives?"

"Well no...not exactly...but I know where he works! That's where I'm going to go and meet him. I have his business card and everything."

"Have you spoken to him recently?"

"Yes," Sarah lied, nodding her head. "Last week. I talked to him on the phone. He said that we could come and stay with him."

She hated lying - especially to Mrs. Whittaker - but she couldn't let Child Services take them back. She wouldn't.

Cora Whittaker looked from Sarah to Ron and back at Sarah. "Okay. But he has to pick you up here. And I want to speak with him beforehand."

"He can't pick us up," said Sarah, thinking quickly. "He doesn't have a car."

"He can take the train then."

"He's too busy. He works every day."

The old woman frowned. "What does he do that he's so busy?"

"He's an accountant."

Cora Whittaker stared squarely at Sarah. "You're fourteen years old my dear - "

"I'm almost fifteen! I'll be fifteen in April!"

" _Please_ let me finish. You are fourteen years old. That's much too young to go off wandering around the city to look for your dad - and to think that you would be responsible for your younger brother as well...," she sighed, casting an eye towards Ron as he sipped his milk, "...and with the state he's in. He can hardly walk for heaven's sake!"

" _Please_ , Mrs. Whittaker. You don't understand. And I -"

"I understand perfectly well dear girl! You two need to be in the care of a responsible adult. You will sleep here tonight and in the morning I'm calling the police and I'm calling Child Services."

"But, Mrs. Whittaker!"

"No buts, Sarah! Too many adults have let you down and I'm not about to add myself to that list!" she shouted, slapping her hand on the table. "The responsible thing to do is to get you two somewhere safe and have the Smolinski's put behind bars."

"But - "

"Sarah. That's enough. I think it's time we all went to bed. We'll get a good night's sleep and in the morning this whole thing will look a little better. Okay?"

She rose from her chair before Sarah could respond.

"You two can wash up in the bathroom (she gestured towards a door just off the kitchen) while I go and make up your beds in Tom's and Julia's rooms. Okay? I don't want any more arguing," she finished, shooting Sarah a reproving stare.

Sarah knew the discussion was over and decided not to pursue it any further. Mrs. Whittaker obviously had no interest in helping her find her dad - and she resolved to do it on her own.

"Okay," said Sarah quietly.

"Good. Now I'm going to go and make your beds up while you two get ready. There are face cloths and towels in the cubby in the bathroom. And new toothbrushes in the drawer under the sink. I want you both in bed and lights out in fifteen minutes."

Ron and Sarah nodded.

With that Cora Whittaker left the room and trudged up the stairs.

"Ron!" Sarah whispered when she was sure that the old woman was out of earshot.

"What?"

"We have to go. Tonight."

He moaned. "Ahhh, _Sair_."

"Ron."

"I'm so tired I can't even keep my head up - and all that running made my ankle hurt even worse!"

"I know, Ron. I know."

She put a hand on her foster brother's shoulder.

"But we have no choice. Mrs. Whittaker is going to turn us over to Child Services! And then we'll end up back in another home just like the Smolinski's! And if they don't believe us, we might even end up back at the Smolinski's! Could you imagine? Hank would _kill_ us. We have no proof about Hank and Gloria! They have Child Services completely fooled and you know it. Do you really want to go back living with them!?"

Ron played with his wrist watch while he deliberated.

"Okay," he said after a minute.

He looked into Sarah's eyes.

"But don't complain if I can't go as fast as you."

"Oh Ron!" Sarah squealed, squeezing him tightly.

"Okay, okay...sister cooties," pulling away. "What's your plan?"

"Well, we'll have to get a taxi...that's obvious because of your ankle. We'll leave early in the morning...before Mrs. Whittaker gets up...around five or so."

Sarah got up from the table and began pacing the kitchen floor.

"We'll go to the train station...I have both our passes in my bag..and we'll take the first train to Toronto. I think it's at six o'clock."

Ron nodded as Sarah continued.

"So we'll go to bed...you can sleep for a few hours...wrap the ice pack around your ankle like Mrs. Whittaker showed you. Hopefully that'll fix it. And I'll come and wake you around five. Okay?"

"I guess."

"No you _guess_ , little brother...it'll work. Trust me."

Ron sighed softly.

"Whatever you say. But can we just go to bed now? I'm really tired."

Sarah smiled. "Alright, go and wash up and then get to bed."

While Ron washed his face and changed into a pair of Tom's pajamas, Sarah took the phone book and the portable phone from the small bureau in the kitchen. When it was her turn to use the bathroom she carried the phone book and the phone into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the shower. She made a chair of the toilet and looked up the number for A-1 Cabs. She found it after a few minutes of searching and dialed. An operator picked up on the second ring.

"A-1 Cabs."

"Yes, hello," said Sarah, making sure that she was loud enough to be heard over the shower, but quiet enough so as not to be heard by Mrs. Whittaker.

"I need a cab for three hundred forty one Dixie Road at five o'clock tomorrow morning."

She heard the woman rustling some papers. "Okay. And where are you headed?"

"To the Go Train station."

There was a pause.

"Alright. Five a.m. There'll be a cab for you."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Bye."

"Good bye."

Sarah switched off the portable and placed it on top of the phone book. Next she undressed and showered quickly. When she was finished and changed back into her clothes, she gave herself a quick once over in the mirror.

She'd never liked her ears - they were too small and didn't fit her head - so she usually kept them covered with her shoulder-length, auburn hair. She loved her hair. It had a red tint to it - which was obviously from her mom - and was the brown from her dad? Having never even seen a picture of him, she had no idea what his hair colour was. Mind you, she'd be seeing him soon enough. So that mystery would be revealed.

Taking a face cloth from the rack, she scrubbed at a wannabe zit. She hated zits - and she rarely got them \- but when she did, they stuck out like crazy.

When she was satisfied with her appearched, and had passed a brush through her hair, she threw her facecloth and towel into the laundry hamper and tiptoed into the kitchen.

It was silent, save for the ticking of the cuckoo clock. She listened to see if Mrs. Whittaker was nearby. When she heard no sound, she moved quickly towards the little desk under the wine rack and replaced the portable and the phone book. That done, she quietly removed a box of crackers from the pantry. She hated stealing - but it was a good idea to bring a snack for the road.

With the box of crackers tucked safely under her sweater, she made her way up the stairs. She could hear Mrs. Whittaker across the hall in Tom's room, speaking to Ron, and she turned into Julia's room where she hurried to stow the box of crackers away in her bag.

Julia's room was spacious, with a desk in one corner, a bed in the other and a large closet that ran the length of one wall. The bright pink walls were heavily plastered with photographs and posters and Sarah happily recalled the evenings they'd spent putting them up. Sarah lay down on the bed just as Mrs. Whittaker knocked.

"Sarah?"

"Yeah? Come in."

"All ready for bed then?"

The old woman glanced at Sarah with a quizzical expression on her face.

"You know you don't have to sleep in your jeans, dear girl. Julia's got plenty of pajamas and night wear that you can borrow."

Sarah watched as Mrs. Whittaker strode over to the closet and pulled it open. She flicked a few hangers aside and selected a white, cotton night gown.

"Here. Try this on."

Sarah didn't want to change out of her street clothes - that would mean one more thing to do in the morning - but she also resolved that it was best to avoid giving Mrs. Whittaker any reason to be suspicious and so she decided to play along. "Uh...thanks."

"You're most welcome Sarah. Now," she paused, "I want you both to get a good night's sleep. You and Ron have had a very stressful evening and I want you to be clear-headed and refreshed for tomorrow. It'll be a busy day and we'll all have to be patient and so I want you both to be at your best."

"I understand, Mrs. Whittaker. Thank you."

"Okay. I'm glad that you're finally coming around, Sarah. In adult situations, sometimes you just have to let adults make the decisions. _Responsible_ and _caring_ adults. Not like that filth you were living with," she said, frowning deeply.

She looked at Sarah and her expression softened. "You're a smart girl and a brave one to boot - but you've done enough. You're safe now and we'll get everything squared up tomorrow and hopefully we can get you into a new home where you'll both get the love you deserve."

Sarah felt her cheeks flush and she wanted to tell Mrs. Whittaker what she really thought. That the Smolinski's would just tell Child Services that she'd made it all up. That she was on medication and had been to see a therapist (which was true). It would be just like in all those TV movies where everyone thinks the person is crazy and doesn't believe them until it's too late. Hank and Gloria had fooled Child Services the first time and they certainly could a second time. There was no way she would _ever_ return there - and she wouldn't let them take Ron back either.

She took a breath and smiled sweetly. "You're absolutely right, Mrs. Whittaker. I guess sometimes I just figure that no one cares about Ron and I and that I can only rely on myself."

She paused for effect.

"So I appreciate what you're doing for us and I know that everything will work out okay."

Her kind words were not lost on the old woman. "Why, thank you, Sarah. And I'm glad you're finally starting to see sense. I've always said that you were a bright girl and that Julia is lucky to have you as a friend."

She glanced at the clock beside the bed. "Heaven's look at the time. Almost one in the morning. Quick, let's get you into bed. You two can sleep as late as you want tomorrow - I won't disturb you. Well," she added, her eyes wrinkling with her smile, "not until nine at least. By nine o'clock kids should be up at at it."

Sarah nodded solemnly. "Alright."

"Good night, Sarah."

"Good night, Mrs. Whittaker."

The old woman left the room and shut the door behind her. Sarah waited for the sound of her footsteps to disappear downstairs, and then set Julia's alarm clock for 4:45 a.m. She hoped that would give her enough time to get her and Ron out the door by five. Ron was right across the hall - so getting to him wouldn't be a problem - it was the waking-Ron-up part that worried her.

She hung Julia's night gown back in the closet, switched off the light and crawled into bed. After tossing and turning for several minutes her thoughts drifted to her mother. She'd been dead for five years already - almost a third of Sarah's life. With her beautiful smile and cayenne-red hair - she'd looked like a movie star. Until she'd gotten cancer. Within a year, the radiation and chemotherapy had taken their toll. The image of her mother during her final days flashed before her. That sunken face...that leathery skin...her beautiful hair practically gone.Sarah reached for her necklace - her mother's necklace - and opened the locket containing her mother's picture. There she was. That eye-catching red hair. Those beautiful, blue eyes. That perfect smile. Sarah closed the locket and put the necklace back on. Finally, she took hold of one of Julia's plush giraffes, sighed, and fell into a deep sleep.

\- 3 -

FREE AT LAST!

She awoke with a start. "Love Me Lots" by Brittany Shears was playing.

Where was she?

The events of last night slowly came back to her and she vividly recalled their narrow escape from Bowser and Hank Smolinski.

She turned and looked at the alarm clock, the source of the music.

4:45.

Perfect. She switched it off and leapt out of bed.

Without making a sound, she gathered her things and stuffed pillows under the blankets so that it appeared as though there was a body in the bed. That done, she crept out of the room and shut the door softly behind her. Sarah tiptoed across the hallway and opened the door to Ron's (normally Tom's) room.

"Ron," she whispered.

He was fast asleep. She walked over to the bed and shook her brother gently.

He mumbled something and rolled over.

"Ron," she said, louder this time.

"Wha - "

"It's time to go."

Ron rolled over so that he faced her.

"What time is it?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Five a.m. The taxi should be here any minute. Come on, we have to go."

Sarah helped a sleepy Ron ( _pushed_ would be the better word) out of bed. Next she stuffed pillows under the bed covers as she had done in her room and then made sure his bag was packed and zipped up tight.

"Turn around," Ron said to her when it was time for him to change out of his pajamas.

"Oh geez, I've seen you in your underwear a hundred times already. Just hurry up and change would you?"

"Sair."

He was in one of his stubborn moods and Sarah knew it was best not to argue.

"Fine. I'll be downstairs. Make it quick."

She took his bag and using the night light in the hallway to guide her, tread quietly down the staircase. When she reached the bottom however, she heard something that made her stop dead in her tracks. The sound of a toilet flushing.

Mrs. Whittaker. In the bathroom. Just around the corner.

Sarah realized she only had a few seconds to disappear and she turned and sprinted up the stairs. Unfortunately, Ron had just begun to descend the stairs and she plowed right into him.

"Argh!"

"Shhh!"

Sarah clapped a hand over her foster brother's mouth and steered him back down the hallway to Tom's room. Once inside she removed her hand so that he could speak.

"Sair!"

His face wore a mixed expression of shock and awe.

"You almost knocked me right over! My ankle -"

"Ron," Sarah panted. "Mrs. Whittaker was in the bathroom! I'm sorry - but we're lucky she didn't see me! Never mind you almost getting knocked over. I'm sorry about your ankle," she added quickly, seeing a frown forming on the boy's face.

Ron glared at her and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"So what do we do now?"

"I don't know," said Sarah, starting to pace the room nervously, "but this is bad. If the taxi is already outside - and if we're not out there soon - the driver might get tired of waiting and come and knock on the door."

Seeing the state his beloved foster sister was in, Ron racked his brain for a solution. "Hey, let's just look out the window and check. That window," he pointed to the wall opposite, "looks right down onto the street!"

"Oh my God! Ron!" she whispered loudly. "For once, a good idea out of you!"

Excitedly, Sarah hurried towards the window and pulled back the curtains. She peered outside. The street was dark and there was no cab parked in front of Mrs. Whittaker's.

Phew.

Sarah let the curtains drop back and stepped away from the window.

Ron looked at her. "So? The taxi isn't there yet?"

"No. Not yet...but it will be soon."

"What should we do?"

"Well," said Sarah, resuming her pacing, "we'll wait five minutes. After five minutes I'll go downstairs and check. If the coast is clear, I'll signal to you to come down too. If it's not, we'll wait another five minutes."

She stopped her pacing long enough to look at Ron. "That's the best I can think of. I just hope that Mrs. Whittaker isn't up for the day. If she is, we're doomed."

"It's too early for _anyone_ to be up for the day," Ron groaned, lying back on the bed. "I'm sure she'll go back to sleep. Remember how Gloria always gets up in the night to use the bathroom? I'm sure Mrs. Whittaker is just the same way."

Sarah shot him a nervous glance. "I hope you're right."

The five minutes seemed to drag on. Ron stared at the ceiling while Sarah stood and listened at the door.

When the five minutes were up and the house felt silent once again, she opened the door. It was dark except for the pale glow emitted by the night light in the hallway.

She turned and looked at Ron.

"Bring the bags to the top of the stairs and wait there while I go down and check."

Ron nodded as he slowly rose to his feet. Sarah crept forwards and made her way, once more, down the staircase. She stepped as lightly as possible on each hardwood step so as not to make a sound.

When she finally reached the bottom, she stopped to listen. The house was silent. Using the night light in the kitchen to find her way, she tiptoed through the dark towards the kitchen. Next, she tiptoed across the granite tile floor. When she reached the corner of the wall, she stopped and peered around the corner towards the bathroom.

The door stood ajar and the light was off.

Phew.

Further down the hall, Mrs. Whittaker's door was shut tight and the space under the door was dark. Sarah felt a surge of excitement.

Finally they could get out of here!

She crept back to the stairwell and gave Ron a thumbs up. He nodded, descending slowly as he carried both their bags against his chest.

Sarah sensed that his ankle was still bothering him and hurried up the steps to take the bags from him.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"Don't mention it."

The foster siblings crept down the stairs in the darkness, Sarah with the bags slung over her shoulder and Ron gripping the banister. Working towards the same objective made Sarah feel close to her foster brother and even though living at the Smolinski's had been the worst time of her life - she was thankful Child Services had put them there together.

They reached the floor and, much to Sarah's surprise, were able to leave Mrs. Whittaker's without any further difficulty.

Outside, a bright yellow coloured cab sat idling with its lights on. Upon seeing them approach, the driver hopped out, said hello, and helped them load their bags into the trunk.

A minute later they were on their way.

_Free at last_ , thought Sarah, as she looked through the rear window and watched Mrs. Whittaker's pink bungalow shrink into the distance.

\- 4 -

THE TRAIN TO TORONTO

"How much longer, Sair?" asked Ron for what seemed to Sarah like the hundredth time.

Normally Ron's "How much longer?Are we there yet?" routine would have annoyed her - but she decided that she was in too good a mood to let it bother her.

After all, she was going to see her dad tomorrow!

Sarah glanced up at the digital clock centred on the hutch wall.

"Ten minutes Ron. It's five fifty-six and our train departs at six-o-six."

"Oh."

"We really have to get you back into school little brother," said Sarah, feeling annoyed that he'd asked her for the time when he could have just as easily gotten it himself - _especially_ when he always wore his wrist watch.

She looked at Ron, who seemed to be in a daze, staring off into space, and punched his arm.

"Ow!"

"What?"

"Why'd you hit me!?"

"Because you're getting slow. Don't you pay attention in school?"

She suddenly felt guilty for berating him, but she couldn't help it; the lack of sleep she'd had the night before was beginning to wear on her and her good mood was quickly evaporating.

"I guess so," said Ron slowly, scowling as he rubbed his arm. "It's hard to pay attention sometimes."

Sarah suspected that he had had trouble paying attention in school because he was always going to class hungry - the Smolinski's rarely fed him.

She felt guilty and resolved to be more pleasant towards him.

"Well, as soon as we get moved into my dad's, we're getting you signed up for school."

Ron turned his head so that he faced her. "And what about you? Aren't you going back to school?"

"Maybe," she replied nonchalantly. "Maybe not. I'm almost fifteen now Ron. I don't need school anymore."

Ron didn't answer, but instead sat back to reflect on this fact. Sarah, meanwhile, resumed her people watching.

The sun had yet to rise and so it was still quite dark, but the platform was well-lit and Sarah could make out several men in suits reading newspapers, a mother holding a crying baby and a group of students chatting excitedly.

Her eyes came to rest on a man slowly pushing a rickety, wire cart from one end of the platform to the other and she watched him until he was out her line of sight.

It was rather warm for October and several people were wearing shorts with their sweaters.

"Hey Sair, you still didn't tell me where you got all that money," said Ron suddenly, interrupting her thoughts.

He was curious about the money she'd used to pay the cab driver.

"Did you steal it?"

Sarah's expression remained stoic. "Maybe."

"You stole it," he said grinning from ear to ear. "You stole it from the Smolinski's. Didn't you?"

She didn't answer but tried to keep a straight face as she looked forward. She liked when Ron wanted to know something only she knew. In this moment, his curiousity was addictive, and Sarah wanted to bask in it for as long as possible.

"Didn't you? Sair. Come on. You stole it from the Smolinski's."

Sarah looked straight ahead and said nothing, but she could feel a smile tugging away at her stony facade.

"Sair. You stole it from the Smolinski's."

Finally after a few more seconds, when she could no longer control herself, she burst out into a fit of giggles.

"Yes Ron. Sherlock. I stole it from the Smolinski's. Are you happy now?"

It felt good to laugh.

"YOU!" he said.

His mouth formed an "O" and he sucked in a breath of air. His eyes were wide and his face aglow.

"Hank is going to _kill_ you if he ever finds out."

"Oh, I'm sure he knows by now," said Sarah smugly. "I took it from the safe."

"But he checks that every day!"

"Exactly."

Ron's "O" shaped mouth caused her to giggle again.

"How much did you take?"

"Enough to last us for awhile."

"How much, Sair!?"

When she didn't answer he moved closer and began to tickle her stomach - his most deadly weapon.

"Enough - to - last - us - for - awhile," she said, giggling uncontrollably now as she struggled in vain to avoid his tickles.

"Sair! Tell me!"

"Okay, okay," she conceded, pushing him back, "stop and I'll tell you! Geez."

Ron ceased his tickling. "How much Sair?"

"A thousand."

"A THOUSAND DOLLARS!

"Yeah stupid, but keep it down," Sarah hissed angrily, "People are starting to look at us!"

Ron obeyed her command and sat back, dreaming about all the candy and video games and skateboards he could buy with _a thousand dollars_.

His reverie was interrupted by the familiar _clang-clang_ that announced the impending arrival of the GO Train.

Sarah stood up quickly because she knew that in order to get a seat they would have to be one of the first to board. And to be one of the first to board, they had to get to the front of the platform as soon as possible.

"Come on, Ron. Let's go. Get your stuff."

She slung her bag over her shoulder. Ron grabbed his backpack and the siblings hurried out of the hutch towards the yellow line at the edge of the platform.

The crowd had grown considerably since they'd first arrived and Sarah had to grip her brother's shoulders to prevent him from getting jostled out of line.

Over the din of the crowd, she could hear the screeching of metal on metal in the distance and she knew that the train would come to a stop in exactly fifteen seconds.

She took the Go Train several times a week from Pickering Station in order to make deliveries for Hank and timing the train until it stopped and other games of that nature was how she amused herself.

Her frequent trips also meant that Sarah could recite every stop along the Lakeshore East line - the line that runs between Oshawa and Union Station - in order.

Moreover, she knew that it took exactly forty-six minutes to get from Pickering station to Union Station on sunny days and fifty-two minutes on days when it was raining.

As the familiar green and white Go Train approached, Sarah smiled. They were free of the Smolinski's! She couldn't believe that it was actually happening, that they were actually running away.

Just one more day until I get to see my dad.

The train rolled to a stuttering stop. A dozen passengers got off and pushed their way through the crowd waiting to get on. When it was clear, the crowd pushed forwards and Ron and Sarah squeezed their way onto the train.

Pulling Ron to the end of the car, she flopped down on one seat and set her bag on the seat beside her.

"Sit," she told Ron, gesturing to the pair of seats directly opposite.

Sarah didn't care that they got dirty looks from a few passengers for taking up seats with their bags - they deserved a bit of space to themselves after the adventure they'd just had.

Ron pulled out his video game and Sarah sat back to read the newspaper left behind by another passenger.

A few minutes later the train got on its way, lurching forward and then gradually picking up speed until it was racing along at a steady one hundred kilometres per hour.

Sarah glanced periodically out the window, taking in the passing scenery. Ron, meanwhile, had long since abandoned his video game and with his nose glued to the window and his eyes wide and enthusiastic, he marveled at all the things to be seen.

Sarah had taken the train a hundred times in the five and a half months that they'd been with the Smolinski's and she found that the scenery was simply too familiar to be interesting.

Ron however was thoroughly impressed by the massive warehouses, farmers' fields and long lines of highway traffic - highway traffic that stretched as far as the eye could see and formed a colourful rainbow of red SUVs, orange sedans, yellow trucks, and blue vans.

At six-fourteen they reached Rouge Hill. A few new passengers got on and some got off.

They got rolling again and Sarah flipped through the celeb-gossip section where she found an article about her favourite singer, Brittany Shears.

Brittany had been arrested for drunk driving again and this time the judge wasn't going to go easy on her.

_Good_ , she thought.

It was a drunk driver that had killed her mom's only brother - the one person other than her dad that could have taken her in after her mom passed away.

"Next stop, Guildwood," said the voice on the intercom.

Sarah recalled her last delivery for Hank where she'd gotten off at Guildwood Station. She'd met the client at the club house of Hampton Links golf course - a short cab ride from the train station.

The client had really surprised her - not so much by his attitude - although that was quite unusual too - but with his appearance.

Tall, blonde, and well-dressed, the man she'd called Mister A was a rarity among Hank's clients because he didn't look like the biker-type.

The majority of men (and women) she delivered counterfeit money to sported multiple tattoos and piercings, wore ripped leather jackets and had long, unkempt manes that hung down to their shoulders. But others, like Mister A, looked like regular businessmen and you'd never guess, seeing them on the street, that they were criminal bikers.

"Four more stops until Union," said Ron cheerfully.

While he rarely took the Go Train - Hank only used him for deliveries in Pickering and he always drove him to and from the exchange spot - Ron liked to hear Sarah's stories about the deliveries she had made. And whenever she told him where she'd gone on a particular day, he would consult the system map, pointing and oohing and aahing at the stations she'd stopped at and peppering her with questions.

After a few months he'd memorized many of the Go Train stations in the Greater Toronto Area.

"So where exactly are we staying, Sair?" asked Ron a few minutes later as the train rolled to a stop at Eglington Station.

Sarah looked at her brother from over the top of her newspaper.

"It's a surprise."

"Sair. C'mon. You have to tell me. I didn't have to come with you."

"Oh no?" Sarah retorted.

Ron didn't like her patronizing tone.

"No."

"So I should call Hank then and tell him to come and pick you up when we get to Union Station?"

"No!"

"What then?"

"Just tell me where we're staying."

" _Fine_...but then it won't be a surprise."

"I don't like surprises!"

"Okay, okay. Sheesh. You're worse than Gloria!"

Ron glared at her.

"We're staying at the Le Luxembourg...it's a fancy, four-star hotel downtown."

Sarah reached into her bag and pulled out a magazine page that was folded in half.

"This is the ad," she said, unfolding it and glancing at her brother before reciting the text aloud.

This Fall, why not treat yourself to a stay at Toronto's urban oasis? The four-star Le Luxembourg is currently offering guests 15% savings when you book now for stays between October first and November thirtieth. Enjoy five-course meals prepared by our team of European-trained chefs, four-hundred thread count Egyptian linen, free shuttle service to the city's main attractions, and full access to our day spa facilities. At Le Luxembourg you'll find that little slice of paradise you've been waiting for. Don't delay, book your getaway package today!

"Whoa..."

"I know! Who could have imagined that two wards of the State would stay at a four-star hotel in downtown Toronto? Did I choose good or what?"

Ron grinned, flashing the dimples Sarah had always admired.

"You chose good, Sair."

"Thanks, little brother."

"Hey," said Ron, suddenly. "How come we can't stay with your dad?"

"For the simple reason that I don't know where he lives and that it wouldn't do to just show up on his door step like two little street urchins with nowhere to go."

Sarah set down her newspaper and looked out the window. "He left my mom when I was still inside her...when she needed him most. If I'm going to be seeing him for the first time...I have to at least appear to be independent...and grown up."

"And you can do that by staying at a fancy hotel?"

"Of course. Why not? We'll invite him to the hotel for supper after we stop in at his office...it'll be our treat. He'll be impressed and we'll show him that we can handle ourselves...well that _I_ can at least...and maybe he won't mind so much when we ask to live with him."

Ron threw her a skeptical look.

"But..."

"But what?"

"It's just...you're his daughter and he's your dad...and so he should love you no matter what."

Ron's comment exasperated her.

"I know. That's obvious. But it doesn't work like that. Look...he already abandoned me once...if I'm to have a shot at winning him over...I have to show him that I'm all grown up...he doesn't want to babysit us."

"But isn't that what parents are supposed to do?" asked Ron, a quizzical expression on his face.

"Argh. You're clearly not understanding so I'm going to stop talking."

They rode the rest of the way in silence, Ron playing his video game and Sarah pretending to do the Sudoku puzzle in her newspaper.

_Maybe Ron's right_ , she thought. _Isn't a parent supposed to love their son or daughter...no matter what? Isn't a parent supposed to be a so-called babysitter...at least until their children reach adulthood?_

_Why was she defending her dad when he had walked out on them all those years ago? More importantly, why didn't she have the option to go and live with him when her mom passed away?_ _Had he not wanted her?_

She studied Ron as he tapped furiously on the buttons of his game console. Ron didn't have a mom _or_ a dad. His mom had left him crying in a church pew when he was just a baby...or so the story went, and according to him, he never did learn who his father was.

At least _her_ mom had been a parent to her.

Ron had no one.

A wave of guilt flooded over her.

"Hey, Ron?"

"Yeah?" he answered, without looking up from his game.

"How about we grab some pizza for lunch?"

He shrugged his shoulders and continued playing.

"Sure."

"We'll get a an extra-large pizza - with one half covered in anchovies for you and the other half covered in olives for me."

"Sounds good."

"After that we'll order up a big batch of ice cream. And they'll bring it right to our room. Sound good?"

"Yeah," he answered mechanically, his eyes still fixed on his game console.

She sighed.

_He'll perk up eventually_.

Sarah turned back to her Sudoku puzzle as the intercom issued the two minute warning for their arrival at Union Station. It was tough and she was growing increasingly frustrated at having to scratch out all the numbers she entered.

She liked math and numbers - something she assumed she had gotten from her dad seeing that he was an accountant and all.

But she had difficulty concentrating in school and last semester she had failed math. Her teachers said she didn't apply herself.

How could she when she was missing school three times a week to make deliveries for Hank?

Besides, school isn't the only way to become successful. Didn't Brittany Shears only go up to ninth grade?

"Union Station," announced the intercom.

The excitement Sarah had felt earlier that morning returned as she felt the train stop and saw hundreds of passengers begin to disembark.

She grabbed both their bags and pushed her way into the aisle.

"Hurry, Ron! Put your video game away and let's go! We have a date with the Le Luxembourg!"

\- 5 -

LUXURY LOST

Ron and Sarah gazed up at Le Luxembourg as the taxi pulled slowly into its magnificent porte-cochère, neither one believing that this was actually where they were going to be spending the next few days.

Rising to a respectable height, the hotel's granite brick exterior was complemented by a sleek, metal-framed front entrance. Gurgling fountains and a variety of green shrubs ran along its perimeter.

"Look at that balcony!" Sarah squealed when she spotted the massive, half-moon shaped balcony jutting out from the third storey.

She imagined herself standing on it with a glass of champagne while watching the hustle and bustle on the street below.

A bell hop in a burgundy uniform snapped to attention as they came to a stop alongside the steps that spilled out from the main doors.

He made his way quickly towards them and opened the passenger door of the cab.

Seeing Sarah, his face registered a look of surprise.

"Is there something the matter?" she asked, half fearful, half annoyed that her youthful appearance might have been what surprised him.

The bell hop shook his head and swallowed.

This girl could be someone famous.

"I suppose I was expecting someone older."

Sarah lifted her chin. "Well I'm older than I look."

"Not a problem, Mademoiselle. May I take your bags?"

"Yes, please."

Sarah paid the taxi driver and her and Ron followed the bell hop into the hotel. Upon entering the lobby, their eyes widened.

In the centre of the lobby, an enormous, spiral chandelier extended all the way from the floor to the ceiling - six stories above. It was framed by a narrow, square moat.

As they neared the front desk Sarah fluffed her hair and ensured that she walked as tall and upright as possible - these two rituals she often performed when preparing to use her fake ID. (Hank had ordered her, from a Redcoats forgery expert, a fake Ontario driver's license and health card so that she would have access to the bars, night clubs and other adult venues where she most often delivered counterfeit money.) When using her fake ID, she had to make sure she looked old enough to be nineteen \- the age of majority in Ontario.

A middle-aged woman with coffee-brown hair and dressed in a crisp, black uniform, greeted her with a tight smile.

"Welcome to Le Luxembourg, how may I help you?"

"Hi...er...yes, I'd like to get a room for myself and my kid brother."

"One room or two rooms?" asked the woman as she punched a few keys on the keyboard of her computer.

"One room. Two beds."

The woman nodded. "Alright."

Sarah watched nervously as "Harriet" (the name given on her name tag) pounded away on the keyboard.

Ron, standing beside her with the bags, still hadn't removed his eyes from the glittering, spiral chandelier behind them.

"Okay," began Harriet, clicking her manicured fingernails noisily on the desk, "we are fairly full at the moment...but we do have a few rooms available...on the first floor we - " she stopped mid-sentence and looked squarely at Sarah.

Her penetrating gaze moved methodically over her face and Sarah quickly did her best to make her face look old by narrowing her eye brows and pursing her lips. The woman seemed to do a double take and Sarah felt relieved when she continued speaking," ... as I was saying, on the first floor we only have one remaining vacancy and that is our Chamberlain suite."

Sarah nodded and stared squarely at Harriet.

"The Chamberlain suite is one of our signature suites which means that it comes fully furnished and equipped for extended stays - how long we're you planning on staying?"

"Just a few days," answered Sarah in as dignified a tone as she could muster. "Three or four days to be more precise...I have a couple of interviews to go to and I'd like to get in a little shopping. Ottawa just doesn't compare," she added, waving her hand and giving her hair a puff.

Harriet gave a curt nod. "I see...well then you probably don't need a signature suite...let me check...for something..." she said slowly, glancing at her computer monitor, "we do have...oh no...nope that won't work...let me see..."

To her right, Sarah noticed the bell hop waiting impatiently and made a mental note to tip him generously. She planned on taking full advantage of room service - never having had the opportunity to stay in a fancy hotel before - and she wanted to make sure that they stayed in the bell hop's good books over the next few days.

The sound of typing ceased abruptly and Sarah returned her attention to Harriet.

"Now, this is perfect," said Harriet, rotating the computer monitor so that Sarah could see the screen.

"This is our Luxor suite. It has double twin-beds, a Jacuzzi tub, fully-loaded entertainment system, mini-bar - the works. Unfortunately, as you know," she said with a sympathetic smile, "it's Thanksgiving this coming weekend and we are fully booked so the Luxor suite is only available until the Saturday - that's the ninth of October. Will that be sufficient?"

Sarah counted the days quickly in her head.

Today is Wednesday...

That would give them three nights and four days to track down her dad and convince him to take them in. Moreover, at two hundred and some dollars a night, the money she had would last them just that long.

"WE'LL TAKE IT!" she exclaimed, a little more loudly that she had intended.

Two elderly women admiring the chandelier, with purses on their arms and canes in their hands, shot them reproving stares.

"We'll take it!" she repeated, lowering her voice to a near whisper.

Harriet smiled. "Excellent."

The woman typed something into the computer and looked up again.

"So I just need your name and two pieces of identification please."

"Certainly," said Sarah, coughing politely and snapping her fingers at the bell boy. "Our bags please, Sir."

The bell boy nodded and brought them their bags.

"We'll take these from here thanks."

"Of course, Mademoiselle."

"Henry," said Harriet, seeing an opportunity to assign the bell boy a task, "go and see if Mrs. Winthrop still needs that extra pillow."

"Of course," replied the bell boy, and he plodded off towards the elevator.

"The name's Jessica Myers," said Sarah, as she dug through her bag and found her wallet.

Harriet smiled. "It's a pleasure to have you stay with us, Miss Myers."

"The pleasure is mine."

Sarah removed her fake Ontario driver's license and health card - with her picture on it - but in the name of Jessica Myers and with a birth date of 05/30/1992 - which made her nineteen years and four months old.

Harriet slid the cards across the desk towards her and set them in front of her keyboard so that she could record the necessary information.

"This will only take a minute," she said sweetly.

Sarah nodded. "Sure."

While she waited, Sarah joined Ron in taking in the rest of their surroundings.

In addition to the towering, spiral chandelier, there was a comfortable-looking lounge complete with leather recliners, glass end tables and miniature palm trees. Ron was particularly attracted to the sixty inch flat-screen T.V. mounted on the wall.

At the other end of the lobby, Sarah watched a barista bringing an order to a couple seated in front of what appeared to be a small cafe-bar complete with four table and chair sets and a red-and-white striped Parisian awning.

"Miss Myers?"

Sarah spun around, realizing that it was to her that Harriet was speaking; even after six months, she still wasn't fully used to her alter ego.

"Yes."

"All finished with these," said Harriet, handing back the fake ID cards.

Sarah took them and returned them to her wallet. "Thanks."

"Now, the next order of business is - why good afternoon Mr. Thorrington," she said to a man as he came around the desk.

"Good afternoon, Harriet," he replied in a noticeable English accent.

He wore a three-piece suit and an expensive-looking watch.

"Everything in order this morning then?"

"Yes indeed, Mr. Thorrington."

"That's what I like to hear," he said, flashing Sarah a smile. "Please, don't let me interrupt."

"Sorry, about that," Harriet said to Sarah as Mr. Thorrington walked to the opposite side of the long desk and began examining some paper work.

"He's our manager. A fine fellow if I may say. He's giving a lecture this evening in the dining room - do feel free to join us if you like. He's a very important man," she added in a low voice. "Lots of press coming tonight...black tie event...dress in your finest if you plan to attend. It begins at seven. Minors," she said glancing at Ron with a polite smile, "are not welcome of course as it is a licensed event."

"Right."

"Anyways, where were we? Oh yes...the payment. Here at Le Luxembourg we do ask that guests pay half up front, before they begin their stay. We've had troubles in recent months with certain guests...and we like to ensure we are covered."

Sarah nodded. "I understand."

"If you would like, we do accept payment in full at this time as well. So that's up to you."

"I guess I'll pay now...for everything," said Sarah slowly, removing the remainder of her money from the side pouch on her bag.

"Excellent. Your total then...for three nights...with tax...oh - and a fifteen percent discount as we do have a promotion going on...comes to..."

Sarah waited nervously as Harriet calculated the final amount.

"...six-hundred and four dollars and twenty-eight cents."

Ron gaped aloud at the number and Sarah clamped a hand onto his head to quiet him.

"I can do that," said Sarah, counting out six hundred and ten dollars from the wad of tens and twenties in her hand.

Harriet looked somewhat surprised when she laid the money on the counter.

"What's the problem?"

Harriet shook her head. "No Miss, there's no problem...it's just...we usually deal in plastic," she said, smiling politely.

"Oh...I'm sorry."

Sarah patted herself down.

"I don't have my credit card on me at the moment."

Harriet's expression was surprisingly sympathetic. "That's fine. I'll just double-check with Mr. Thorrington to see that we can accept such a large sum of cash. It will only take a moment. Feel free to browse through our magazine collection or watch some TV in our hospitality area."

Sarah nodded. "Alright. Thanks. Just give me a holler when you're done."

Harriet looked caught off guard (and displeased) by her vernacular language.

"Of course."

"Was I good or what?" Sarah whispered excitedly to Ron once they were out of earshot of the desk.

"Yeah, but you just spent all our money!"

"I didn't spend _all_ our money."

She held up the remaining bills in her hand. "See? We still have at least two hundred left."

She did some quick mental math.

The two cab rides cost...

"Well, just don't go spending it all crazy like Gloria, Sair."

"I won't," said Sarah stiffly.

She glanced over at the desk. Harriet and Mr. Thorrington looked deep in conversation.

"I still can't believe we're staying here...it's like a king's palace," said Ron, plopping himself down onto one of the leather recliners.

"I know eh? Isn't it great?"

Sarah looked away from the desk. She was starting to get a little nervous.

What was taking so long?

"I could have bought a lot of video games with that money," ron mused, as he tested the lever on the recliner.

Sarah gave her foster brother a playful swat. "Oh Ron. You and your video games. That's why _I'm_ responsible for our finances and not you. And after what Hank and Gloria have put us through for the past six months, I say we pamper ourselves in a fancy hotel. Don't you agree?"

"I guess."

Ron pulled the lever all the way back and the chair popped open, leaving him looking up at the ceiling.

"Ahhh...this is the life."

"Now you're getting into it," said Sarah, stepping over to the magazine rack.

She stole another nervous glance at the desk. Mr. Thorrington was looking in their direction.

Relax, I'm sure it's alright.

Unless the money she'd taken from Hank had been counterfeit.

But Hank only kept _real_ money in the safe.

Panicking, she fumbled with the zipper on her bag and withdrew the remaining money.

Looks alright...

But then, Hank's counterfeit money _always_ looked alright. That's why the Redcoats loved him so much.

She held a twenty up to the light.

No watermarks! It was fake!

" _Ron_."

"Don't bug me, Sair. Can't you see I'm in heaven."

His arms were folded behind his head and he was tapping his good foot to the soft music playing in the background.

" _Ron_!"

"What!?"

His face was angry now.

"We have to go," Sarah said through clenched teeth, glancing warily at the desk.

Harriet was nodding as though she and Mr. Thorrington had made a decision about something.

Sarah watched in horror as she picked up her phone and dialed.

Who's she calling?

"Ron. We have to go. Now."

"No! We just - "

Ron! There's no time. Take your bag and let's go."

She thrust the bag at him.

"We have to go. Now."

The boy's face was fearful now.

"Why? What's the matter?"

"I can't explain right now. Just take your bag. We have to get out of here."

She looked back at the desk. Mr. Thorrington had just stepped through the swingy gate. He was headed in their direction.

"Sair, that man is watching us," said Ron anxiously as he took the handle of his bag.

"I know. Let's move."

Sarah swallowed to clear the knot from her throat.

How could this be happening!? The plans she'd laid had been so good...so well thought out.

"EXCUSE ME," she heard Mr. Thorrington call out loudly when they were just feet from the front entrance.

Sarah turned to face him.

"EXCUSE ME. I'D LIKE A WORD WITH YOU TWO."

Uh oh.

"Ron, we have to go! Out the door now!"

Sarah grabbed her foster brother and pushed him through the front doors. There were two sets of doors and before the first one had closed behind them they heard Mr. Thorrington shout: "HEY! STOP RIGHT THERE!"

They flung open the second set of doors and spilled out onto the front steps. Sarah lifted Ron down the steps to spare his ankle and then they sprinted (with Ron still limping) under the porte- cochère and to the sidewalk. Up ahead, a bus was picking up passengers. This was their chance!

"Ron! The bus!"

"Okay!"

Sarah glanced over her shoulder.

Mr. Thorrington has just made it through the hotel doors. Henry, the bell boy, followed close behind.

Seeing them, Mr. Thorrington shouted:

"HEY! I NEED TO TALK TO YOU! STOP RIGHT THERE OR I'M CALLING THE POLICE!"

"Hurry, Ron!"

There were now just a few slabs of pavement between them and the street. The bus sat idling on the other side.

Would they make it?

They reached the edge of the sidewalk. The light for the intersection had just turned yellow and the hand had stopped flashing.

But they had to cross.

Now.

"Put your arm around my neck," Sarah ordered, seizing Ron's bag. "Hurry! We've got like two seconds!"

Ron threw his arm around Sarah's neck and they speed-walked through the cross walk as the light for the other direction turned green and a dozen impatient drivers began to honk at them.

"Sorry," said Sarah, her ears burning.

By the time they reached the other side, cars were already racing through the intersection. Sarah looked back and saw Henry and Mr. Thorrington standing on the curb, glaring at them. Mr. Thorrington was shaking his fist.

"I'M CALLING THE POLICE!"

Sarah ignored him and pushed Ron towards the bus.

"Thank - you!" she stammered breathlessly to the bearded driver as they climbed aboard.

"No worries," the man replied with a friendly smile. "You kids looked like you we're in a hurry. I figured I would do my good deed for the day and wait for yas."

"Thank you."

Sarah flashed their transit passes and lugged their bags onto the bus. Ron found them a free seat near the window and they flopped down, tired and shaken. Sarah looked out the window and saw Henry and Mr. Thorrington walking briskly back towards the hotel.

"That - was - a - close - one," Ron panted.

He was massaging his ankle with one hand and held his head in the other.

"Tell me about it. Are you alright?".

"Yeah," he said, wincing as Sarah put a hand to his ankle.

"I'm sorry Ron...all this running...that was totally my fault. I can't believe I was so stupid. I should have checked the money. I just assumed it wasn't counterfeit," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I'm a bad big sister."

Ron shook his head. "Don't ever say that. You're a great big sister...you take good care of me."

"Yeah? Well I sure don't feel like a good big sister," she said darkly, glancing out the window as the buildings flew past.

She was angry with herself. She had mistakenly taken counterfeit money from Hank's safe.

She knew how to tell the difference between the real and the fake stuff - and yet - she screwed up. And If she hadn't screwed up, they'd be lying on comfy queen-size beds this very minute, watching TV and gorging on ice cream.

Sarah looked at her foster brother. His breathing was slowly returning to normal and he was getting ready to play his video game.

Kids.

His wavy, blonde hair nearly covered his eyes \- the Smolinski's had only taken him for one haircut in the five and a half months that they'd lived there and it was beginning to mat as hair tends to do when left untended for so long.

Silently, she cursed the Smolinski's and vowed to take good care of Ron. As long as she was responsible for him, he'd be happy and healthy.

At that moment Ron lifted his arm to scratch behind his head and Sarah caught a whiff of strong body odour.

And the first thing I'm going to do is find him somewhere to take a bath.

\- 6 -

A PRESENT FOR RON

The bus took Ron and Sarah downtown and to the CN Tower, its last stop. They got off and after thanking the driver, pulled their bags to the sidewalk.

"Now what?" asked Ron, as the siblings wound their way through the flood of pedestrians on Front Street.

"I don't know," replied Sarah gloomily. "We've got about two hundred dollars...no food - except for a measly box of crackers...and we don't have anywhere to sleep tonight."

Ron plopped himself down on a bench and Sarah followed. From their new vantage point, they surveyed the bustling street scene.

Cars blaring their horns. Men and women in business suits. Bike couriers weaving in and out of traffic. And throngs of tourists.

A few feet away a hot dog vendor was grilling up a fresh batch of sausages. The aroma wafted towards them, making Ron's stomach growl.

"Sair."

"What?" she answered impatiently.

"Can we get a hot dog?"

Sarah glanced at the hot dog stand and realized that neither of them had eaten since Mrs. Whittaker's the night before. A sign read "Jumbo Hot Dog + Soda = $3.50".

Her stomach growled and she removed the remaining money from the pouch on her backpack.

"Ten...thirty...fifty...seventy...eighty...one hundred...one twenty...one forty...one sixty...one eighty...one eighty five...and three quarters makes one hundred eighty five dollars and seventy-five cents. That's what we've got. That's not a lot."

Ron groaned. "Well what are we going to eat?"

They had to eat _something_.

"Okay," she sighed. "Why not eh? I think we deserve it. You especially - for being such a trooper."

Ron's face lit up. "Hotdogs!"

"Yeah."

Ten minutes later, hot dogs in hand, they sat down on the bench again, munching happily.

"That sure was scary when those guys from the hotel were chasing us," said Ron, wiping mustard from his mouth.

Sarah sipped her soda, nodding.

"I know. But we managed didn't we?"

"Yeah...but my ankle really hurts now."

Ron shoved the rest of the hot dog into his mouth and licked his fingers.

"Yeah...I do have to figure something out for that. Maybe we'll have to take you to a walk-in clinic or something."

"What will they do for me?"

"Tell you to go home and get lots of rest."

Ron and Sarah both laughed when they realized the absurdity of her remark - they had no home!

The siblings finished their meal in silence, neither one wanting to upset this rare moment of tranquility.

For the first time since yesterday, they weren't running from someone - or in the case of Bowser, some _thing_.

A hoard of Asian-looking tourists stopped in front of them to take pictures of the Tower and their excitement reminded Sarah of the time her mom had taken her to visit the Tower.

It had been a warm summer day - sometime in July maybe - she couldn't remember exactly as she'd only been five or six.

What she _did_ remember - and would always remember - was the lavender perfume her mom had bought that day from one of the sidewalk vendors.

She would continue to buy that same perfume until the day she died.

Sweet, soothing lavender.

Sarah closed her eyes. She missed that fragrance. She missed her mom.

She opened her eyes after a minute and watched as the tourists took turns posing in each others' pictures. Their happy, carefree attitude annoyed her.

Why couldn't she be happy and carefree? Why was she homeless and parentless? Every other girl her age got to go shopping and go to the movies. Their mothers helped them buy their first bras, gave them advice about boys, and consoled them when their friends betrayed them.

_Her_ mother was in the ground - gone forever - hardly given a chance to fight the cancer that had taken her at such a young age.

Sarah blinked as her eyes welled up with tears, willing herself not to cry.

She had to be strong. If not for herself, then for Ron. She glanced at her foster brother. He was engrossed in his video game once again.

"Ready to go rooster?"

Rooster was the name the kids at the group home used to tease him with. But once they'd left the group home to go and live with the Smolinski's, she'd taken it and now used it as his pet name.

Ron paused his game and set the console on his lap.

"Where are we going?"

Where were they going?

"I'm not sure yet - but we'll figure it out. We need a place to sleep tonight."

Ron groaned.

"What?"

"I'm too tired to walk...and my ankle _really_ hurts."

"I'll help you."

Ron folded his arms across his chest.

"I don't want to go anywhere. I'm tired of walking. Can't we just stay here for awhile?"

"We have to find a place to sleep tonight, Ron! What? Are we just supposed to sleep on this bench?"

Ron seemed to seriously consider this.

"Ahhh, Ron. You don't understand. We have to find somewhere _clean_ and _safe_ to spend the night."

"Well, then _you_ go. I'll wait here. You go and us a place and then come and pick me up when you're done."

Sarah was about to argue and tell him why that was the worst idea in the world, but she stopped herself.

Maybe that isn't such a bad idea.

She looked around, trying to decide what her next move should be. A man in an electric scooter rode slowly past them and an idea came to her. Rising to her feet, she threw their hot dog napkins in the garbage and picked her bag up from the bench.

"Alright. Give me half an hour."

Ron looked at her. "Okay."

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Promise. If I'm not back in half an hour, it's because I found what I was looking for and it's just taking a little extra time. But I'll be back soon. Okay?"

Ron looked unsure, but consented. "Alright."

"And don't talk to any strangers - go up to the hot dog guy if anyone bothers you. Okay?"

Ron nodded.

"Alright. I'll be back soon."

Hoisting her bag over her shoulder, Sarah waved at him then headed East along Front Street.

It felt strange walking past Union Station when just an hour earlier they'd taken a cab from there to Le Luxembourg.

She still couldn't believe she'd mistaken Hank's counterfeit money for real money - and worse - that she'd tried to pay the hotel bill with it.

Not that paying cab drivers and buying hot dogs with it is any better...

Mr. Thorrington had probably called the police and by now not only were they on the run from Child Services, but from the law as well.

Continuing East along Front Street, Sarah soon found herself in front of the Hockey Hall of Fame.

A cluster of high school kids - on what she guessed was a class trip - lounged on the front steps, eating their lunches and conversing loudly.

Feeling that same twinge of jealousy she had felt watching the tourists in front of the CN Tower, Sarah lowered her head and walked quickly past.

I could have been one of them.

Sarah turned onto Yonge Street and followed it the two blocks to King Street. Turning East onto King Street, she walked briskly and after ten minutes found herself in a busy commercial district. Confident that she would be able to find the type of store she was looking for, Sarah scanned the long row of businesses. Her eyes came to rest on an orange-painted building advertising "Used Goods".

That's perfect.

She crossed the street, taking care to avoid the street car, and made her way towards it. Judging by the wide variety of items displayed in the front window, she was sure she would find what she needed. A gold letter sign on the door read "Truscott's" and a strand of bells tinkled when she pushed it open.

"Good morning," said the old man sitting behind the counter. "Or," he added, examining his watch, "I suppose I should say good afternoon since it's noon already. My how the day flies."

He smiled warmly and Sarah liked the tenderness she saw in his blue eyes.

"Can I help you find something today...or are you just looking?"

Sarah approached the counter. "Well actually...I'm looking for a wheelchair."

"A wheelchair, eh?"

"Yeah... it's for my Aunt Debbie," Sarah lied. "She just got out of hospital. Hip surgery. We're having her over for Thanksgiving and I thought I would surprise her."

"Well, that's very thoughtful of you. You know, I keep telling people that you young people aren't so bad. You've still got manners."

Sarah smiled, though she felt guilty for lying. But she couldn't leave a trail and saying that she was buying a wheelchair for her little brother would lead Child Services right to them.

She stepped back as the white-haired man with the kind blue eyes came around the counter.

"Follow me and we'll have a look in our sporting goods section. I think I saw one the other day while doing some organizing."

"Sure."

"My name's Cliff by the way," he said, turning to face her. "Cliff Truscott."

"My name's Sarah."

"Nice to meet you, Sarah. Yeah, my wife and I have owned this store for thirty-two years."

"Wow."

He chuckled at Sarah's expression.

"That's quite awhile, eh?"

"An _eternity_."

Cliff emitted a sharp laugh. "Ha! Just wait until you get to be my age. Thirty-two years is a flash in the pan."

Sarah followed the old man as he led her towards the back of the store. They passed a woman who was thoroughly scrutinizing a rattan chair, tilting it from side to side and pressing her stubby fingers against the wicker backing.

"We carry quite a selection of used goods here as you've probably noticed," Cliff explained as they walked past.

"Yeah, it looks like you've got everything."

"It's incredible what people give away. Really. In thirty-two years I've seen just about everything - and some of it is very valuable. Old record albums worth hundreds of dollars. China sets from Imperial Japan worth thousands. Old sewing machines...you name it, we've either got it or we've had it."

"Cool."

"It is cool, isn't it? And I'm very happy that Betty and I decided to get into the business when we did. These days with the big box goodwill stores, it's so difficult to compete. We have a very faithful following though, and our customers keep coming back. Is this your first time here?"

Sarah nodded. "Yeah."

Cliff threw her a warm smile.

"Well, I'm glad you came in. Like I said, we've had a bit of everything here at this store and there's something for everyone. I just hope I have a wheelchair so I don't disappoint you. Did you have a particular brand or model in mind...or just any old wheelchair will do?"

"Any old wheelchair will do."

"Well...that will certainly make my job a little easier...anyways, here we are," he said, stopping suddenly and clicking his tongue as he studied the shelves and display racks in front of them.

The sign hanging above them read "Sporting Goods" and Sarah was amazed by the jumbled assortment of golf bags, treadmills and exercise balls piled all around.

"Let's see what we have..."

The old man began rummaging, peering behind shelves and pulling yoga mats out of the way.

"Ah ha!" he exclaimed after a minute.

His blue eyes danced with excitement and Sarah looked to where he was pointing.

"Right there," he said, stepping around her. "I knew I'd seen one the other day."

She watched as he bent almost to the floor and, reaching behind an elliptical machine, pulled out a wheelchair with one muscled arm.

Judging by the leather backing and shiny, chrome frame, Sarah guessed the contraption was at least thirty years old.

As long as it works...

Cliff unfolded it and placed it on the floor in front of her.

"Take it for a spin why don't ya?"

Sarah was taken aback by his offer. It was quite unusual for an old man - and a store owner to boot - to ask a teenager if they wanted to "take a spin" around the store in a wheelchair. "Really?"

"Of course. You want to make sure it works properly before you buy it, don't you?"

"Yes...I suppose," Sarah answered.

"Well, then?"

"Sure...why not," said Sarah slowly, still somewhat unsure.

She took a seat in the wheelchair. She felt shy because she'd never ridden one, and although she was excited to try, she hoped she wouldn't make an idiot of herself. She glanced around the store.

At least there aren't any cute guys around to embarass myself in front of...

She gripped the wheels and pushed them in a downwards motion as hard as she could, propelling the wheelchair forwards. It's response was instant and it rocketed forward, gliding smoothly across the tile floor.

Unsure of how to brake, Sarah had to use her feet to avoid crashing into a shelf full of baseball equipment.

Behind her, she heard Cliff chuckle.

Sarah spun around in the chair and looked at him through narrowed eyes - though she was smiling.

"I dare you to try it!"

"Oh, I couldn't fathom the idea young lady! I'm far too old for that - mind you I may not have much choice in a few more years."

Sarah spun the wheelchair up and down the aisle for a few minutes longer and then pushed it back to where Cliff stood waiting.

"I'll take it."

"Excellent."

"How much?"

"Hmm...well, given that it is rather old...and considering that you are buying it for your aunt who is in need of one...let me say ten dollars. Sound fair?"

Sarah's stomach did a somersault. He was giving her a discount because of the story she'd made up about her fake Aunt Debbie.

"Um...alright...thanks."

"Don't mention it. I'm glad to help. I do have to get back up to the front now though in case any customers are waiting on me. Was the wheelchair all you needed for today?"

"Yeah."

"Great, let me take this up front for you then."

"Thanks."

Sarah followed Cliff as he pushed the wheelchair up the main aisle towards the front of the store. She felt terrible that she'd lied to such a warm-hearted man.

When they reached the counter, Sarah saw the woman they'd passed earlier. Beside her, resting against the counter, was the rattan chair. Sarah could tell by her expression that she was impatient to get going.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Ma'am," said Cliff as he set the wheelchair beside the counter and made his way around to the register. "Noon hour is always a busy time here."

"Yes, it is a busy time," she said, frowning and snapping her purse open. "How much do I owe you?"

Sarah watched as Cliff inspected the rattan chair.

"I believe Betty suggested five dollars as a price for this...so let's say five dollars. Sound fair?"

The woman said nothing, instead thrusting a fiver at him.

Sarah could see that he was surprised by her rude behaviour.

Taking the money from her, he smiled.

"Thanks. And just so you know, ten percent of our net proceeds today are going to Anthony's Mission."

The woman stared at him as though he were the thing she'd scraped off her shoe that morning, shouldered her purse and left the store with the chair tucked under her arm.

"Oy," said Cliff, once she'd gone. "Some people eh?"

Sarah still couldn't believe the scene she'd just witnessed had been real.

"I've never seen someone be so rude to an old \- I mean, to an _elderly_ person before."

Cliff shrugged, his blue eyes twinkling.

"What can ya do, eh? If anything you have to feel sorry for people like that. Sun's shining. She's the picture of health. And yet she's in that foul of a mood. Seems like it would take winning the lottery to make her happy."

Sarah pondered this notion while Cliff rang up her purchase.

"So, just the wheelchair then?"

His question pulled her back to the present.

"Um...yeah," she said, smiling, as she shook the cobwebs from her head.

"That will be ten dollars even."

Sarah passed him a twenty and he handed her back a ten.

"Thank you so much, Sarah. And, as I was telling the woman who just left, ten percent of our net proceeds today are going to Anthony's Mission."

"What's Anthony's Mission?"

Cliff wagged a finger. "I'm glad you asked. It's a home for people who don't have one. They provide meals and lodging to families in need. A great cause. Betty and I have been raising money for their Thanksgiving dinner for years now. Gee, I can't even think of how long it's been...at least twenty now because Greg was born in..." he trailed off.

"I'd like to make a donation."

Cliff looked surprised. "A donation? Really?"

"Yes," she said, feeling that in making a donation to Anthony's she could redeem herself for having made up the story about her fake Aunt Debbie and repay Cliff's kindness.

"Why, that's very thoughtful of you. How much would you like to give?"

"Ten dollars," answered Sarah, returning the ten dollar bill Cliff had given her as change.

"Goodness, such generosity at such a young age. Your parents must be proud."

"Uh...yeah."

"Here," he said, reaching for something below the cash register. Take this leaflet. It explains a little more about what Anthony's does."

"Oh...thanks," said Sarah, taking the piece of paper and reading it:

Anthony's Mission

ANTHONY'S MISSION IS A NON-PROFIT ORGANIZATION THAT HAS BEEN HELPING TORONTONIANS SINCE 1981. WE OFFER A TEMPORARY HOME TO MEN AND WOMEN FACING DIFFICULT CHALLENGES. OUR RESIDENTS INCLUDE NEWCOMERS TO CANADA, WOMEN AND THEIR CHILDREN FLEEING SITUATIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, AND AT-RISK, YOUNG ADULTS LIVING ON THE STREETS.

FOOD AND LODGING IS PROVIDED DAILY AND RESIDENTS ARE GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY TO BETTER THEMSELVES BY PARTICIPATING IN OUR VOLUNTEER WORK PROGRAM.

WITH MORE THAN THIRTY ROOMS AVAILABLE, 24 HOUR SECURITY, AND A ZERO DRUG/ALCOHOL POLICY, ANTHONY'S IS A SAFE AND ACCOMMODATING PLACE TO CALL HOME.

PLEASE CONSIDER GIVING TODAY BECAUSE EVEN A DOLLAR CAN GO A LONG WAY.

The address and phone number were given at the bottom.

"Great. Thanks for this," said Sarah, folding the leaflet in half and stuffing it into her bag.

Cliff smiled. "My pleasure."

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Sarah said a final good bye and left the store. She was happy she'd met Cliff because it reminded her that there were still good people in the world; living with and working for the Smolinski's, she'd met so many foul ones that she 'd forgotten there were grandfatherly gentlemen like Cliff still out there.

Sarah pushed the wheelchair along the sidewalk, her face aglow and feeling hopeful. Not only had she found a wheelchair for Ron, she'd found them a place to stay.

\- 7 -

ANTHONY'S

"And here is where you two can get a nice, hot meal three times a day," explained Wynona, the Anthony's Mission kitchen manager. "We've just finished up lunch for the day," (from their position in the centre of the dining hall Sarah could see several people wiping tables and carrying trays of food to the kitchen), but supper is at five o'clock sharp...so if you're hungry, that's not too long of a wait. Of course one of our kitchen volunteers can always fix you a sandwich or something in the mean time."

"Oh," said Sarah, "that's very nice of you to offer, but we ate not too long ago...so I think we'll be alright until supper."

She glanced at Ron who sat in the wheelchair playing his video game. He was angry and giving her the silent treatment because she'd kept him waiting so long on the bench beside the hot dog stand.

Wynona smiled. "Okay...well...I'll leave you two here then. Grab a seat. Miss Bertolino shouldn't be much longer."

"Sure, thanks."

The plump, rosy-cheeked woman gave Ron a motherly pat on the shoulder. "This one doesn't talk much does he?"

"No, but when he does," said Sarah, "watch out!"

She smiled nervously, knowing her little joke would only anger Ron further.

Wynona giggled. "Aren't all boys just the same, eh?"

"Yeah."

"My two nephews are the same way. If they're not talking their heads off they're - "

Wynona stopped mid-sentence as the sound of breaking dishware echoed throughout the dining hall.

" _Goodness,_ what are they doing in there?" she huffed. "I'd better go and make sure everything is alright. Wait here and Miss Bertolino will be with your shortly. Okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Okay. I'll see you later then."

Sarah watched Wynona go before switching her attention to her foster brother.

"Ron..."

"Don't talk to me, Sair."

"Ron - "

"I'm not listening," Ron sang, turning up the volume on his game console.

"Oh geez. How long until you talk to me again?"

"You left me there, Sair! You said you'd only be a half hour...but it was like _two_ hours!"

"Ron, it was an hour and fifteen minutes - and I've already apologized a hundred times!"

Ron ignored her.

"It took me a lot longer than I thought it would. How's that my fault?"

Sarah felt her anger rising.

"I got you a _wheelchair_ so that you wouldn't have to _walk_ on your _ankle_ anymore! I _pushed_ you _all_ _the way here_ and I put up with your verbal abuse the entire time! Can't you just forgive me!?"

"Jessica Myers?"

Sarah looked up to see a pretty, brunette standing a few feet away.

"Uh...hi...yes. I'm Jessica."

"Hi Jessica. My name's Amy Bertolino. I'm the intake coordinator here at Anthony's."

"Yes...hi...Wynona said...yes...I'm sorry...my brother and I we're - "

"Don't apologize. You're probably going through an extremely difficult time. I understand from the note on my desk that you've just left your parents? That you've left home because of a bad situation?"

"Yes...that's right."

Amy's expression was sympathetic.

"That's not easy and I can only _imagine_ how you must be feeling right now. How about we go to my office and we'll get everything straightened out. Sound good?"

Sarah ran a hand through her hair. She felt exhausted. "Sure."

Amy smiled. "Good."

She went up to Ron. "How about I show you to the rec room, big guy? We have a foosball table, toys, video games a computer, books, puzzles - you name it, we've got it. Does that sound like fun? I see you already have a video game. Would you like to go and check it out? It's Ron, right?"

Ron paused his video game and looked up at Amy. "Yeah...and no, I'd like to stay with my sister if that's alright."

Amy smiled and looked back at Sarah.

"I'll bet she's pretty important to you."

Ron nodded and Sarah felt her cheeks flush.

"Okay then...so how about we _all_ go to my office together. We'll get something to drink, we'll sit back a bit...and we'll just figure things out. Sound good?"

"I guess."

"I'll take that as a yes!" Amy exclaimed enthusiastically, seizing the handles of Ron's wheelchair.

"Right this way, guys."

Sarah followed as Amy wheeled Ron to her office. They passed through the dining hall to the opposite end, down a corridor, and then stopped in front of a half-open office dor.

"Come on in," she said, going in first with Ron.

"Thanks."

Sarah stepped inside after them and and took a seat on a comfortable, padded chair.

"And we'll just move this table out of the way..." said Amy, making a space for Ron and the wheelchair, "and voila! Now. Ron. What would you like to drink? Pop? Juice?"

"Grape soda."

"Okay. And for you Jessica?"

"I'll have a coffee thanks."

She hoped that choosing a coffee would make her seem older.

"Okay. Give me two minutes. Feel free to look at some of the books on the table there (she motioned towards the pile of books on the coffee table in the centre of the room) - some of them are kind of weighty - but others are quite easy to read and there's a lot of good information on domestic violence and such...anyways, I'll be back in a jiffy. Alright?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

Amy tousled Ron's hair. "Cheer up, you're in a good place now."

Ron managed a smile and Amy left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

"I'm sorry for getting angry, Sair," said Ron almost immediately after Amy had gone.

Sarah pulled her chair closer towards her foster brother. "No... _I'm_ sorry Ron. I never should have left you that long. When I think of what could have happened...it was very irresponsible of me."

"Well...yeah...but you were doing something to help me...you got me a wheelchair...and my ankle has stopped hurting for the first time since yesterday...so you did good, Sair."

"Did I?"

"Yeah. Just...I don't want to ever be left alone like that again, okay? I was scared...I didn't know if something had happened to you...I didn't know if you were coming back."

His words cut like a knife through her heart and Sarah felt awful.

"I'm sorry Ron. I love you so much. You're my only brother - well _foster_ brother - but still - you're my brother...and I promise to take better care of you."

Ron smiled. "Thanks. I love you too."

Sarah couldn't help but wrap her arms around him.

"Tell me when I'm being mean or irresponsible, okay?" she said into his shoulder.

She felt Ron move his head.

"Because I don't always know."

"I will."

The door opened and Amy stepped in and then out again. "Sorry...am I interrupting?"

Sarah released her brother. "No, we're good. You can come in."

Amy smiled and stepped back inside. "Awesome...I hope you two figured things out."

"Yeah, we did."

"Excellent...here's your coffee...and Ron...here's your grape soda."

"Thanks."

"No worries."

Amy took a seat behind her desk and cleared a space for her mug. "Alright then...where were we..."

She took a sip from her mug. "Jessica." (Sarah looked up.) "You've left home because of a bad situation. We don't have to get into details at this point in time - we do have three counselors on staff here that are willing and able to listen to you whenever you like. You just have to make an appointment with one of them...but, I need to know what your support network is like here in the city...because that will determine - when the time is right - the strategy we devise for helping you get on your feet. So, do you have a support network of some kind in Toronto?"

"You mean like friends?"

"Friends, family, co-workers - "

"No, not really."

Sarah had almost mentioned her dad, but had caught herself in time. She'd already told them that she and Ron had left their parents.

"Okay...next question. Are you employed or do you have a source of regular income?"

"No...not right now. I want to get a job soon though."

Amy smiled. "That's excellent and we have a great team here that can help you with your job search...we'll leave that for a couple weeks though...until you get settled."

Sarah nodded.

"Alright. Next question. Ron. He looks like he should be in school. How old are you Ron?"

"I'm eight."

"And were you going to school when you lived at home?"

"Yes."

"What grade are you in?"

"I'm in third grade."

Amy smiled. "Great."

She turned to Sarah. "We are required, by law, to ensure that all children under the age of sixteen attend school...I'm not sure yet how old you are..."

"I'm nineteen."

Amy cocked her head. "You sure don't _look_ nineteen...do you have some ID or something that I could look at?"

"Yes, of course," said Sarah, retrieving her wallet from her bag.

"The only reason I ask is because if you are a minor...we would refer you to Child Services."

Sarah swallowed to remove the knot in her throat. "Right...well..I'm nineteen so..."

"Yes, so that doesn't apply to you then."

"Okay."

Sarah handed Amy the same fake ID cards she had given Harriet at Le Luxembourg and watched with a mixture of pride and anxiety as Amy examined them.

She was proud that she could pass herself off as nineteen, yet anxious about her future at Anthony's if anyone discovered that she wasn't nineteen year old "Jessica Myers", but instead, a fourteen year old runaway named Sarah Litchmore.

Out of the corner of one eye she could see that Ron was just as anxious as she was.

He sipped his soda, watching Amy closely and waiting to see if the fake ID would pass this latest test.

Sarah was grateful he hadn't said anything that might conflict with the information she'd given thus far.

"Okay...great."

Amy returned the fake ID to Sarah.

"So. Jessica - you've obviously finished school. Have you given any thought about going to college or university?"

"Somewhat - my mom went to Ryerson - but she dropped out when she found out she was pregnant with me."

This, at least, was true.

"Well, Ryerson does offer many great programs. I did my undergrad there. So that's something we'll have to look into for you. You would probably need student loans and there's quite a bit of paperwork with that - and given that it's October - you wouldn't be able to start until the winter term anyways...so I think we'll leave that for now. I will make a note though to have Cynthia - she's one of our counselors here - go over that with you sometime in the next month."

Sarah nodded.

"As far as Mister Ron is concerned though," she said, grinning, "we've got to get you back in school asap. Are you comfortable going to the school you're at now - or would it be easier to change schools?"

"I don't know."

Amy looked at Sarah. "We do like to minimize the upheaval on the children coming out of situations of domestic violence and so I would suggest that we keep him where he is - unless of course he's not happy there."

"Well, we're from Pickering..." said Sarah slowly.

Amy nodded. "Ah. I see. And so, I'm assuming that Ron was going to school there?"

"Yes."

"And that is a bit far..."

Amy picked up the page she was looking at and flipped to the next one.

"Hmm...well, I guess we can transfer him then. To somewhere in the city. I'll try and call the school next week - after you two have had a chance to settle in - and see about getting him transfered."

Sarah felt her stomach do a backflip. If Amy called the school, the game would be up. Because the school surely knew by now that they were missing. Unless Hank and Gloria hadn't reported them missing...because that would look bad on them...and the cops would come sniffing around...but then Mrs. Whittaker would have reported them missing and she would have told her son what Sarah had told her about Hank and Gloria and...

"Jessica?"

Sarah gave her head a shake. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"I just want to know the name of the school. Or I suppose Ron can tell me."

"Eastbrook Elementary," said Ron.

Great.

"Eastbrook," said Amy with a smile. "I know where that is. I grew up near there."

Even better.

"But I didn't go to Eastbrook - most of my friends did - but I didn't."

Phew.

I went to Saint Theresa. Hey, when your family's Italian Catholic - public school just isn't an option!"

Sarah nodded, thankful she'd gotten away with that one. Still, she hadn't really gotten away with anything. As soon as Amy called the school...

She would have to think of something.

Amy clasped her hands together. "Well...now that that's in order...I just need you to fill out our Admittance Form."

She dug inside a file folder and extracted a double-sided sheet of paper.

"Fill this out, sign it and we'll get you two into a room."

Sarah took the sheet of paper and the pen Amy gave to her and wrote in the required information. When she was finished she returned it to Amy. Amy signed and dated it then stowed it back into the file folder.

"Great...now that we have that all out of the way...we do need to go over some house rules (Ron grimaced) - I _know_ , no one likes rules Ron, but _rules_ are important when you have a lot of different people living and working together. Rules help alleviate conflict - and therefore they are entirely worth the extra time and effort it takes. On that note, we do try to keep it pretty simple here at Anthony's and we feel that our rules are fair. That being said, it is _essential_ that you both know what's expected of you while you are staying here."

Sarah looked squarely at Amy to show that she was listening.

"So, I'm not going to go over _all_ of our rules with you at this time - you can read them at your leisure \- they're posted on the back of each bedroom door and as well in the dining hall and in the rec room...but I will give you the two most _important_ ones right now. First and foremost," she began, looking at both of them simultaneously, "here at Anthony's we have _zero_ tolerance for drugs and alcohol. And there are _no_ second chances when it comes to this."

Her mouth was set in a serious line as she glanced down at a piece of paper on her desk. She scanned it momentarily for the section she was looking for and read aloud: "Residents found with drugs or alcohol in their possession will be given two hours to pack their bags and vacate the premises. Likewise, residents found to be _under the influence_ of drugs or alcohol will be given two hours to pack their bags and vacate the premises."

She looked up. "Any questions regarding our drug and alcohol policy?"

"No."

"Good. Rule number two. Each resident is assigned to a dorm floor...because we have enough vacancy at this time, you and Ron will have a bedroom for yourselves - in the winter we'll often place two compatible individuals or families together in one room as we're extremely full when it's cold outside and space is _extremely_ tight. But, for the next month or two anyways, you'll have a room to yourselves."

Sarah nodded.

"I'm going to put you on the _purple_ floor - let me explain," she said, responding to Sarah's quizzical expression. "Each of our dorm floors is painted a different colour. The first floor is yellow, the second floor is green, the third floor is purple, and the fourth floor is blue."

"Cool," Ron interjected, "those are the same colours as the tables in the dining hall."

"You're just a sharp little man, aren't ya?" Amy teased. "Yes, Ron, the tables in our dining hall are yellow, green, purple, and blue. Now as you may be able to guess, residents of the - "

Sarah cut in, "purple floor eat at the purple table and residents of the green floor eat at the green table, and so on."

"Ex - actly," said Amy, seeming not to mind her interruption. " _And_ , what's more, we also assign all of our _chores_ in the same way. There's a chore chart posted in the dining hall. All residents aged twelve or older must take part in our work program. Ron...since you're eight...no chores for you."

Ron grinned and looked at his sister. "Does she have to do chores since she's four - nineteen?"

Amy smiled, seeming not to notice his near blunder. "You bet!"

Sarah made a face.

Amy laughed. "Hey now...this place couldn't survive without residents helping out! Our philosophy is that only when our residents are active participants in the shelter's operations, will they feel a _responsibility_ towards Anthony's and themselves. This feeling of _responsibility_ means that you work hard to keep the place going strong. It benefits everyone, _and_ it gets you work experience for your resume... say for instance you work in the kitchen for the three months that you're here - that might get you a restaurant job...or say you help us build a new deck - that gets you carpentry slash construction experience which you can then put on your resume and maybe land a job in that field."

Sarah looked doubtful. "And...what if we get a job outside of Anthony's and work there?"

"We _still_ require you to take part in chores because we do believe that you need feel responsible for this place in order to be successful here - and in life. Responsibility is good - it makes you grow."

"So...what types of chores are there?"

Amy smiled. "Well, I'm glad you asked. There's laundry duty, kitchen duty - and that's split into two - one colour team, for example Team Purple, makes dinner. Another colour team, say...yellow...puts dinner away and cleans up. In addition to those two, we have general cleaning - that's stuff like bathrooms, washing windows, vacuuming the hallways...we have handy person duty which is helping paint...or fix the stairs...or hang a new door...or what have you - my cousin Paul often comes to oversee our handy person projects."

"Okay."

"The most fun one though - the one that _everybody_ likes - and I know you will too Jessica - is social activities . Every Saturday night we have a fun night where we do karaoke or play charades or have a chess tournament - and each group gets to plan one social activity each month. So it works out nicely because we get lots of different ideas."

"That sounds pretty cool," said Sarah, starting to feel as though she might actually _enjoy_ her time here.

Amy looked touched. "It is _cool_ \- and thanks for saying that. We do love a compliment now and again...and please do feel free to pass along your suggestions as well, anytime you see something around here that you think could be improved. I can't guarantee that we'll necessarily _accept_ your suggestion - but we'll definitely consider it and, if we feel that it's worthwhile, we'll discuss it at our monthly board meeting."

Ron yawned and Sarah nodded slowly.

"Anyways," said Amy, sensing that they were both tired and getting restless, "I think I've talked your ear off enough for one day. I've pretty much said everything I need to for now...there's always time later for me to pull you aside and just check up on how you're doing and refresh your memory about our house rules if I feel the need."

Sarah mustered a small smile.

"But...that being said...do either of you have any questions for _me_?"

Sarah thought for a minute. "Uh...yeah...how long can we stay for?"

Amy nodded as though she felt Sarah's question was a good one.

"We like to see residents move on after ninety days - because we are intended to be a _temporary_ stop for people. In order to serve as many needy people as possible, we need to keep the door turning - we can't have people staying six months or a year. That being said, we do look at each case _individually_ and so, if after ninety days you do not feel that you are able to leave...we can extend your stay by a few weeks."

Sarah nodded.

"I will say," Amy continued, "that _most_ \- not all - but _most_ of our residents are able to leave _before_ the ninety days...because you have to keep in mind that throughout your entire stay here you are getting job training, counseling, career advice, resume help - you name it. We'll help you find an affordable apartment...a job...a doctor - speaking of which - I meant to ask...do either you or Ron have any medical needs that need to be addressed at this time? Other than what you filled in on the admittance form that I gave you?"

Ron spoke before Sarah could. "Yes! My ankle. It was sprained or something...I don't know. It really hurts. Not today. But...like yesterday...it really hurt."

Amy looked concerned. "Really? Is that why you're in the wheelchair?"

"Yeah."

"So you're otherwise fully able to move?"

Ron nodded.

"Whose idea was the wheelchair?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

Sarah blushed because she could tell Amy was intrigued by the fact that Ron was using a wheelchair for an injured ankle.

"It was my idea. I figured that if I got him a wheelchair, he wouldn't have to walk on his bad ankle."

"Well, what a great idea you had, Jessica. That's excellent. _That's_ the type of thinking we like to see people doing around here."

Amy turned her attention to Ron. "So I'll take you to the doctor tomorrow morning then - after breakfast. Would that be alright, big sister?"

Sarah smiled. "Of course."

"Good. We have a great community clinic two blocks up and they're always very good with our residents. I have to take Yolanda there tomorrow - her daughter needs a check-up - so it's no problem to take you as well."

She looked at Ron.

"Sound good?"

Ron nodded.

"That's perfect," added Sarah, thinking ahead to her mission to visit her dad the following morning. Without Ron she'd be able to move a lot faster.

"Great...so after breakfast Ron...you'll come and meet me here, okay? Let's say...nine-thirty."

"Okay."

Sarah nodded. "That's great. Thank you so much."

"Oh - this is what we do every day for people, Jessica. No need to thank us. Just follow the rules and contribute in a positive and constructive way to Anthony's - and you can thank us that way."

"We'll try."

"Good."

Amy finished what was in her mug and clapped her hands together. "Okay then. We've got your admittance form filled out, I've explained the rules to you - well the most _important_ ones - and don't get me wrong," she said, a broad smile dancing across her face, "they're _all_ important - but the most important ones are that you adhere to our zero drug and alcohol policy and that you stick to your colour team and eat with them and help them with whatever chores Team Purple is assigned. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Now you both look like you could use a nap so how about I show you to your room?"

"That would be _great_."

"Alright. Let's go."

\- 8 -

SETTLING IN

Their bedroom was nothing spectacular. Sparse and tidy, it was almost too small for the two bunk beds and the desk that it held.

Sarah was slowly waking up from her nap. Lying in her bunk, she gazed at a spot on the wall that she hoped was a blemish in the paint and not a spider.

Across the room, Ron sat upright in his bunk, thoroughly engrossed in his video game. She was sure that the obnoxious, repetitive sounds of coins being collected and baddies being stomped was what had woken her - mind you, supper was at five o'clock and - what time was it? She glanced at the red, duck-shaped clock on the desk beside her.

4:46.

If they went down now they could get a good spot in line - maybe they'd even get to go first.

"Hey rooster. Are you ready for supper?"

"In a minute - I just have to finish this level."

"Alright, _one_ minute - hurry up though because I'm hungry."

"Okay."

As she had predicted however, Ron's "minute" turned in to five and by the time they'd managed to catch the elevator to the main level and make it to the dining hall, supper was already being served.

Seeing the long line at the food counter, Sarah was annoyed Ron had delayed them until she learned that tables drew straws to determine the order in which they were served.

Annette had drawn for their table that evening and earned them the right to dish up second. Sarah wheeled Ron across the room to the purple table. A chair was taken away and she parked Ron in the vacant space before taking a seat beside him.

While they waited for their turn to dish up, Ron and Sarah got to know some of the other residents from their floor. Annette was middle-aged and originally from Jamaica. Her husband had passed away, suddenly, that summer - leaving her with no money and no income. She lost her apartment when she could no longer afford to pay rent and Annette explained to Sarah that Anthony's was helping her to register for social assistance and to find a new apartment.

Immediately to Sarah's right sat Selma, a new mother who had fled an abusive husband just two weeks earlier. (At least that's the story Annette gave her.)

Her infant son Amir lay in a bassinette beside her, sucking a pacifier.

At the far end of the table was John, and Sarah summed him up with three adjectives: loud, obnoxious, cave man. Ron disagreed with her assessment of John and laughed several times at his ability to squirt water from his nose. Apart from Annette, John, and Selma, the six other members of Team Purple sat in stony silence, their minds clearly on other things. Sarah didn't try and talk to them.

When it was their turn to dish up, Sarah left Ron at the table and followed the group to the food counter at the front of the dining hall. She collected two plates and two sets of cutlery - one for her and one for Ron. Cups and pitchers of water and juice were already at the table.

A skinny, white guy whose dreadlocks poked through his ball cap was in charge of mashed potatoes and Sarah accepted a scoop on each plate.

She thanked him and advanced with the line. When she looked up, she noticed a girl behind the food counter staring directly at her.

Sarah scowled, narrowing her eyes, and the girl looked away.

Who was she? A resident? Dressed in a lime green shirt with her dark brown hair largely hidden beneath a black ball cap, Sarah guessed that she was roughly the same age.

She was serving what looked to Sarah like Caesar salad.

"Peas and carrots, my dear?" asked an old woman with badly dyed, "blonde" hair.

Sarah nodded without taking her eyes off the mystery girl further ahead.

"You could at least say _please_ , young lady."

Sarah turned to face the old woman in front of her.

"I'm sorry. I'll have some peas and carrots, _please_."

The woman wasn't sure whether her reply was sarcastic or sincere and she sloppily dropped a scoop onto the two plates in Sarah's hands.

"You're _welcome_."

"Thanks."

Sarah moved forwards. Five servers stood between her and the mystery girl.

Caesar salad was her favourite - and she didn't want to miss out - but she didn't feel like talking to the girl and so Sarah cut out of line after getting two slabs of meat loaf.

Carefully balancing their plates, she returned to the table .

"Here you go little brother...bon appetit."

"Meat loaf! Awesome!"

Sarah smiled at his enthusiasm.

"And hopefully it's a lot better than the meat loaf from Mauricio's."

(Mauricio's was the greasy spoon Hank and Gloria always ordered from whenever they felt obliged to feed Ron and Sarah.)

Sarah sat down and they dug into their meals, not speaking until their plates were licked clean and not even a pea remained. Sarah had looked over at the mystery girl several times while eating, but only for a second, and every time the girl was either busy serving someone or looking casually in the opposite direction.

When they were finished eating, Annette reported that it was Team Purple's job that evening to do dishes and clean up. Sarah's groans made Selma laugh.

"It's not so bad."

Sarah made a face.

"We work very quickly. It will not take so long, I think."

The dining hall began to empty ten minutes later and while Ron wheeled himself to the rec room, Sarah dragged herself to the kitchen. Wynona handed her gloves and an apron and assigned her the task of scrubbing pots. Sarah _hated_ doing dishes - that was one thing (perhaps the only thing) she'd liked about living with the Smolinski's: they always ordered take-out or ate microwave dinners because Gloria was too lazy to cook - and so there were never any dishes to do.

She made her way to the dish pit and began filling one of the large, metal sinks with hot water. She added a dollop of soap and then got to work scrubbing out a pot the size of a small rain barrel.

It had been the pot used to cook the potatoes and no amount of soap or elbow grease seemed to remove the large patches of potato starch.

"You know it's easier if you use a scour pad," called a voice from behind her.

Sarah whirled around and found herself face-to-face with the mystery girl.

"You."

"Yeah. Me. My name's Rachel. I saw you at supper and I was going to say hey...but you didn't seem too keen."

Sarah wasn't sure whether she should be on her guard or not. Could she trust this stranger?

It would be nice to talk to a girl my own age for a change.

She'd use her fake name though - just to be on the safe side.

"Sorry. It's been a tough week. My name's Jessica."

She gave Rachel a quick once over. She wasn't _exceedingly_ beautiful, but she wasn't someone that Sarah would consider "ugly" either.

She was Sarah's height, and slender - but not athletic. _Well maybe volleyball._ She had a lot of freckles on her face - but her dark, brown eyes grabbed you and drew your attention away from them.

"Are you a resident too?"

Sarah suddenly realized that she was still wearing her goofy, yellow latex gloves and she hurried to slip them off her hands.

"No - although I'm here so much that it feels like it...I'm a volunteer...my parents' idea of a punishment."

Sarah was curious. "How's that?"

"It's a long story," answered Rachel with a smirk. "Here, (she passed Sarah a ball-shaped, metal scour pad), put your gloves back on and get scrubbing and I'll tell you all about it. Wynona will _kill_ us if she sees us standing around.

Sarah wasn't used to taking orders, but she'd already decided Rachel was worth it and she hurried to put her gloves back on and resume scrubbing.

"So basically," Rachel began as she tipped a stack of dirty plates into the sink, "my friend Stacey scored Brittany Shears tickets from Live 95."

"Oh my God! Did she invite you!?"

"Oh yeah. The only thing was that the concert was in Hamilton."

"I remember that. That was like..."

"In August."

"Yeah."

"Two months ago. And yeah, so anyways, Hamilton's like, a one-hour drive from the city and we figured since it was summer and all that my mom or dad would drive us. And also since her mom doesn't drive or have a car."

"Okay," said Sarah, stepping back as Rachel sprayed leftover salad from a bowl and water flew everywhere.

"Well, my parents were both busy with work and told me they couldn't take us."

"But you had _tickets_!"

" _I know!_ "

"So what did you guys do?"

"Well," said Rachel, grinning mischievously, "we took my dad's van."

"No way!"

Rachel giggled. "Yeah way! You even said it yourself! We had _tickets_! You know how hard it is to get Brittany Shears tickets!?"

"I know, I know. But _stealing_ your dad's van - when you don't even have your license - do you have your license?"

"Hell no. I don't even have my G2."

_{_ _Author's note_ _: A G2 is a learner's permit in Ontario}_

"Holy...and I thought _I_ did crazy stuff..."

"Yeah, well. Look where it got me," said Rachel gloomily, removing a chunk of meat loaf from a plate with a jet of water.

"How did you get caught?"

"Well my dad called the cops and reported the van stolen."

"Holy - "

"Yeah, and he reported me _missing_."

Sarah stopped scrubbing.

"And? So how did you get caught?"

"Well, we had no idea of course that my dad had reported the van as being stolen and all so when we got back to the city a cop actually pulled us over. I guess they were looking for us...so they called my mom who _freaked -_ and Stacey's mom - and they came and picked us up from the police station. My dad wouldn't talk to me for like a week after. He was _pissed_."

Wynona came through the kitchen doors and Rachel stopped talking.

"How are the dishes coming, girls?"

"Pretty good, Wynona."

"That's what I like to hear," sang the plump supervisor. "Are you showing Sarah the ropes?"

"Yep. She's a natural."

"Good. I'm glad. Now get a move on - we've got lots more dishes coming your way."

"Okay."

Wynona left the kitchen and Rachel made a face.

"She's nice but she can be annoying sometimes...anyways, my dad was so pissed and my mom said that instead of grounding me that they were making me work here."

"For how long?"

"Every Thursday, Friday and Saturday for six months."

"Holy crap!"

"Yeah, the judge agreed that this could count as my community service and he said that if I do it for the full six months, I won't have a record. _And_ I'll still be able to get my G2 when I'm sixteen."

"Dude, you are _so_ lucky to get off that easy."

"Tell me about it - but, sheesh - it totally sucks not being able to hang out with my friends on weekends. It's totally _killed_ my social life...oh well, eh? Three and a half months to go..."

"Yeah..."

They finished the dishes and when Wynona came in half an hour later, they were seated on two upside down buckets, helping themselves to some of tomorrow's fruit salad.

"GIRLS!"

"Uh oh."

"Sorry Wynona. We were bored...and hungry."

"I don't care! That's for tomorrow!"

Red-faced and with her mouth set into a thin line, she wrenched the bowl from Rachel and carried it to the counter.

"I only picked out the blueberries..."

"I don't care. Next time you two can wipe down tables and sweep the dining hall - I don't trust you in the kitchen anymore - and just think - this is only Sarah's _first_ night. Way to set an example."

"I'm sorry, Wynona," Rachel whined, knowing that Wynona wouldn't stay mad for long.

"It's time for you to go home anyways. Your dad's waiting outside. Sarah, off to bed with you. I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow. Team Purple has lunch clean up. Make sure you're here."

Sarah felt as though she should fix the sudden mess she founder herself in.

"Okay. I'll be here. And Wynona?"

"Yes?"

"I'll help clean up at supper tomorrow night too - to make up for eating some of the fruit salad."

Judging by her expression, Sarah thought she would say no. Instead though, the woman's expression softened.

"Okay. Alright...but _from now on_ \- no more funny stuff. You're not allowed food from the walk-in. If you're still hungry after supper, you can have leftovers. But no digging in the walk-in and attacking food meant for tomorrow. Alright?"

"Alright," said Sarah, happy Wynona had forgiven her.

In addition, not only had she made up for her little miscue, but she'd given herself a chance to spend more time with Rachel.

"Alright then. Rachel, you're gone. See you tomorrow at five. Sarah, I believe Ron is patiently waiting for you to take him upstairs. The rec room closed ten minutes ago."

"Alright."

'"G'night Jessica. It was nice meeting you."

"G'night. See you tomorrow."

The girls parted company and Sarah made her way through the dining hall towards the elevator. Ron was seated in his wheelchair playing his video game.

"Sair - just wait until you see the rec room! It has everything! A computer, a Nintendo Wii, board games, a foosball table, a dart board,..."

Sarah smiled to herself and drowned out her brother's commentary with a happy thought. After more than two months of not seeing Julia Whittaker, she'd finally made a new friend.

\- 9 -

NORMAN FOSTER

The following morning, Sarah stood in front of the bathroom mirror, examining her appearance one final time. It would be her first time seeing her dad - and she wanted to look her best. After several minutes, when she was confident that her hair was as good as it was going to get and that the small zit on her forehead was covered with enough foundation to make it (almost) unnoticeable, she returned to her room. She didn't have as much time as she would have liked to get ready as Amy had already taken Ron to the Bronson Street Community Clinic and they would be back for lunch. It was half past nine which meant she only had two and a half hours.

She considered that not having seen her father - two hours with him would literally be an _eternity_ \- but then again, seeing as it was her first time seeing her father - shouldn't she spend as much time with him as possible?

You're over-analyzing it again Sarah. After today, you'll have plenty of time to hang out with your dad.

With that happy thought, Sarah pulled on her shoes, slung the bag over her shoulder and left the room. Selma stopped her in the hallway for a quick question about lunch that day ("Does all pea soup contain pork?") and going down the stairs she got stuck behind a slow-moving blind man. But after several minutes she was finally outside and walking towards Dundas Street.

I can't believe I'm actually going to see my dad today! What will I say? Will he like me?

After checking her map (one of the few little freebies she'd gotten from Anthony's Mission), she found the nearest Dundas Street subway station.

She knew the subway system well (the only benefit of making so many deliveries in the city for Hank) and she exited at the Queen Street station.

Outside, she walked the one block to Bay Street. Her dad's office was on Bay Street - but she wasn't sure of the number. She removed her dad's business card from her pocket to double check the address.

The number on the building in front of her read "400 Bay Street" and so she walked two blocks south until she reached the two hundred block.

Sarah was awestruck when she discovered that two hundred Bay Street was an enormous, glass skyscraper. The towering edifice stretched upwards - forty stories or more - and Sarah craned her neck until she could see the top.

_This_ was where her dad worked?

She made her way towards the three revolving doors that served as the building's main entrance. At least a dozen men and women puffed away on cigarettes and Sarah covered her nose as she walked through their smoke. (Her mother's smoking habit had killed her and Sarah had long ago vowed to never even inhale second-hand cigarette smoke for as long as she lived.)

Once inside, she headed straight towards the security desk in front of the elevators. Two African-Canadian men were seated behind the counter - one grey-haired and relaxed-looking, the other young and alert.

"Hi."

"Hello."

"I'm trying to find my dad's office," said Sarah, handing the business card to the younger of the two.

"Stafford Schumann...those guys are on the...sixth floor...I'm pretty sure."

His eyes scanned the card for the suite number, but the older one spoke before he could find it.

"They're at six hundred _A_. Take the elevator to the sixth floor. It's the first door you see when you get off."

"Thanks."

The younger of the two seemed annoyed by his colleague butting in. He handed the card back to Sarah and as she walked towards the elevator, she heard him remark: "Why do you always have to go and do that Jack? You're making me look bad."

"Learn your stuff then kid," he growled.

Sarah smiled at their exchange as she pressed the elevator button. The door opened with a _ding_ and she stepped inside.

A woman called out for her to "WAIT!" and she held the elevator for her.

She pressed the button for the sixth floor then turned to the woman. "What floor?"

"Nine...please."

Sarah pressed the button for the ninth floor and as they rode upwards, she waited in that awkward silence that so often arises between strangers in the elevator.

The car stopped at the sixth floor, the doors opened, and Sarah stepped off. The doors closed behind her. She found herself in a quiet hallway, standing on a blue carpet floor, surrounded by decorative light fixtures that ran the length of both walls. Sarah looked ahead at the large, frosted glass doors immediately in front of her. An insignia with two "S"s - exactly like the one on her dad's business card - was emblazoned on it.

This was it. She was about to meet her dad. Sarah's mind raced through dozens of images as she tried to picture what he might look like.

Was he tall with brown hair? Was he short with blonde hair? Did he wear a suit or a sweater vest? Did he have a nice smile or was he always frowning?

These were her thoughts as she stepped forwards and pulled open one of the heavy, glass doors, bisecting the SS insignia.

Inside was pure luxury. Mahogany tables, leather chairs, fancy paintings - it was the Le Luxembourg all over again...hopefully she'd have better luck this time.

A pretty, blonde receptionist sat at the front desk. The placard on top of it read "Brenda Murphy".

"Good morning, young lady."

"Hi," Sarah answered nervously.

"What can I help you with?"

She could instantly tell that Brenda's smile was a fake one.

"I'm here to see Norman Foster."

Brenda paused briefly.

"I'm sorry, but I've never heard that name before. Is he a friend of yours?"

Her perfume was overpowering and Sarah waved a hand in front of her face to clear the air.

"He's my dad actually - and he works here."

"I don't know of any Norman Foster here. Are you sure he works _here_?"

"Yes."

"Well...uh...I've been here for a year now and I've _never_ heard of a person by that name."

How could this be?

Sarah removed the card from her pocket and read it to the woman.

"Stafford Schumman and Associates. Norman Foster," her voice rose as she continued, battling against her lack of confidence.

"Two hundred Bay Street. Suite six hundred A. How can there be no Norman Foster here?"

"Okay young lady - I need you to calm down _right now_. I am not in the mood for this today. I don't know what you're up to and what stunt you're trying to pull here - but there is no Norman Foster here! I'll even check for you. Okay!?"

She snapped open a binder on her desk and flipped through the pages with such force that Sarah was sure they would tear.

She stopped on a page and ran her finger from top to bottom.

"There's no one listed in our employee register with that name. Have a look for yourself if you don't believe me," she said irritably, thrusting the binder across the desk.

Sarah scowled and studied the list of "F" surnames. _Farfan, Farmer,_ _Faubert, Fehr_ _..._

There were fourteen "F" names in all and none of them was "Foster".

Her face fell. _How can this be? The business card isn't that old._ _This is just great_.

"Will that be all then?" asked the receptionist, clicking her half inch nails on the desk top in a way that made Sarah dislike her even more.

"Yes. That will be all," she said, shoving the binder away. "Sorry to waste your precious time!"

The receptionist seemed taken aback by Sarah's sudden rudeness.

"You watch your manners in here or I'll have you escorted out by security!"

"Oh yeah!" Sarah screamed back.

She was fed up. She'd had it. Nothing ever went her way.

She imagined what Ron would say if he were here. He'd tell her to cool it, to just relax. But she couldn't - _not_ when she'd come all this way and _not_ when she and Ron had nowhere else to go.

Furious, she needed a punching bag - and Brenda was going to be it.

"GO AHEAD! CALL SECURITY! SEE IF I CARE!"

Brenda smacked her hand against the table.

"THAT'S IT! YOU WANT IT MISSY!? YOU GOT IT!" And with that she pressed a button on the desk. It beeped three times and then stopped.

"They're on their way," she said smugly as she stared squarely at Sarah.

Sarah turned away and watched the door, waiting for one of the African-Canadian security guards to appear. The first person to arrive on the scene however, came from behind her.

"Brenda! Just what is going on out here!?"

The shrill tone of the female voice reminded Sarah of fingernails on a chalkboard.

Sarah whirled around to see who the voice belonged to.

"Ms. Gladstone," said the receptionist. "I'm sorry. This girl here has been extremely rude and belligerent - and I've called security."

Ms. Gladstone shifted her gaze from Brenda to Sarah. Her face softened.

"Can I ask what you want, young lady?"

"I've come here to see my dad...Norman Foster."

"Norman Foster is your dad?"

At this, Brenda's face went from completely smug to completely bewildered.

"You know my dad?"

"Who's Norman Foster?"

"One at a time please," said Ms. Gladstone with an impatient smile.

At that moment the doors opened and in stepped the young security guard Sarah had met at the security desk downstairs.

"Is there a problem here?"

"No," said Ms. Gladstone. There's isn't. But thank you for coming so quickly. We've just had a bit of a misunderstanding. It's all cleared up now."

"So...you don't need me here?"

"That's correct, Sir."

He looked at Sarah. "I see you found the place okay."

"Yeah...thanks."

"No problem."

He looked at each of them and when they said nothing he nodded his head.

"Alright then. You ladies have a nice day. Call me if you need me."

"We will. Thanks."

When he was gone, Ms. Gladstone invited Sarah to her office and told Brenda to bring them some coffee. Trying to make sense of this latest development , Sarah followed the tall and leggy, short-haired blonde to her large, corner office at the end of the corridor.

"Have a seat," she said once they were inside.

Sarah sat down dutifully in front of a large oak desk. On the desk was a placard that read: "Joyce Gladstone, VP".

The corporate executive sat down in her luxurious-looking leather chair behind the desk. "Your name again was?"

"Sarah. Sarah Litchmore."

"Sarah Litchmore...hmm...I can't say I've ever heard that name before..."

"My mother was June Litchmore."

"June...June...June...that name rings a bell...yes of course."

Ms. Gladstone looked across her desk at Sarah, her eyes bright.

"I never forget a name."

Sarah fidgeted uncomfortably.

"And, what do you remember of my mother?"

"Well, we threw a huge Christmas party this one year...this was back in, oh, ninety five? Ninety six? One or the other. Anyway, we threw this Christmas party for the office at Candy's downtown - great place - they tore it down a few years ago \- really a shame - fantastic place - but yes - I remember now - it was Christmas nineteen ninety-five. Norm had been with us for about a year - it was his first Christmas with us - and he brought this drop-dead gorgeous red-head as his guest...had everybody on their toes...and her name was _June_...I never forget a name if I can picture the face."

Sarah nodded, smiling at Ms. Gladstone's description of her mother.

Brenda arrived with their coffee and Ms. Gladstone cleared a space on her desk for the two steaming mugs. As Brenda left the office, she glared at Sarah. Sarah gave her a smug smile.

"So Norm's your dad, eh?" said Ms. Gladstone as she stirred two creams into her coffee.

Sarah could tell by her tone that the corporate executive was both amused and intrigued.

"Who?"

"Norm. Norman."

"Yeah."

That Ms. Gladstone had used the present tense to refer to her father assured Sarah that he was at least alive - which was a good first sign.

More importantly though, was he here? Would she get to meet him?

"Well that is interesting...how old are you - if you don't mind me asking?"

Sarah wasn't sure whether she should give "Jessica's" age or her own age. She decided to be up front with Ms. Gladstone seeing as she was taking the time to tell her about her dad.

"Fourteen and a half. I turn fifteen in April."

The corporate executive seemed to perform a calculation in her head. "That sounds about right."

"For what?"

"Well...I can remember the _very_ day your dad came in and told me that June was pregnant. It was September...yes...September ninety-six."

She chuckled as she recalled the memory. Sarah wished she would hurry up and share it with her.

"We had an important meeting scheduled for that morning with one of our clients...Taka Industries...Japanese firm...very impatient fellows..." she said with a grin.

"Anyways, your mom I guess had broken the news to him the night before - because when he came in - and this I will _never_ forget," she started to laugh, "he was still wearing his pajamas! Can you _imagine_? One of our most important clients - we're sitting around the table in the board room and in walks your dad," she said, barely able to control herself, "his hair is sticking out in every direction, he hasn't shaved, he's got bags under his eyes..."

(she had to stop and take a breath before she could continue)

"and he's wearing his suit jacket _over_ his pajama top and he's still got these baby blue pajama bottoms on. I mean - "

(she laughed)

"- it was just unreal! And these Japanese guys - "

(laughing)

"- you should have _seen_ their faces! You know how they are - very formal and polite and _always_ well-dressed - and here's Norm - "

(laughing and wiping a tear from her eye)

"- looking like he'd just walked out of a tornado! Ah - "

(finishes wiping eyes, finally collecting herself)

" - you had to be there. It was just...it was unreal...poor guy... he just wasn't ready to be a father I don't think... anyways, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be laughing like this...it's been years since I've thought about that - Norm never spoke of that day again - "

(sips her coffee)

"but, oh God, it was the talk of the office for _a month_."

Sarah smiled to be polite, but the obvious question was still nagging at her. Where was her dad?

"So...is my dad here?"

"Unfortunately not my dear. He transferred to our Paris office in ninety-seven and about...oh...eight years ago was it?" She thought for a second, "Yes two thousand three because that's when my father passed away...Norm sent a condolence card...in two thousand three Norm went into business for himself. Or, your _father_ I should say. In two thousand three _your father_ went into business for himself. He started some type of bookkeeping firm or something."

"Oh."

Nineteen ninety-seven was the year he left mom. Is that what he did then? He just upped and left and hopped on a plane?

Ms. Gladstone sipped her coffee and gave her head a small shake. "Yep..that was our Norm...a real go-getter. He started with us in...what year was that...ninety-four...yes nineteen ninety-four...because I had just transferred over from Cullen and Associates...anyways...within a year your dad became one of our best recruiters."

"Oh."

The corporate executive sipped her coffee. "Oh, I just love this French vanilla."

A minute of uncomfortable silence passed before Sarah finally spoke.

"Did he say why he was leaving us and moving to Paris? I mean...did he say anything about me or my mom?"

Ms. Gladstone set down her coffee and looked sympathetically across her desk at Sarah. "He told me one night...that he wasn't ready to be a dad...that he wasn't happy with his life...that he wanted a change. He regretted not having been able to travel before starting a family...and he'd always wanted to see Europe."

Sarah felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. "So...he left us because he wasn't ready to be my dad? He wanted to go play tourist?"

The woman nodded, her lips pursed tightly together. "I guess...to put it bluntly."

"But...why?"

Ms. Gladstone sighed deeply. "Men don't make sense sometimes my dear - _sometimes_ \- I should say _most_ of the time - the things they do - like I said - Norm was ambitious. Sorry, your _father_ , was an ambitious man...he was always thinking of the next big thing, his next move. He said to me once that he felt tied down with your mother...those were his words by the way...and that he didn't want to end up miserable like his own father."

"Oh..."

There was another minute of uncomfortable silence as Sarah grappled with the million thoughts whirring through her brain.

"Does he ever come back to Canada? To Toronto?"

Ms. Gladstone shook her head. "No...I don't believe so anyway...the last time he was here was ninety-nine - he came for a conference. He was still working for us at that point of course...so it made sense...but now that he's in business for himself...I don't think he comes back much anymore - if at all."

Seeing the sullen expression on the face of the girl seated in front of her, Ms. Gladstone attempted to engage Sarah in some lighter conversation.

"How is your mom by the way? Is she doing well?"

Sarah looked at her. "She's dead. She died when I was nine."

Ms. Gladstone's eyes widened. "Oh my God...I'm so sorry...please...I didn't mean - "

"No. It's okay."

"Well it certainly _isn't_ okay Sarah...I mean - who are you living with? Your grandparents - or an aunt or an uncle?"

"No. My only uncle died in a car accident when I was seven...and my mom only spoke of my grandparents a few times...and when she did, she called them crazy. She said that they were mer - mans or something."

"Mormons?"

"Yeah. Mormons. She told me that they live in B.C. somewhere. My mom left them when she was eighteen and moved to Toronto...she never saw them after that."

Ms. Gladstone shook her head as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"What a _tragic_ situation my dear. My question still stands though - are you being cared for by someone?"

"Oh yes, we have a great foster family...by _we_ I mean my foster brother and I...they're really nice to us and we have a great, big house in Bridle Path."

Telling the truth about her and Ron's situation would have only prompted the corporate executive to call Child Services - and plus - she was tired of all the sympathy.

Why did she have to always be the charity case? Why couldn't she just be _normal_ like everyone else?

"Oh wow!" Ms. Gladstone exclaimed. "Bridlewood."

Sarah noted, with some derision, that she seemed to lap it all up.

Adults are so gullible sometimes.

"Well I'm glad for that at least...even though...your life has been _extremely_ difficult up until now."

"Yeah."

"Hey...would you like to see a picture of your dad?"

She wasn't sure. Did she want to see a picture of the man who'd left them - a man who didn't want them?

"I guess..."

"I'm sure I have an old Annual Report or something here with his photograph...let me see..."

Ms. Gladstone turned around in her chair so that she faced her book shelf.

"Hmm...Annual Reports...where did I last see those..."

Sarah looked out the window. It was grey and cloudy - exactly how she felt right now.
"Ah yes...here we are," said the woman as she removed a stack of glossy booklets from the shelf.

"Let's see...two thousand ten, two thousand nine...let's get back into the nineties here...right...ninety-nine...ninety-six...ninety-five...ninety-four...let's go with ninety-four. That was your dad's first year here."

She opened the book and examined the table of contents. "Representatives...page four. Perfect."

Sarah watched anxiously as the corporate executive turned to page four. Her mother had never kept any pictures of her dad - she'd burned them all after he left - or so she said - and so, for the first time, she was about to see his face.

"Ah, here we are. Norman Foster. Look how young he looks here - he couldn't have been more than twenty-five in this picture. Here, have a look."

Sarah took the booklet and looked at the spot where Ms. Gladstone held her finger. A man with a strong face, dark brown hair, and clear blue eyes smiled at her.

Sarah couldn't bear to look at the picture - but then she couldn't stand not looking - it was her father - the man who'd given her life - the man her mother had loved so dearly.

"I can make a photocopy of this for you if you'd like."

Sarah didn't know how to respond. Did she want this man's picture? She didn't know him - even though she was a part of him - he'd been absent her entire life. Did she want to have a picture that would remind her of that every time she looked at it?

"No thanks."

"Okay..."

Sarah placed her head between her knees and breathed in deeply.

"Are you alright? Are you sick?"

"No. I'm fine. I'm just...shocked. I thought he would be here. I thought I'd get to meet him today. I thought...

Sarah didn't want to admit that she'd thought she could live with him...that he'd want her back in his life.

What a stupid idea. This whole thing is stupid.

Sarah stood up.

"Thank you."

Ms. Gladstone's face registered a look of surprise. "For what? Are you leaving? So soon?"

Sarah could feel the tears starting to well up in her eyes. If she stayed a minute longer, she'd be crying in front of this woman. This stranger.

"Yes. I have to go."

"Okay...feel free to come back if you ever want to talk more..."

Sarah was out the door before Ms. Gladstone could finish.

She sped past Brenda's desk and pushed open the heavy, glass doors.

Clutching at her stomach and with tears now streaming down her cheeks, she pressed the elevator button and prayed it wouldn't take forever. The doors opened instantly and she got on. She pressed the button for the ground floor. It took her down quickly - not stopping once.

When the doors opened, she hid her face and practically jogged past the security desk. She didn't want anyone to ask her what was wrong. She just wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible.

Sarah cried all the way back to Anthony's. At times her tears had flowed forcefully - running down her cheeks to the bottom of her chin. Other times they were simple droplets that hung from her eye lashes. She figured that she must have gotten a thousand stares from random people on the sidewalk and on the subway - but she'd didn't care.

Her dad was a lousy, deadbeat - a continent and an ocean away. In fourteen years he'd never once called or written - even though she and her mom had lived in the same apartment until the day she had passed away.

Why on Earth had she thought there was a chance that she could get to know him - that she could _live_ with him?

Sarah burned inside - she was angry with herself and even angrier with her dad - correction - her _father_ \- a _dad_ plays a proud part in his daughter's life - a _father_ makes a baby and moves halfway across the world.

As soon as she got back to Anthony's she headed to her room and crawled into bed. She skipped lunch and despite Ron's insistence to "Come and see the rec room!", Sarah lay in bed, the covers over her face, wishing she'd never been born.

Selma knocked on the bedroom door at a quarter after one to tell her that Team Purple was starting clean up in the kitchen and the dining hall now and did she want to come and help? Sarah told her politely to go away, that she was tired, and not feeling well.

To her annoyance, this news caused Amy to come and check on her a short while later.

"Are you alright? What happened? Are you sick?"

Sarah refused to answer her questions - simply telling her that she'd had a rough morning and could she please be left alone now?

Amy agreed to leave her along if she agreed to speak to one of the counselors. Sarah didn't want to speak to _anyone_ \- well, maybe Rachel - but said that she would if Amy would leave her be for the rest of the day. Amy left her then and Sarah, her tears finally abating, quickly fell asleep.

Sometime after five she awoke to the sound of someone knocking. "Jessica?"

"Who's there?"

"It's me - Rachel."

Sarah sat up. "Hey..."

She rubbed her eyes as Rachel entered the bedroom. "Geez, it's dark in here."

She flicked the light switch and Sarah covered her eyes with the blanket.

"Ahhh."

"I'm sorry Jess," said Rachel quickly, switching the light off. "I brought you supper."

Sarah pulled the blanket from her head. The light from the hallway was just enough for her to make out Rachel's face.

"Thanks...what time is it?"

"It's almost six o'clock."

"Geez...I've slept a long time. Where's Ron?"

"He's in the rec room, playing with some other kids. He got a cast put on his ankle today - and he's on crutches now. He seems to be enjoying all the attention he's getting though - everyone wants to sign his cast."

"Oh..." answered Sarah meekly.

"Is everything alright? Amy said you were having a rough day."

"Yeah..."

Rachel set the plate of food she'd brought on top of the desk and took a seat at the foot of the bed.

"My mom got me these new kicks today."

Rachel lifted her foot so Sarah could see.

"Nice. Are they comfy?"

"Totally. It's like walking on air."

"Awesome...I need to get some new shoes eventually."

Rachel glanced around the room.

"I've never actually been inside a room here before - this isn't all that bad to be honest."

"Yeah it's alright. Could use a few posters though."

"I hear that. My room is _covered._ My mom hates it - she says it'll ruin the wallpaper - but hey, it's my room isn't it?"

"Yeah. There's nothing more boring than a blank wall."

Sarah was beginning to feel sociable. And hungry.

"So you brought me supper?"

"Yeah...want it?"

"Yeah."

Sarah took the plate and tore off the plastic wrap to reveal a baked potato, steamed asparagus and a grilled chicken breast.

"Sorry about the asparagus - Wynona _insisted_ I put some on there."

Sarah smiled."It's all good."

Rachel talked while she picked at her food.

"You should have seen - at school today - my art teacher Mrs. Jenkins - she _totally_ flipped on this guy Ryan because he drew two monkeys doing it for his nature project.

"What?"

"Yeah. Like - we all had these National Geographic magazines - and we had to pick out an image - I did a Monarch butterfly and Stacey did a Koala bear - but Ryan - he's always trying to get attention - he picked this picture with two monkeys doing it and he drew that."

"What did your teacher say?"

"She _flipped_ on him. She told him to pack up his stuff, leave, and to not come back until he does the assignment properly."

"Wow. Strict."

"Yeah, but she's _really_ cool - best teacher I've ever had - well _one_ of the best - my grade eight music teacher was so funny that most of us signed up for concert band just to hear his jokes."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

The conversation went silent for a minute while Sarah attacked her baked potato and Rachel played with her shoelaces.

"So how's the food?"

"Good," said Sarah, licking her fingers. "It's awesome...I was so hungry...I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Well eat up. Some of it gets old pretty quickly though - like the steamed vegetables - we have them like every night."

"Yeah. And the bread too. It tastes like the same stuff they put out last night."

Rachel smiled. "You should try my mom's corn bread. It's like...heaven. Seriously. And it's healthy too. I could eat it all day."

"Yeah...corn bread's pretty good."

Hey!" said Rachel suddenly. "I just got an idea."

"What?"

"Well Thanksgiving is on Sunday right?"

"Yeah."

"Well - I'd have to ask my parents first, but \- why don't you and Ron come to our house for Thanksgiving supper?"

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"You'd want us?"

"Jess. C'mon. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you to come."

Sarah smiled. "Okay. Sure. Why not. It'd be nice to get out of here for awhile.

"Great. I'll ask my mom tonight. She's picking me up at eight. I'll have an answer for you by tomorrow - and don't worry - she'll say yes. She's cool - same with my dad."

"Okay..."

Sarah finished her baked potato and moved on to the steamed vegetables.

"Well...Wynona's going to skin me if I don't get back - I promised her I'd come up and go straight back."

"That's fine. I'll probably go take a bath now anyway. Baths always make me feel better."

"Me too."

They shared a smile and Rachel stood up. "Alright. So tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

"I'll be here at five again - for supper - and I'll let you know what my mom says. Okay?"

"Okay. And...thanks for bringing me supper. I don't think I could have faced everyone tonight - especially after I skipped out on lunch cleanup."

"Wynona mentioned that...but she didn't seem too upset. She forgets she's mad really quickly," added Rachel with a grin.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah I got that impression last night with the fruit salad."

"That's Wynona."

The conversation ended there and Rachel bid her friend farewell, leaving Sarah to her food - and her thoughts.

\- 10 -

SELMA'S DILEMMA

Sarah had decided at breakfast the following morning that she would give as little information as possible to the Anthony's counselor Amy had arranged for her to see. She didn't feel like discussing her father; as far as she was concerned, if he didn't care about her, then she didn't care about him.

Still, omitting any mention of her father from the conversation was only half the battle - she also had to be careful not to slip up and reveal her true identity.

"My name is Jessica Myers and I am nineteen years old. My name is Jessica Myers and I am nineteen years old."

She repeated this to herself over and over, as she sat in the office of "Dr. Angela Adamo, Clinical Therapist", waiting for her to arrive.

Sarah imagined herself as an adult - independent, employed and living in her own apartment.

My life would be so much easier. No curfew.Watch what I want. Eat what I want. Go out with my friends. Throw parties. Have a good job...

The door opened and in walked a short and stocky woman, dressed all in black. She carried a briefcase and wore a silver cross around her neck.

"So sorry to have kept you waiting Jessica - one of our other residents was having a small episode. Certain holidays can trigger a lot of difficult emotions in some people - and Thanksgiving is no exception. But, here we are."

She squeezed into her chair and gazed at Sarah from behind her square-frame glasses.

"So...how are you feeling today?"

Sarah shrugged. "Not bad. Could be better, could be worse."

Dr. Adamo smiled. "That's very non-committal."

"Sorry?"

"Non-committal...like...you're not committing to one way or the other. It's not good, it's not bad. It just is."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. It just doesn't really give me an understanding of how you're feeling."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry but my mood changes on a whim sometimes - so I can't really commit to one feeling or another."

Sarah could see by the look on Dr. Adamo's face that she was already well on her way to accomplishing her task of not revealing too much.

She watched Dr. Adamo scribble in her notebook.

"What are you writing?"

The counselor looked up and smiled. "Just making notes. You just sit back and relax and I'll ask the questions, okay?"

"Sure."

There was a span of silence before her next question and Sarah leaned back to count the ceiling tiles.

"So. Let's get back to how you've been feeling - and in particular - the _good_ feeling."

"Okay..."

"For instance, what was _good_ about yesterday."

"Breakfast was good. We had blueberry pancakes. That's one of my favourites."

"Okay, (scribbling in her notebook) and anything else?"

"No."

"Alright. How about, what _wasn't_ good about yesterday?"

What could she say? That she'd waited fourteen and a half years to see her father and that he turned out to be a total deadbeat?

"The weather. It was cloudy and grey."

"And why don't you like the weather when it's cloudy and grey?"

"Well do you like it when it's cloudy and grey?"

"We're not here to talk about me," said Dr. Adamo with a crisp smile, "we're here to talk about _you_."

Sarah sat back and looked at the numerous certificates on Dr. Adamo's wall.

"How long did it take you to become a head doctor?"

"Jessica."

"Yes."

"We're talking about you."

"Right. Sorry. I forgot. Um...what else was good about yesterday...hmm...oh, my friend Rachel."

She stopped and waited for Dr. Adamo to prompt her to say more.

"And? What about your friend Rachel was good?"

"She came to see me and she brought supper to my room."

"And why did that feel good?"

"I don't know - I guess because she's a friend."

"Okay. So this Rachel person is a friend of yours and she makes you feel good because she does nice things for you? Because she's considerate?"

"Yeah."

"Alright."

Sarah didn't like that Dr. Adamo seemed to be tearing down the walls she'd put up.

"It feels good to have friends that care about us, doesn't it?"

"Yeah...I guess so."

"Do you have many friends?"

That was a good question. Who did she count as friends? Troy and Samantha from her last group home? Tom and Julia Whittaker? Would she see either of them ever again? Weren't friends people you saw regularly?

"Jessica?"

"Sorry. I guess I have a few."

"A few friends?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. And do all your friends make you feel good? Do they treat you well?"

"I guess."

The session continued back and forth like this for the rest of the hour. Dr. Adamo asked her about Ron. She asked her what type of career she was considering. Did she plan to go to college or university? Did she have a boyfriend?

Sarah answered all of these questions with simple, open-ended answers, skillfully dragging out the hour. Only once did she reveal more than she had wanted, mentioning at one point that she wasn't old enough to drink.

To this, Dr. Adamo had asked: "But you're nineteen aren't you?" And indeed, Jessica Myers was nineteen.

Hastily correcting herself, Sarah explained that she'd simply meant that she wasn't _mature_ enough to drink and added that she avoided alcohol because of what it did to people.

At exactly eleven o'clock, Dr. Adamo said that her next appointment was waiting and that Sarah was free to leave. Sarah didn't need telling twice, and left her office, happy that she'd performed so well.

However, at lunch, Ron dampened her enthusiasm when he told her that she didn't look _close_ to being nineteen - despite the way she'd done her hair and makeup that morning - and that he'd always wondered how she got away with it.

"Well you don't even look eight!" she'd shouted angrily, loud enough for everyone in the dining hall to hear.

They made up - eventually - after some encouragement from Annette - and after lunch, made their way to the rec room.

As it was a Saturday - the rec room was _packed_. Kids who would normally have been in school fought over board games and hogged the foosball table.

Sarah had to literally pry one young boy's fingers from the computer when his half hour was up so that she could use it.

It had been at least a week since she'd last logged onto Facebook and she felt out of touch - not that she had many friends anyway.

Suspiciously, there was a message from Julia, asking how she was doing and what she was up to.

No doubt her grandmother had put her up to it.

She deleted the message - even though she would have loved nothing more than to write Julia back and update her on everything that had been happening since they'd run away from the Smolinski's. But she couldn't - she couldn't risk Child Services taking them back - not after all they'd been through already.

Sarah felt as though they were _finally_ turning a corner - and if she could just get a job - her and Ron could maybe get a little apartment and start over fresh.

After an hour Sarah had had enough and Ron agreed to some fresh air. They put on their jackets - as it was fairly cold with the wind - and Sarah wheeled her brother to the park across the street.

They watched a squirrel fight a murder of crows for a piece of bread and clapped fiercely when the squirrel won. A group of boys was playing ultimate frisbee on the soccer field and Sarah watched them until it became too windy and they called it a game.

At four forty-five Sarah wheeled Ron back to Anthony's. "You go ahead to the dining hall - I have to go to the bathroom first. I'll meet you in there."

She headed up the stairs to the bathroom on the purple floor. As she neared the door, she heard someone crying. She stopped and listened. It sounded like that kind of crying where your body heaves and you want to scream out, but it would be too loud, so you hold it in and endure the pain.

Sarah knocked softly on the door and the crying stopped.

"Hello? Are you alright in there?"

"Jessica...it's you. Yes. I am fine. Thank you."

By the voice and the accent, she could tell that it was Selma.

"You don't sound fine. Why are you crying?"

There was no answer.

"Selma?"

"My family has disowned me," she answered after a minute.

"What? Why? What happened?"

She could hear Selma sniffling and then blowing her nose.

"I called my sister today - in Pakistan - and I told her that I want to come home."

Her voice broke.

"She told me that I couldn't - that my father would kill me - that I had brought _shame_ to our family because I left Shabeer - my husband."

Selma's breathing was rapid, like muted machine gun bursts that came between her tears and her sniffles.

"I'm so sorry, Selma."

Sarah sat down beside the door and waited patiently for the young mother to speak again.

"I have no place to go, Jessica. Where will me and my baby live? We can only stay here for three months as you know," she said, her voice breaking, "I don't know what I can do."

"Well, we'll talk to Amy," said Sarah hopefully. "I'll come with you. Maybe she can help."

"No. It won't work. She already told me that she wants me to speak to the police about Shabeer - she wants me to press the charges on him. Jessica, I can't. I cannot do this. It is unacceptable for our culture. In my culture, a wife must obey her husband - no matter what. I cannot speak to the police..."

"But Selma - you're in Canada now. You're safe. You _can_ go to the police and press charges against your husband if he - "

"No! Jessica...I cannot. Even though my body is in Canada, my heart and my soul are in Hamai - that is my village back home - and if I ever want to return - I cannot bring such shame on my family."

Sarah had no idea what to say. What could she say? Tell Selma that everything was going to be alright? She _hated_ it whenever someone said that - because it was never true - it never worked out _alright_.

A baby began to cry from behind the bathroom door. Amir.

Selma hushed her baby and began to sing to him. She sang beautifully and Sarah rested her back against the wall and closed her eyes to listen.

The language was like none she'd ever heard. Graceful. Melancholic. It moved her.

Selma's singing continued for several minutes and when she was finished, Amir had stopped crying.

"I think you should talk to Amy, Selma. She can help you."

"No, Jessica. She cannot. She does not understand my culture."

"Well what then? You can't just go back to your husband."

"That is what I must do," she answered quietly.

"What!? No!"

Selma ignored her.

"Selma. You can't go back to that man! He hits you! That's wrong - in any culture."

There was no answer.

"Selma. You're a friend of mine and I can't just sit back and let you do that. If you won't go to see Amy, then I will!"

The door opened suddenly and Selma appeared. Her face was red, her eyes puffy and swollen from crying.

"You must not Jessica! You cannot! I will leave now!"

"No!"

She reached out to grab Selma by the arm, but the woman slapped her arms away and pushed her. Sarah fell backwards and landed hard on the floor. In that instant Selma scooped up Amir and ran towards her bedroom. Sarah leapt to her feet, her adrenaline pumping full blast, and sprinted after her. It was no use though. The door slammed shut and Sarah heard what sounded like a chair being put under the door knob - she knew this sound well because she'd often done it to keep Hank from wailing on Ron - locking her brother in a room until Hank had either left the house or calmed down.

"Selma! Open the door!"

There was no answer, but she heard Selma moving hangers in her closet - and the sound of a zipper being unzipped. Was she packing? Was she really going to leave Anthony's and go back to her husband? She had to stop her. She had to find Amy.

"Somebody! Anybody! Team Purple! Is anyone up here?"

Sarah ran the length of hallway. It was silent. Everyone had gone down to supper and there was nobody to stand guard while she went to fetch Amy. She'd have to be fast.

Sarah raced towards the stairwell and hurtled down the steps. She came to the dining hall. Where was Amy? Her eyes searched frantically. "SAIR! HURRY UP! IT'S ALMOST TIME TO EAT!"

Ron was sitting a few feet from where she stood, by himself, at the end of the purple table. "Come and sit!"

"Not now, Ron! And don't call me Sair," she hissed.

"Sorry."

"Where's Amy? I need to speak with her."

"I think she's in the kitchen. Why? What's going on?"

Sarah didn't answer, but took off running across the dining hall towards the kitchen.

"Ahhhh!"

Wynona let out a cry as Sarah nearly crashed into her.

"Jessica! Just what do you think you're doing!?"

"AMY!" Sarah yelled, ignoring Wynona's protests. "AMY!"

Amy poked her head out around the corner.

"Jessica? What's the matter? Why are you shouting?"

"It's Selma," said Sarah breathlessly. "She's about to leave - go back to her husband - she was crying - very upset - she said she brought shame to her family."

Her heart was pounding and she could hardly speak as she tried to catch her breath.

Amy looked deeply concerned. "Where is she now?"

"In her room."

"Okay. I'm going right now."

Amy waved one of the security guards over and began issuing instructions as Sarah collapsed against the wall.

"Jess?"

Sarah turned around.

Rachel.

"Hey."

Her friend wore a concerned expression on her face.

"You look terrible...what's wrong? Are you alright?"

Sarah managed a smile. She was sweating and she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

"I'm alright...thanks...just tired. There's this woman...her name is Selma...I'm not sure if you know her."

Rachel shook her head. "No. I don't know her."

"She left her husband about three weeks ago because he was abusive towards her. Anyways, her family back in Pakistan disowned her because, _apparently_ , it brought _shame_ onto her whole family. Like, because she left her husband."

"Okay..." said Rachel.

"It was an arranged marriage sort of deal and the two families are from the same village...and so yeah...it's just a bad situation all around. That's what Annette told me anyway."

"That's so sad...and I can't believe that she's even _considering_ going back to the guy..."

Sarah looked at her with a knowing expression. "Tell me about it."

Her breathing had finally returned to normal and her heart had slowed to its normal pace.

"Are you eating?" asked Rachel with a hopeful expression. "It's lasagna tonight - and it's actually good."

"Yum...that sounds delicious," she answered, momentarily forgetting about Selma.

Rachel grinned. I'll take that as a yes...anyways, I have to get back to my station now before Wynona starts her griping."

Sarah put out her hand. "Wait."

"Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say...thanks for last night. You know...coming to see me in my room and bringing me supper...no one usually does stuff like that for me."

"Don't mention it. You're a cool girl, Jess. I was glad to do that for ya. Are you feeling better today?"

Sarah smiled (although she was starting to feel really guilty that Rachel still didn't know her real name).

"Much better."

"I'm glad to hear that...oh hey! Guess what?"

"What?"

"My mom said that you and Ron can come to our house for Thanksgiving tomorrow and if you want you can stay the night and come with us to the zoo on Monday. That's sort of a Nielsen-Vasquez family, Thanksgiving tradition...what do you say?"

What could she say but yes?

"Of course! I'd love to come."

Rachel grinned. "That's so awesome. We'll have lots of fun."

"Yay...I'm so excited."

"Me too."

The girls chatted some more before Wynona came into the kitchen and shooed them out.

\- 11 -

THANKSGIVING WITH THE NIELSEN'S

On Sunday, at precisely three in the afternoon, Maria Nielsen-Vasquez pulled into the loading zone behind Anthony's. Sarah and Ron were waiting, impatiently, anxious for a change of scenery and excited to spend time with the Nielsen family.

"Hey Jess!"

"Hi Rachel!"

"Hey Ron."

"Hey."

"Jess, this is my mom, Maria."

"How do you do?"

"Hi Mrs. Nielsen - it's nice to meet you."

Not one for small talk, Maria did not see any need for them to stand around. "Are we all ready to go?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then...Rachel...open up the back so we can put Ron's...what's the word again...crutches. Crutches! I remembered that word," she said with a smile.

"Good job, _mamá_ ," Rachel chimed as she opened the trunk and stowed Ron's crutches inside.

Sarah helped Ron climb into the front passenger seat of the red mini-van and once Ron was buckled in, the girls climbed into the rear seat.

" _Bueno_ ," said Maria a minute later when she was satisfied that they were all packed and ready to go. "Next stop, _la_ _casa_ Nielsen!"

"So Rachel tells me you're from Pickering," said Maria once they were on the highway.

"Yeah."

"I used to work in Pickering. Do you know the River Lodge care facility?"

"Is that the one near Lucky Burger?"

" _Si_! Yes! You know it then. That's where I worked for the first two years when I came to Canada."

Sarah smiled, glad that she could find something in common with Rachel's mom.

"I used to eat lunch at the Lucky Burger every Friday," Maria continued. "It's really too bad we don't have a place like that in Toronto."

"Yeah, the Lucky Burger makes the best burgers."

"Yes...and you know, in my country, before I came to Canada, I had never eaten a hamburger."

"Really?"

"Yes. Well, it's because I am from a small town called _Nahuala_ where we don't have hamburgers - we do make this type of meatball - but we use pork because beef is very expensive in El Salvador - only for the rich. My family was very poor when I was young."

Sarah could feel that Rachel was a little embarrassed by the conversation - not only did Maria Nielsen-Vasquez have a noticeable Spanish accent - she admitted to being poor as freely as a person admits to being human.

But Sarah liked her accent - and as for being poor - she'd been raised by a single mother and was now a homeless orphan - so being poor was nothing new.

"Where's El Salvador?" asked Ron. He'd set down his game console and was listening intently to the conversation unfolding in the van.

"El Salvador is in Central America - "

"Near Mexico?" asked Ron before she could finish. "Mexico is in Central America isn't it?"

Maria smiled. "You're a very intelligent boy I see. Yes. _México_ (she pronounced it "mey - heeko") is in Central America - but El Salvador is more south. It is between Honduras and Guatemala."

"Cool! Is it hot there then? Like in Mexico? And they speak Spanish right?"

Maria laughed."Wow! You know so much! Yes, it's much warmer in El Salvador than here - and we speak Spanish."

Sarah and Rachel listened as Maria gave Ron a thorough lesson on El Salvador, patiently answering all of his questions and diligently explaining everything from the name of the national bird to the name of the country's tallest mountain.

The Nielsen's lived in the small suburb of Rexdale. Rexdale reminded Sarah of Pickering with its single-storey bungalows, tree-lined streets and big front lawns.

Maria turned into the driveway of a modest, red-brick bungalow.

"Everybody out," said Maria once they were in the garage.

"Rachel, get the crutches from the back and help Jessica with Ron please."

"I am."

"Okay. I was just making sure. They are our guests - so you have to treat them nicely."

" _Yo sé mamá_ ," said Rachel irritably.

Sarah looked at her. "You speak Spanish?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, I'm so jealous."

Rachel smiled. "Don't be. I can teach you."

"That would be so cool. I've always wanted to be able to speak another language - and Spanish sounds so cool."

While Maria went inside to let the dog out from his kennel ("Memo" was the Nielsen's big golden retriever), the girls helped Ron onto his crutches and then up the steps into the house.

" _Querida_ \- can you show them where to put their jackets and their shoes, please?" said Maria to Rachel once they were all inside.

At that moment Memo bounded over to them and Ron got all excited. "Here boy! Come here! Good boy! Ah, his tongue is wet!"

All of them laughed as the hulking retriever pushed Ron onto the couch and licked his face.

"Memo! _Ya basta_! That's enough!"

"Come here boy," said Rachel. "Leave Ron alone, okay? He just met you and he doesn't want all those kisses from you!"

"How about you girls take him for a walk, _querida_?"

"What's _querida_ mean?" Sarah whispered.

"It means like sweetheart in Spanish."

"In a bit _mamá_ , okay? First I want to show Jessica my room."

The front door opened all of a sudden and in walked a tall man with shaggy blonde hair and fogged up glasses. He wore a black fleece and a Toronto Maple Leafs toque.

"Hey dad."

"Hey honey."

Rachel's dad removed his glasses and he and Maria shared a quick kiss.

"How were the lineups?"

" _Muy concurrido cariña_. Very busy. I only went because I love ya."

He saw Ron and Sarah. "You must be Ron and Jessica. I'm Julian. Rachel's dad."

"Hi. Jessica."

"I'm Ron."

They shook hands.

"Well it's nice to meet you both. Rachel's told us a lot about you two."

Sarah blushed. "Did she?"

"Yep, says you're a real troublemaker," he said with a wide grin, "and this one (he gestured towards Ron) plays his video game twenty-four seven."

Sarah laughed. "That's pretty much us in a nutshell."

"In a nutshell?" asked Maria curiously.

Rachel looked at her mother in exasperation. " _Mamá_ , you ask that _every_ time...it means like, the summary of someone...you know, the basics."

"Ah, I see, okay. _Querida_ , go easy on me - I don't spend time around young people so I don't know all your expressions."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "It's not just a young people's expression _mamá_..."

"Okay, okay, enough of that," said Julian, removing his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. "Have our guests been offered some food and drink?"

"I was _just_ about to do that," said Maria. "Thank you for reminding me _cariño_."

She turned to Ron and Sarah. "What would you two like to drink? We have pop, juice, chocolate milk - "

"Chocolate milk! Chocolate milk!" Ron shouted enthusiastically.

Maria laughed. "I think someone is crazy for chocolate milk."

"Yeahhhh!"

Maria laughed again. "Okay! Chocolate milk for you! And Jessica?"

"Just some juice please."

"Orange? Apple? Pineapple?"

"Orange please."

" _Bueno_."

"Okay, now you have to come and see my room," said Rachel once her mother and Julian had gone into the kitchen.

"Sure."

"What am I going to do?" Ron whined as they headed for the stairs. His foot, in its cast, was propped up on the coffee table.

"Just stay there. We'll be back in a five minutes."

Ron was about to protest further, but the girls were already halfway up the stairs.

After a minute, Julian poked his head out the kitchen doorway. "Hey Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to come downstairs and watch the hockey game?"

"No, he doesn't want to watch your stupid hockey game," joked Maria from behind him. "How you Canadians can enjoy a game that has to be played on ice - in minus twenty degree weather - ay - I still don't understand it! Even after sixteen years!"

"I want to watch the game," said Ron brightly.

"Great! We'll just have to figure out a way to get you down the stairs - this house isn't exactly built for people on crutches," Julian added with a grin.

"Here, _cariño_ ," said Maria, setting down the glasses of orange juice and chocolate milk she'd just filled. "I'll take the crutches and you carry him."

Ron looked unsure.

"Don't worry," said Maria when she saw the doubt on Ron's face. "He's a strong guy!"

Julian laughed as he plucked Ron from the couch and held him with one arm. "Such flattery from my wife - you watch - she'll ask me to do her a favour in about two minutes."

Maria smiled. "Liar!"

"Huh oh! Am I? What about this morning when you told me I looked handsome? A minute later you asked me to return that blender!"

"I did not!"

"You did too!"

They continued their good natured back-and-forth as they descended the stairs. When they reached the bottom Julian lowered Ron to the ground. "There ya go."

Maria handed him the crutches and he hopped towards the couch.

"Kind of tough gettin' around on those things, eh?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah."

Julian rested his hands on his hips. "Yeah, I had to use crutches my second year of college. Tore my ACL. It was pretty rough."

"Okay, well," said Maria, "I'll leave you boys in the _man-cave_ (she always said this word with a smile because she found it so amusing) and I will go and start supper. You let me know if he's being mean or hogging the remote. Okay, Ron?"

Julian laughed. "Oh come on! When do I ever hog the remote!?"

"Okay," said Ron, grinning from ear to ear. "Thanks."

Maria smiled. "Okay. Good. Oh - your chocolate milk. I'll bring it down for you."

"No it's okay honey," said Julian. "I have to bring a few snacks down anyways."

"Ah, okay."

Using the remote, Julian flicked on the TV and set the channel for the hockey game.

"I'll be back in a couple minutes, alright? I'm gonna bring down some food. Do you like pretzels?"

Ron nodded.

"Alright then. Pretzels it is. Here, (he tossed Ron the remote), watch whatever you want until I get back. Since my wife (he tickled Maria until she squealed) says I _hog the remote_."

Ron smiled. "Okay."

They bounded up the steps like two rabbits in love and Ron sat back, surveying his new surroundings. It was quite dark in the basement, but he could make out what looked like a pool table in one corner. In the other corner was a punching bag and a weight set and immediately adjacent to these, a washer and dryer. To the right of the washer and dryer was a wall displaying a number of comic and book covers in frames. Julian returned a minute later with two large bowls of pretzels - one for him and one for Ron. He also brought Ron's chocolate milk, and for himself, a can of beer.

"Ahh," he said, stretching his feet onto the coffee table. "This is what the holidays are all about."

Ron nodded. "Yeah...hey...what are those comics on the wall back there?"

He pointed to the wall that held the picture frames.

"Oh, those are some of my works. The big ones anyways - the ones that get noticed. I'm an animation artist."

"Whoa...so like...you do comics and stuff?"

Julian nodded. "Comic books, book covers, graphic novels, comic strips for newspapers - a bit of everything."

"That's so cool."

"I'll show you my office sometime today or tomorrow and you can see some of the projects I have on the go."

"Awesome. Can you show me how to draw?"

Julian smiled. "Sure I can teach you a few things."

Ron looked ecstatic and Julian couldn't help laughing. "You look so amazed. Don't you draw?"

"Sometimes. I like to draw my video game characters."

"Well, that's how you start - and then you just keep practicing and practicing until you get good."

Ron shoved a pretzel into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, mulling over Julian's advice.

Don Cherry came on and began talking about the Leafs' first line.

"You like hockey?" asked Julian, taking a sip of his beer.

"Yeah."

"How 'bout the Leafs?"

"Yeah!"

"Awesome. They've been my favourite team since I was old enough to skate. If you weren't a Leafs fan, you weren't a Nielsen."

While Ron and Julian watched the hockey game downstairs, Sarah was busy admiring Rachel's room upstairs.

"And you have a loft bed!"

Rachel grinned. "That was my Christmas present last year. Pretty slick, hunh?"

"Totally."

"Did you see my Brittany Shears poster? It's _autographed_."

"No way!"

"Yeah way! I bought it online, so I didn't actually meet her - but still - it's pretty cool."

Sarah ran her hand over the signature then circled the room, taking in the other aspects of Rachel's room.

"You're so lucky...to have all this..."

Rachel sniffed. "I know - but my life hasn't been completely easy either, you know."

Sarah looked out the window and watched some kids playing hockey in the street.

It sure seems like an easy life...growing up here in the suburbs...everyone has a house with a car in the driveway...kids playing road hockey...

"We lost my younger brother six years ago. Leukemia."

Sarah whirled around. "Oh my God...Rachel...I had no idea."

Now she knew how Ms. Gladstone must have felt when she'd dropped the bomb on her about her mom being dead.

Rachel looked at the floor. "It's okay Jess...just try not to mention it to my parents...we don't talk about him much. It's too painful for them."

"I can imagine..."

"Anyways," said Rachel, looking up at her, "let's not dwell on that. George wouldn't have wanted us to be sad."

"That was his name?"

"Yeah...George, Jorge - he went by both."

Sarah closed her eyes.

Rest in peace George...Jorge...whichever you prefer...you have a very nice family.

"Have you heard the Purple Sunglasses' new song yet?" asked Rachel, grabbing her laptop from the desk and popping it open.

"No! Do you have it!?"

"Yeah, just give me a second and I'll load it up."

***

An hour later, Ron, Sarah, and the Nielsen's were seated around the dining room table.

"Ron? Would you like some potatoes?" asked Maria.

"Yes, please."

"Here you are."

"Thanks."

When Ron was finished dishing up his plate she turned to Sarah and Rachel.

"Girls? Potatoes?"

"Sure mom."

"Yes please, Mrs. Nielsen."

"Julian - pass this to the girls please. Thanks."

Julian took the bowl from his wife and looked at them with a mischievous grin. Sarah knew what was coming even before it happened. Taking the serving spoon, they all watched as he scooped the entire bowl of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

"Dad!"

" _Cariño_!"

At the opposite end of the table, Ron giggled.

"What?" asked Julian, playing dumb.

Maria's face was incredulous - but Sarah could tell by her eyes that she wasn't angry.

"Why did you do that!? Do I not feed you!?"

" _Mi amor_ , your food is just so amazing \- I wanted to eat it all!" he exclaimed.

Rachel scoffed. "Yeah right, dad. "Here, give me that," and she reached over and snatched Julian's plate. Unfortunately, she didn't anticipate the weight of the potatoes and the plate fell from her grip and clattered to the floor.

Maria shook her head. "Ah! Now look!"

Julian shrugged. "MEMO!"

At the sound of his name, the faithful golden retriever came running in.

"Here boy! Supper!"

Maria slapped her forehead dramatically. "Aye. Tu es loco cariño. I should make you and him eat together from now on...outside!"

They all watched as Memo chomped hungrily on the gift he'd just been given.

Rachel looked on in disgust. "Geez dad...you're lucky mom loves you so much."

Julian laughed and kissed his wife's forehead. "I know. I'm sorry. Your potatoes were delicious honey...Memo told me...right boy?"

With a little coaxing Julian soon had Memo singing and everyone around the table burst out laughing.

When they'd finished eating, board games were brought out and Maria made everyone mugs of hot chocolate - complete with whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, and a cinnamon stick.

"Thank you so much for having us over, Mr. and Mrs. Nielsen," said Sarah as Rachel passed out the game pieces for Cranium.

"Yeah thanks," said Ron.

Maria smiled. "It was our pleasure. Any time."

"Yeah, anytime," said Julian. "Especially if you don't mind scooping poop because Memo makes a lot of it and the back yard could use a good clean up!"

"Julian!"

"Dad!"

"Only joking...can't anyone take a joke tonight? It's Thanksgiving - relax a little!"

As they sat down to play, Sarah realized that she was the happiest she'd been in a long time. She looked over at Ron as he slurped his chocolate and knew he felt the same way.

\- 12 -

RACHEL FINDS OUT

"Did you both sleep well?" asked Maria as they sat waiting for Julian's famous breakfast the following morning.

"Yes, thanks," answered Sarah, rubbing her eyes and fixing her bed head.

"Yeah," Ron added.

"It was a little cold, _mamá_ ," said Rachel.

Maria nodded as she filled her mug with freshly-brewed coffee. "Yes, I think the furnace is acting up again. I'll get _papi_ to look at it."

A minute passed with no one speaking. Sarah played with her necklace and Ron picked at something on the table cloth with his fork.

"So what time are we going to the zoo?" asked Rachel finally.

"As soon as we are finished breakfast, _querida_ ," said Maria with a glance at her daughter.

"And breakfast is _served_ ," said Julian, waltzing into the dining room with four plates.

He set one down in front of each of them.

"Yum."

"Looks good, _mi amor_."

"Yeah, this looks delicious."

Each plate contained the following: a full Belgian waffle, four strips of bacon, hash browns, four breakfast sausages, and scrambled eggs with cheese.

"Dig in, gang."

"Can you pass the ketchup please, Jessica?"

"Of course."

They took their time eating - a Latin American custom. (As Maria said at one point during the meal, "What good is a holiday if you can't relax and enjoy it?") When they were finished Sarah and Rachel helped Maria clean up while Julian showed Ron his office.

"And, here are some of my drawings."

"Wow! These are awesome!"

"Thanks - I did them myself," he quipped sarcastically.

Ron picked up Julian's rendition of Superman.

"How do you do this!?"

"Years of practice. _Years_ of practice," said Julian, grinning widely.

"I wish I could draw like this."

"Hey, maybe I can teach you someday."

Ron's face lit up. "That would be _awesome_!"

He picked up a stack of card stock paper tucked under the hutch of the desk. "These look like comic books - but they're not together."

"Yeah those are my story boards. I'm working on a new series for Yarvel."

"Whoa," said Ron, examining one of the pages. "Is this a new super hero then or something?"

Julian made the motion of zipping his lips. "I can't say."

"Well, can I see it when you're done?"

"Of course. I'll even give you a copy of the first print. They send me about a dozen."

"Awesome..."

Julian replaced the story boards and picked up another stack of papers. "These here are my comic strips for the newspaper."

"Wow! _You_ draw Tragic Magic?"

"Yep."

"Oh man...I wish I could tell T.J. about this...he's my friend from school...he _loves_ Tragic Magic."

"Well, here," said Julian, "I'll give you two autographs - one for him and one for you. That be cool? You'll see that it's the same as my signature in Tragic Magic. That way you can say you met me - seeing as I'm so famous and all," he added with a grin.

"Yeah!"

"Alright."

Ron watched as Julian signed two card-sized pieces of paper.

"There you go. One for you, and one for a friend."

Ron took the autographs and held them as though they were bars of gold.

"Thank you."

"No worries. Anytime."

"DAD! MOM SAID TO TELL YOU THAT WE'RE LEAVING IN FIFTEEN MINUTES!"

"OKAY!"

"So that's that. Here, you can have this too," said Julian as though Rachel hadn't just interrupted them.

He removed the tack from a picture of Poseidon he'd drawn. The ancient Greek sea god held a trident and wore a crown made of shark's teeth.

"Awesome..."

"That drawing there is what got me the job at Yarvel. You can have it."

"Really?"

"For sure. Keep it for inspiration."

"Thank you."

"No problem big guy."

"DAD! MOM SAID TO HURRY UP! SHE NEEDS YOU TO HELP HER MAKE LUNCH!"

"BE THERE IN A MINUTE!"

He turned to Ron. "Alright, let's get packed up. Go and throw those things in your bag because we're going to drop you and your sister back at Anthony's after the zoo. Okay?"

Ron nodded.

"Good. Do you need help getting down the stairs?"

"No, I can manage."

"Okay. Be careful - we don't need to see you with your _other_ leg in a cast."

Ron grinned. "I'll be careful."

While Ron went to the guest bedroom to pack his bag, Julian made his way downstairs to help his wife pack lunch for everyone. The two girls took Memo for a walk and a short while later, Ron, Sarah and the Nielsen's were seated in the van and cruising down the highway towards the zoo.

"Now I don't want anyone getting split up today," said Maria from the front passenger seat. "So, everyone please take one," she said, handing walkie-talkies to Ron, Rachel, and Sarah.

"Mom...this is embarrassing."

"Why _querida_? Because I feel responsible for these two and don't want them getting lost?"

"It's cool, Rach," said Sarah, switching hers on. "Check it out."

She lowered her voice. "Lieutenant Johnson, this is Major Smith speaking. Over."

Ron switched his walkie-talkie on in time to receive the last few words.

"Copy Major Smith. This is Lieutenant Johnson. Over."

The kids fell into a fit of laughter and spent the rest of the drive making up funny things to say using the walkie-talkies.

When they arrived at the zoo, Julian pulled up to the entrance to let everyone out - since Ron couldn't walk very far - and went to park the van.

"This is so cool!" Ron exclaimed as they waited beside the entrance for Julian.

"Is it your first time then, Ron?" asked Maria.

"Yeah."

"Well, you are in for a very exciting day, mister."

Rachel cut in. "We _definitely_ have to see the giraffes - and the monkeys. Those are my favourite."

"Are there snakes?" Ron inquired.

"Loads!"

"Awesome."

Sarah made a face. " _Not_ awesome."

"I wonder if we can feed them!"

Rachel shook her head. "No...but sometimes they let you watch when they put food in their cages. We've seen it a couple of times. It's actually kind of boring because the animals rarely eat when the zoo keepers put food in their cages. I guess they don't like people watching them when they eat or something."

Julian returned a few minutes later and they made their way inside. Sarah offered to pay the admission (which would mean the near end of her remaining money), but Maria wouldn't allow it.

"You are our guests, Jessica! Please."

"I just don't know how to thank you for this weekend, Mrs. Nielsen."

Maria looked at her. "Just enjoy yourself. That is thank you enough."

Sarah smiled. "Alright."

After leaving Ron's crutches at the Visitor Centre in exchange for a loaner wheelchair, Ron, Sarah and the Nielsen's spent the next two hours exploring the African Savanna and Americas regions.

At one o'clock they stopped for lunch. Maria found some benches inside and passed around turkey sandwiches. In addition, everyone got a banana, a yogurt, and a juice box.

"Remember how that iguana caught the fly with his tongue!" Ron exclaimed. "That was the most awesome thing I've ever seen!"

Sarah shrugged. "That was cool, but I liked the baby elephant the most."

" _Aww_ , he was adorable," agreed Rachel. "Mom, after lunch can we go to the Indo-Malaya Pavilion?"

"Probably...but what about your guests? Maybe Ron or Jessica would like to see something? Hmm?"

"We can go to the Indo-whatever Pavilion," Sarah piped up. "I don't mind."

"Is that the one where they have that cobra with all the specks on it?" asked Julian through a mouthful of food.

Rachel looked at her dad. "You mean the _speckled_ cobra?"

"Yeah, that."

"Yes, that's in the Indo-Malaya Pavilion."

"I want to see a speckled cobra!" said Ron loudly.

"Well Indo-Malaya Pavilion it is then," Maria chimed.

They chatted awhile longer - people watching and enjoying their food - and at two o'clock made their way to the Indo-Malaya Pavilion.

There they spent the next forty five minutes gawking at the array of exotic birds and reptiles. When they'd seen enough - and after Ron had gotten one last picture in front of the speckled cobra's cage, they made their way to the Australasia Pavilion where they encountered several species of giant ant and a tree frog that took Sarah forever to locate.

"It's right _there_!" Ron had said after several minutes where she couldn't see it.

" _Where_? I don't see it!"

Rachel grabbed Sarah gently by the shoulders and pressed her nose to the glass. "There."

"Ohhhhh. Geez, is he ever camouflage."

After everyone had had enough of the Australasia Pavilion, they followed a group to the Canadian Domain.

"God, this is boring," complained Rachel after only five minutes. "We've seen these things a hundred times."

Sarah had to agree, although she didn't want to complain - not when the Nielsen's had been so good to them.

They meandered along the pathways, casually glancing at elk, deer, moose, and foxes until four thirty - closing time for the Toronto Zoo.

By then they were completely zonked and Rachel and Sarah walked slowly behind the other three as they made their way to the exit.

They returned the wheelchair and got Ron's crutches back, and then waited outside while Julian went and brought the van around. Ron got it first, then Sarah, Rachel, and finally Maria.

"That was the _best_ day of my life," said Ron, yawning loudly.

Maria turned in her seat so that she faced him. "I'm so happy you had a good time."

"I'm going to draw some of the animals that we saw today and make them into comics like Julian."

"Wow! You let us know when you're done - I want to see!"

"I will."

While Ron spoke with Maria and Julian, the girls took the opportunity to nap and at five fifteen they arrived back at Anthony's.

"We're just in time for supper," Ron observed as Maria helped him out of the van.

"Is food all you think about?" Sarah asked as she climbed out after him.

Ron grinned. "Yeah. I love food"

"Me too, kiddo," said Julian. "Put 'er there!"

Ron gave Julian a high-five and Julian clapped him affectionately on the back.

"Don't forget to practice your drawing."

"I won't," said Ron.

"Good, because I'm going to want to see your work next time - so you practice."

" _Sí_ ," said Maria. "Next time you come over - and you too, Jessica - we want to see your drawings!"

Ron smiled widely, flashing his dimples. "I will."

" _Bueno_. And Jessica, you and your brother make sure to come visit again soon - don't be strangers!"

"I won't," replied Sarah as Maria pulled her into a hug.

"Thanks Rachel, for inviting us," said Ron politely.

"You're welcome, dude. You have to come again, okay?"

"I will! I miss Memo already!"

Rachel laughed. "He misses you too I'll bet...so we'll hold you to it."

"Hold me to what?"

"Coming over again. Coming to visit."

"Okay. Yeah. I will. I promise."

"Good."

Julian and Maria climbed back into the van, leaving Ron, Sarah, and Rachel to themselves.

Sarah looked at her brother. "Ron, you go on ahead. I'll catch up...go save us a seat...and make sure there's still food left," she added, knowing that the prospect of missing a meal would send him scurrying.

She wanted a minute alone with Rachel.

"I'm going now!" he said, hopping on his crutches towards the side door of Anthony's as fast he could.

He yanked it open, yelled "Bye!" to Rachel once more, and disappeared inside.

"Rach."

"Yeah?"

"There's something I have to tell you."

Rachel looked concerned. "Okay..."

"It's nothing major," said Sarah quickly, trying to reassure her, "it's just...you and your family have been so good to us and...I just feel guilty that I haven't told the entire truth about myself."

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well...my name isn't Jessica Myers."

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well...it's a fake name...I made it up. It's on my fake ID, see?"

Sarah pulled the fake ID from her pocket and flashed it at Rachel.

"Get away from me."

"Rach - "

"No, Jessica - or whatever your name is - "

"It's Sarah. My real name is Sarah. Sarah Litchmore."

"I don't care what your real name is."

Sarah was shocked. "Everything else about me is true!"

She reached out to touch Rachel's arm.

"Get away from me! Is this some kind of sick joke!? I bring you to my house - you sleep over - my mom and dad take us out," she could hardly speak as her voice cracked, "and you're not even who you say you are!?"

Maria's window rolled down and she stuck her head out. " _Que pasa_? What's wrong? What's all the shouting for?"

Sarah, completely taken aback by Rachel's reaction, found she couldn't speak.

" _Nada_ _mamá_ ," said Rachel darkly. " _Jessica_ is just a liar - that's all."

Sarah found her voice again. "Rach - "

"No. Don't even talk to me. Don't ever talk to me again!"

She threw open the door of the van and got in. "Let's go dad," Sarah heard her say through Maria's open window.

Inside the van, Julian was thoroughly confused. "What happened? Did you two have an argument about something?"

"No. It's nothing, just go," said Rachel, looking straight ahead to avoid Sarah's gaze. Sarah stood watching, hoping that Rachel would come out and tell her that it was alright, that she understood.

Julian shook his head in frustration. "Fine. But you're telling us what just happened _as soon as we get home_. Got it?"

"Fine," Rachel huffed. "Whatever. Let's just go!"

She pushed against the back of her dad's seat.

" _Dios mio_ ," said Maria as Julian threw the car into drive and pulled out of the parking space.

"Bye, Jessica," said Maria softly.

"Bye, Mrs. Nielsen."

Maria rolled up her window and Julian drove slowly out of the parking lot. Sarah watched their van until it turned the corner and then, head hanging, made her way inside.

\- 13 -

BACK AT SQUARE ONE

Sarah had trouble getting to sleep that night. She tossed and turned, asking herself over and over again why she'd gone and opened her big mouth.

Why couldn't she have just left things as they were?

If Rachel had believed that she was Jessica Myers - then why couldn't she have let Rachel go on believing that she was Jessica Myers?

Sarah fluffed her pillow in frustration. Once, twice, three times. It was still lumpy.

"Sair...you keep waking me up," groaned Ron from the other bunk.

"I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

"I'm _trying,_ but you keep waking me up."

"Ron - don't whine at me right now, okay? I've got enough stuff on my mind."

She waited for his comeback, but there wasn't one.

Okay, now just go to sleep Sarah and forget this whole stupid thing ever happened. Forget Rachel, forget Thanksgiving, forget the Nielsen's - but they were so nice. So warm. So caring. Why, oh why did I have to go and mess it all up!?

Sarah grappled with her thoughts for a half an hour longer. Finally, when she was too exhausted to think anymore, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

***

The next morning Sarah slowly made her way down to breakfast. Team Purple had cleanup duty and she was milking her last hour of freedom.

"Jeseeka - did you 'ear about Selma?" asked Annette as Sarah queued up behind the other stragglers.

"No. What happened?"

"Dey have 'er in a woman's shelta. Amy tinks that will be betta fo her."

"Oh."

"Yeah. This one deals espeshaleeh with immigrant women. I guess dair idea is dat she will meet other women in da same sitchooeyshun - women like her - women from Pakistan...Mahslim women. Perhaps dey can convince her not to return to her usbund."

"I hope so."

Sarah filled her plate with eggs, hash browns and waffles - which reminded her of Julian's breakfast from the day before. This stirred up all the thoughts she'd had last night and she was back to thinking about Rachel.

Rachel will be here again on Thursday - that's two days from now. What will I say to her?

She made her way to the purple table and joined Ron who was already on his second helping.

"Worning sweepy head," he said, his mouth full of food.

"Ugh."

"What?"

"Don't bug me today. I'm not in the mood."

"Why? What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it. Can you pass me the juice please?"

They ate in silence, occasionally looking at each other, but otherwise not communicating. When breakfast was finished Ron went off to the rec room and Sarah dragged herself to the kitchen.

"Where do you want me today, Wynona?" she asked as she tied on her apron.

Wynona didn't answer - which was completely unlike her. Instead she looked at Sarah with big, sad eyes.

"You're to go and see Amy in her office," she said quietly. "She's waiting."

"Uh...okay. Is something wrong?"

"Just go and see Amy, please."

"Okay."

Sarah took off her apron and left the kitchen. She walked through the dining hall and turned into the corridor that lead to Amy's office. As she drew near, she heard voices - several of them. They were muffled and she couldn't make out what was being said. She advanced, and as she expected, discovered that the voices were coming from behind the office door. Sarah knocked sharply.

"Who is it?"

She could hear that loud and clear.

"It's Jessica."

There was a scraping of chairs and the door opened. Sarah's jaw dropped. His uniform crisp and clean, and his police badge proudly displayed on his belt, Mrs. Whittaker's son Charles ("Chuck") stood in the doorway, smiling down at her.

"Sarah."

"Mr. Whittaker."

Sarah stepped back. "What are you doing here?"

"Come in and we'll talk about that," he said firmly, but with his usual tenderness.

He moved to the side and Sarah dutifully stepped into the office.

"Hi Sarah."

"Amy..."

She was seated at the desk looking squarely at her. Beside the desk sat a grey-haired woman with a purple sweater.

"Sit down please, Sarah."

Sarah looked at Officer Whittaker.

"Go on," he said. "The sooner we get all this straightened out, the sooner we can all get to where we need to be."

Sarah sat down on the only empty chair.

"Now," said Amy. "Don't bother lying to us - about anything - as we know exactly who you are. We know all about you and Ron running away from the Smolinski's. We know all about your search for your dad."

Sarah swallowed to remove the knot in her throat.

"How?"

"We'll get to that. First, let me introduce you to Gail Gibson."

Sarah looked at the grey-haired woman beside her. She smiled and Sarah looked away.

"Gail is from Child Services," Amy continued.

Sarah's heart sank. "Not again..."

"Hi Sarah," said the woman, looking directly at her. "I promise that this time with us will be better. And we won't be sending you back to the Smolinski's - in fact we couldn't even if we wanted to - "

"Why not?" Sarah seethed sarcastically. "Are you sure you don't want to send us back there? I mean, they've got a hot tub, a sauna - "

"That's enough Sarah," said Officer Whittaker sharply. He stepped forwards. "We've got Hank and Gloria in custody right now."

"Really? Like - they're in jail?"

"Yes - but not for long. As you probably are aware, Hank and Gloria are members of the Redcoats. The Redcoats are a powerful organization and - despite being a biker gang - they have some big name lawyers. It'll only be a matter of days before we have to release them - _unless_ you can provide us with the information we need.

"What sort of information?"

"The kind of information that will make the charges we've brought against them stick. Names, places, how the whole counterfeit money setup works - everything you can tell us."

"I guess...I mean...I'll try."

"That's all we ask."

"Okay...but I want something in exchange."

Officer Whittaker smiled at her moxie. "Like what?"

"I don't want to have to go to another foster home - Ron neither."

The police captain nodded his head. He could appreciate what she was asking for - but he couldn't give it to her.

"I'm sorry Sarah - but I can't make that guarantee."

"If I may, Officer," Gail interjected.

"Certainly."

"Sarah. It was never our intention to place you in a bad foster home - and let's call it what it is, eh? A _terrible_ and _despicable_ foster home. We would _never_ have placed you and Ron with the Smolinski's had we known it would turn out this way!"

"But you still did - well not _you_ \- but Theresa - our social worker."

"And when I spoke to head office this morning, they assigned _me_ to you and Ron - so _I_ will be your social worker from now on - not Theresa - and I _promise_ to never place you two in a foster home like that."

"How can you promise that? What if they _pretend_ to be good foster parents like the Smolinski's did?"

Gail nodded grimly. "Theresa took a gamble on them - and it didn't pay off."

"I'll say," Sarah muttered.

Gail ignored her comment. "They were first-timers - we had no history with them, no way of knowing whether or not they'd be good parents. Theresa guessed they would be. In future we'll make sure to put you both - that's right - we'd like to keep you and Ron together - and we'll make sure to put you both into the loving home that you deserve."

"But I don't want to go to another foster home!"

Gail touched a hand to Sarah's arm. "Sarah, believe it nor not, we do care what happens to you."

Sarah pulled her arm away. "Then let me take care of us! Me and Ron are _sick_ of foster homes!"

The social worker lowered her head, trying to figure out how to make Sarah understand.

"The law doesn't _allow_ for that," said Oficer Whittaker. "Only when you're eighteen are you legally an adult."

"But that's like four years away - "

Gail smiled. "The time will fly by - and in that time we'll work on placing you two with foster parents that have a _proven_ track record - no more first-timers like the Smolinski's."

Sarah sighed and shrunk into her chair. Part of her just wanted to run away - but she knew she couldn't.

Ron's leg is in a cast, I'm not old enough to drive, not old enough to quit school, not old enough to do anything but be a kid. A kid without a home. What I wouldn't give to have a home like Rachel...

"Fine," she said quietly.

"Fine what?" asked Gail.

"Fine, I'll go with you. Let me guess, we're going to a group home and we'll be there for six months until you find us a foster family."

Gail nodded. "I won't lie to you - that's pretty much it."

"Sarah," said Officer Whittaker gently, "you'll get a good home this time around - I promise. I'll even give you my card - here - take it - and if you ever have problems with your new foster family - and I'm not talking about an argument over doing the dishes or cleaning your room," he said with a knowing smile, "but if they ever treat you like the Smolinski's did \- you just have to give me a call and I'll be right over. Okay?"

Sarah admitted to herself that, collectively, their offer was pretty fair. Being placed with an experienced foster family. Her and Ron being kept together. Having Mr. Whittaker's cell number and being able to call him if she ever had a problem.

"Fine. But I'm not going back to Hutton House (the group home where she and Ron were at before they were fostered with the Smolinski's)".

Gail smiled. "I completely understand. After discussing your situation with Miss Bertolino and Officer Whittaker, I've decided that space will be made for you at Canterbury House - the group home where I am head coordinator. No more Theresa or Hutton House for you - okay?"

Sarah pursed her lips as she slowly came to grips with the fact that this was probably their best way out. With only a couple hundred dollars to her name - and nowhere to go - this was it.

"Alright. Just one more thing though...and this question is for Amy."

"Okay."

"How did you find out that I'm not Jessica Myers?"

Amy looked at her. "Well, first of all, you don't look even _close_ to nineteen. I have _seventeen_ year old nieces that look older than you."

Sarah didn't like the way she was being so up front.

I could pass for nineteen if I really wanted.

"Dr. Adamo would agree with me, she added. "She commented on how, during your session together, you had said a few things that made her sure that you were not nineteen - that you were in fact - probably much younger. So the age thing was a big part of it and you had me suspicious from day one I'm afraid to say."

Sarah frowned and Amy continued.

"When I received this fax from Child Services," she said, holding up a printout with her and Ron's faces on it, (Sarah could make out the word "MISSING", which ran along the top, in bold letters) it all fit together. Unfortunately, I only got this today as it was a holiday and I was out of the office Sunday and Monday."

Officer Whittaker coughed. "And as for myself, Sarah, you can probably guess who told me."

"Mrs. Whittaker?"

He nodded. "Yep. After she reported you missing to Child Services. They made up the missing flyer and carpet bombed the GTA with it. When that same fax came across my desk at the station - I knew I had to find you. The streets in this city are no place for a fourteen year old and an eight year old. I put out a call to numerous places around the GTA to let me know if you and Ron were found. Miss Bertolino contacted Child Services this morning to let them know that you were here and Child Services contacted me. So there you have it. We found you safe and sound - and I'm thankful for that because not every case like this has a happy ending."

Was this a happy ending? It sure didn't feel like it. It felt like they were back where they had started, back at square one.

"So Sarah."

It was Gail speaking.

"Yeah?"

"How about you go and pack up your things...and is Ron still in the dining hall?"

"Yeah."

The social worker nodded. "Good. Officer Whittaker and I are going to go and see him then while you go and get packed. Does Ron have things that need to be packed as well?"

"Yeah...but I can get them."

"That would be very helpful. If you could just bring all your things down to the dining hall - and we'll take everything from there. Alright?"

Sarah nodded. _It's really happening. We're going back to a group home._

"Go and say bye to whoever you want," added Amy. "I'm sure Annette will want a goodbye. And Wynona."

Sarah wasn't in the mood to really hear anything more from Amy - she was the reason this whole thing had fallen apart - even though, as much as she hated to admit it - it was bound to have happened eventually.

"Yeah...whatever."

Officer Whittaker put a hand on her shoulder. "This is the best thing for you, Sarah. I know it's not _perfect_ \- but we'll make it work better this time. Alright?"

"Alright."

"Good. Now go and get packed up and we'll meet you back in the dining hall in five minutes. Okay?"

"Okay."

"And wait - before you go - I'm coming by Canterbury House tomorrow around ten. Mrs. Gibson has agreed to have you both ready and waiting. I want to take you and Ron down to the station to get your statements, okay? It's very important if we want to keep the Smolinski's in jail leading up to their trial. If we don't, they'll be gone for Mexico or South America in a flash."

Sarah nodded. "Okay."

"Good."

"Can I go pack now?"

"Yes, of course," said Gail, standing up and pushing her chair to the side so that Sarah had a clear exit. "Officer Whittaker and I will be waiting with Ron."

"Alright. I'll be a few minutes."

"Take your time."

Sarah left the office and made her way upstairs. Selma's room was vacant, and it felt strange not hearing Amir crying or babbling on the other side of the door. She made her way to the end of the purple corridor and entered their bedroom. She smiled as she looked around.

You did good Sarah. Too bad it couldn't have lasted longer.

Sarah packed her bag and Ron's backpack, took one last look at the room, and headed back downstairs.

In the middle of the dining hall Annette was busy wiping tables. She looked up when she saw Sarah.

"I 'erd dat you are leaving us, Jesseeka."

"It's Sarah - and yeah - we're going back to Child Services."

Annette smiled and frowned at the same time. "Kom - give me a hug. It no matta wat yo name is - all that matta is wat is in yo hart."

Sarah thought it would be awkward hugging Annette, but after several seconds in her loving embrace she felt uplifted. The middle-aged, Jamaican woman released her and looked into her eyes.

"You take good care of yoself. Y'ear? I no wanna hear from Amy that you be causin trouble at yo new 'ome. Okay? You be good. Go to school. Study hawd. You 'av da world at your fingaz, young one."

Annette pinched her cheek. "And kom bak an visit - I be here for two mo muns."

Sarah smiled. "I will. Thank you."

"Good. Now go an see Wynona - she want to see you. She be very sad bout dis seechooayshun. Go an make her smile - I no wanna wok weeth her if she be sad all da day."

Sarah laughed. "Okay, okay, I'm going."

They shared one last hug and she left Annette to go to the kitchen. Over at the purple table she could see Mr. Whittaker and Gail sitting with Ron. He saw her and Sarah waved to let him know that it was alright - that she knew what was going on.

Would it be alright though?

Wynona was at the counter, wrapping a tray of waffles to put in the freezer.

"Wynona..."

The plump kitchen supervisor turned around.

"Jess - I mean...Sarah. It _is_ Sarah right?"

"Yeah."

"What a nice name...that was my sister's name...so you're leaving us, eh?"

Sarah looked at the ground. "Yeah."

"Well...," said Wynona, wiping her hands on her apron. "We'll miss you...you and Rachel sure caused me some grief I tell ya...but I'll miss you all the same. Do I get a hug?"

"Of course Wynona."

The two embraced. Wynona's apron smelled to Sarah like blueberry waffles and maple syrup.

"I'll come back and visit sometime," said Sarah when Wynona had finally let go.

"You do that...don't be a stranger...it was great having you - even though it was only for such a short while...and you were a big help too... _when_ you bothered to show up."

Sarah smiled.

"And _when_ you and Rachel weren't busy gabbing about some boy or singing some Brittany Shears or Purple Sunglasses song."

Her face split into a wide grin and Sarah blushed.

"Thanks for everything, Wynona."

"You're welcome, dear."

"I'll come back and visit - I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Bye Wynona.

"Good bye Sarah."

Sarah felt funny as she made her way out of the kitchen. All this love was being showered on her - from the most unlikely places - and it felt as genuine as the love she'd gotten from her mother when she was still alive.

Maybe having a mom and a dad isn't the only way to be loved. Maybe friends and people you meet can give you just as much.

"Ready to go?" asked Gail as she neared the purple table.

"Yeah."

Ron was playing his video game. It seemed to Sarah that he'd begun doing that whenever he felt uncomfortable - which had been a lot lately.

"Ron?"

He paused his game and looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Did Gail and Mr. Whittaker explain to you what's happening?"

"Sort of..."

Sarah nodded. "So you know we're leaving Anthony's, right?"

He nodded and looked away.

"I know it doesn't feel good - all this running around and going different places - but I realized that I'm not mature enough yet to be responsible for you. You're my kid brother - and I love you - and I want what's best for you. It's better that we go to the group home with Gail than stay here."

Ron was looking at her again and he managed a small smile.

"Yeah."

Sarah smiled back.

"It'll be good Ron - you'll see," said Officer Whittaker. "I've given Sarah my phone number - so she can call me anytime if there's a problem. Alright?"

Ron nodded slowly.

"And Gail here is going to make sure that you guys get a good family this time around - here, take your bag."

Ron took his bag and Officer Whittaker led the way to the front exit.

"So?"

"So what?" asked Ron, looking up at the tall and strapping police constable.

"Can you be a brave boy and manage being at the group home for a little while?"

"Yeah..."

"Good, that's what I like to hear. Now, let's get your things packed into Gail's car then and get a move on. I'll be seeing you tomorrow, you know? You're going to be giving me your statement about Hank and Gloria."

Ron looked startled. "Really? Like all the bad stuff they do?"

"Yup."

"And what will happen to them?" he asked as they all made their way to the exit doors.

"We'll just have to wait and see. We're hoping to put them away for a long time - but we have to see what kind of evidence we get."

"I'll tell you everything I know."

Officer Whittaker chuckled. "That's my man."

\- 14 -

CANTERBURY HOUSE

Canterbury House was much like Hutton House except that the walls were a brighter shade of green and there were a few less children. It didn't take long for Ron and Sarah to adjust to their new surroundings and by supper that evening it felt as though they'd been there for weeks. Old pros at living in group homes, Ron and Sarah knew which kids to make friends with, which kids to ignore, and more importantly, which kids to _avoid_.

Of the nine other kids at Canterbury House, Sarah trusted all but one. There was Chandra and Cassandra - two identical twins who were forced into foster care when their mother was arrested for dealing drugs. Dawn had Down's Syndrome; she had latched on to Sarah the minute they'd been introduced and hadn't let go since. Nathan was Ron's age and both shared the same interests: food and video games.

Crystal was the girl Sarah didn't trust. She was sixteen, had done time in juvie, and routinely picked on the other kids. It was fairly apparent that Gail kept a close eye on her, but she couldn't watch Crystal twenty-four seven, and Sarah told herself she'd have to keep her guard up.

In addition to the eleven kids at Canterbury House (including Ron and Sarah), there were four adults who worked in rotating shifts of three - with each group working eight hours. Angie worked the night shift and Sarah liked her immediately. Petite yet vocal, Ron gave her the nickname "firecracker", and she could build you up and make you feel like a million bucks - or she could break you down - depending on your attitude and how you treated others at Canterbury House.

"Sarah, could you pass me Dawn's slippers please?" Angie asked as she held a gleeful and giggling Dawn. Dawn was feeling particularly mischievous that night and had kicked her slippers off for the third time in as many minutes.

"No problem," said Sarah, stepping away from the bathroom mirror and scooping them off the floor. She handed them to Angie.

"Thank you, Sarah."

She turned to Dawn. "Now, let's see if we can't get you to bed, eh? And I'm keeping your slippers, missy - you can have them back tomorrow."

Sarah watched until they turned into Dawn's bedroom then stepped back towards the mirror and resumed brushing her teeth. The girls all shared a bathroom upstairs - and slept upstairs - while the boys all shared a bathroom and slept downstairs. She wondered how Ron was getting on.

"Can I borrow some toothpaste?" came a voice from beside her.

Sarah turned and saw Crystal looking at her.

"Yeah, sure," said Sarah.

Each kid was given their own toothpaste - so she found it odd that Crystal would need to use hers - but she didn't want to say no and risk getting into conflict with Canterbury's oldest girl (and bully) on her first night.

She tossed the toothpaste at Crystal who caught it.

Resuming her teeth brushing once more, she kept one eye on Crystal who stood looking in the mirror two sinks away. Crystal began humming to herself as she picked at something on her face. A second later she turned and strode out of the bathroom with the toothpaste, passing behind Sarah without a word. Sarah was about to call out, to tell her to give her back her toothpaste - but she decided against it.

Crystal was obviously testing her. Seeing if she could get a rise out of her. She wasn't going to give Crystal the satisfaction. She would just get a new toothpaste from Angie tomorrow night.

Sarah finished brushing, rinsed her mouth, and headed to bed. She wanted to say good night to Ron one last time and make sure he wasn't being bullied and that he was having a good time, but girls weren't allowed on the boys' floor after nine o'clock.

Sharing her room was a girl nicknamed Little Sue. She was only seven - just a year younger than Ron - but she wasn't much bigger than a four year old as years of malnourishment and neglect had stunted her growth.

In addition, her years of neglect meant that she rarely spoke and when she did, it was in simple, one or two word phrases. Incredibly, she seemed to have no trouble speaking at all when she whispered her prayers.

Sarah watched Little Sue, her head bowed and kneeling beside the bed, whisper a prayer. When she was finished, she climbed into her small four-poster and Sarah didn't hear a peep thereafter.

Sarah lay back, took a deep, relaxing breath, and closed her eyes. She wanted to clear her mind of the debris left by the whirlwind of the past week. It was hard to believe that it had only been a week since they'd escaped from the Smolinski's. She wondered how long they'd be here. Six months? A year? If only she was turning eighteen this year. She opened the locket on her necklace and looked at her mother.

I wish you were still alive. Can you see me?

June's blue eyes had a calming effect on her and Sarah felt safe whenever she looked into them. She closed the locket and put her necklace back on. Her thoughts drifted to Hank and Gloria. She pictured them in jail, wearing orange prison uniforms, whining about the food, and complaining about their accommodations. With that happy thought in mind, Sarah smiled and fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

\- 15 -

OFFICER WHITTAKER

The next morning, at precisely ten a.m., Officer Charles Whittaker arrived to take Ron and Sarah to the police station. He had a busy day ahead of him - including a meeting with Hank and Gloria's lawyer - and he had asked Gail to have Ron and Sarah ready at ten o'clock sharp.

"You kids all ready to go?" he asked when Sarah opened the front door of Canterbury House.

"Yup."

Ron appeared in the doorway with one shoe still untied.

"Yes, sir!"

"Good morning, Officer Whittaker.

Gail had appeared behind them and she opened the door all the way, admitting a cold, Fall breeze.

"Oh. It's chilly out this morning."

Officer Whittaker nodded, resting his hands on his hips and glancing up at the sky.

"Yup. Heck, it might even snow."

"I sure hope not."

"Me neither," Sarah grumbled.

"So you'll have these two back by this afternoon?" asked Gail, resting her shoulder against the doorframe.

"Yes, ma'am. Two o'clock at the latest. That alright?"

Gail smiled. "That's just fine."

"Excellent."

The police constable turned to Ron and Sarah.

"You two are going to be our star witnesses."

"What's a star witness?" asked Ron as they headed down the walkway to Officer Whittaker's police cruiser.

"Bye, Gail!"

"Bye, guys!"

"It's like a really important witness," explained Sarah.

"Oh."

They piled into the vehicle and Officer Whittaker drove towards downtown.

"Oh - I meant to mention yesterday - that I've been in touch with Mr. Thorrington from Le Luxembourg hotel."

He glanced at Sarah to gauge her reaction. As he'd suspected, she looked guilty.

"Um...what did he say?"

"Well, I explained the situation to him - your situation. And he's agreed to drop the charges against you. Are you aware of what you did?"

"Was the money that I gave them counterfeit?" asked Sarah nervously.

Officer Whittaker nodded. "Indeed. _But,_ I'm very happy you did that."

"What? Why? Isn't it wrong to use counterfeit money?"

"Oh, it is wrong - it's illegal," he grinned. "Completely. _However,_ we took the counterfeit money you tried to use at Le Luxembourg and were using it as evidence in our case against the Smolinski's."

"Wow."

"Yup. It's perfect. Had we not been able to get that, I don't know that we would have gotten any. The Redcoats know that Hank and Gloria have been arrested and whatever evidence is at their house or wherever will soon be destroyed. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if their whole house was burned down tonight. We've got a couple cruisers there pulling double duty keeping an eye on the place, but we can't keep them there full time.

That being said, we've got the evidence that we need in terms of tangibles. When we add that to your and Ron's statements we should be able to convince the judge to deny them bail. Because if they get out - we'll never see them again. They'll either flee the country or some Redcoats hit man we'll take them out."

"It's like a movie," said Ron from the backseat.

"It is, isn't it?" asked Officer Whittaker rhetorically as he turned onto the expressway. "Let's just hope we get our happy ending."

A half an hour later they arrived at the Durham County police station.

"Here we are," said Officer Whittaker once they'd pulled into the parking lot.

Ron pressed his face against the window. "Whoa! Look at all the police cars!"

Officer Whittaker smiled at his enthusiasm. "Know what, big guy?"

"What?"

"After we're all done getting your statements, I'll get Greg to show you his highway patrol motorbike. Would you like that?"

Ron gaped, his eyes bulging.

"I think that's a yes, Mr. Whittaker," said Sarah when she saw her brother's face.

The police captain nodded approvingly. "Good. I know you'll like it Ron - and we'll get a picture of you sitting on the bike."

They exited the cruiser and made their way inside. Officer Whittaker explained that they'd be using the interview room. They took the elevator to the fourth floor. When they got off the elevator, Sarah was surprised to see that the office didn't look _anything_ like in the movies. It wasn't a bullpen. There weren't a bunch of bad guys handcuffed to railings or sitting in chairs beside cops' desks. There wasn't a burly lieutenant in a white shirt and suspenders strutting around slapping files onto desks and barking orders.

It was rather...boring. A simple maze of grey, high-walled cubicles. Clean, spartan, and strangely quiet.

Officer Whittaker led them to "Interview Room #2" (Sarah could see a rather distraught woman with a tear-stained face screeching at a man in "Interview Room #1".

"Come on in you two and have a seat. Make yourselves at home. What kind of pop you guys like?"

"Iced tea."

"Grape."

"Okay, let me go and grab those. You can hang your jackets on that rack there, okay? And anything else you need - just let me know okay? Don't be shy."

Ron and Sarah nodded.

"Great, I'll be back in a minute."

Officer Whittaker left the room and Sarah hung their jackets on the coat rack. A few seconds later there was a knock at the door and a young constable - who Sarah thought was rather cute - poked his head inside.

"I'm just testing the recorder," he said.

He stepped into the interview room and shut the door.

"Testing, testing. One, two, three."

There was a knock on the one-way window and Sarah jumped.

The constable grinned. "Don't worry. That's just Officer Jenkins letting me know that the recorder is working properly. The whole room is wired for video and audio - so don't go picking your nose or doing anything embarrassing."

She could tell by his smile that he was joking about the nose picking, but Sarah suddenly felt very self-conscious.

"Officer Whittaker should be back in a sec - oh here he is now."

The young constable stepped aside as Officer Whittaker returned with their sodas and a cup of coffee for himself. He set the beverages down in the middle of the table.

"Alright, Constable Ryan. If you can let us get back to it. The recorder is working?"

"Yes, Staff Sergeant."

"Great. Thank you. Tell Officer Jenkins to start recording now."

"I will."

Sarah watched as her cute constable left the room. She was sorry that he wasn't the one interviewing them - although that probably wouldn't work too well since she'd probably be blushing the whole time and stuttering with her answers.

Ron and Sarah waited patiently while Officer Whittaker sipped his coffee and arranged some papers on the table they were seated around.

"Okay...so. I'm going to begin the interview now. Please state your names for the record. Sarah, you first. Ron, you'll go second. Try to speak as loudly and as clearly as you can."

They nodded.

"Sarah Litchmore."

"Ron McComb."

"Great. First question. How do you know Hank and Gloria Smolinski?"

"They fostered us."

"So you lived with them?"

"Yes. Since last May."

"And how would you describe your time there? Was it a positive experience? A negative experience?"

"Definitely a negative experience."

Sarah glanced at Ron. He was sipping his soda and licking his lips.

"They would beat us."

Officer Whittaker seemed to bristle at this revelation.

"Really? Often?"

"At least once a week."

His eyes narrowed. "Why would they beat you?"

"It was Hank mostly. Sometimes he was just mad. Other times he was mad if I made a mistake on the delivery or whatever."

"What do you mean by delivery?"

"They used Ron and I to deliver counterfeit money to their associates."

"Who? Hank and Gloria Smolinski?"

"Yes."

"Can you state their names for the record, please Sarah?"

"Hank and Gloria Smolinski."

"Okay. And so they made you deliver counterfeit money?"

"Yes."

"Do you know if Hank _made_ the counterfeit money - or did he just deal it?"

"He made it."

"How? Where?"

"At his office. He rents a small office beside the Tabby Cat Lounge."

"Is that here in Pickering?"

"Yes."

"And what goes on at the Tabby Cat Lounge?"

"The Tabby Cat Lounge is where most of the Redcoats hang out."

She could tell by Officer Whittaker's expression that he'd already known this.

"Hank has an office at the Tabby Cat Lounge. In the basement."

Officer Whittaker looked at her and made a note in his notepad while Sarah sipped her soda and waited for the next question.

"So Hank has an office in the basement of the Tabby Cat Lounge - and that's where he makes the counterfeit money?"

"Yes."

"How do you know that he makes the money there?"

"Well Ron's been _inside_ \- I never have, but - "

"Okay, let Ron speak," said the police constable, raising his hand. "Ron, does Hank make counterfeit money in that office?"

"Yes. He has a gazillion big printers in there and all sorts of computers. There are always three or four guys there too."

Officer Whittaker made a few notes on his legal pad.

"Okay. So Hank _makes_ the money there. Then what?"

"Then he sends some to a guy named Alfred in Montreal," Sarah interjected. "The rest he takes home."

"Okay...Alfred in Montreal..." he said, scribbling down Sarah's answer. "Now, the money that Hank takes home - what does he do with it?"

"He puts it in a big safe," said Ron.

"A big safe, eh?"

"Yeah...like as tall as a person."

Officer Whittaker looked impressed. "Wow, that is big...where is this safe exactly? In the house."

"It's behind a painting of Napoleon in the basement."

"Wow. I'd better put someone on that right away. Officer Jenkins?"

A voice replied over the speaker. "Yes?"

"Please add this item to the search warrant."

"Will do, Staff Sergeant."

"Thank you."

The police captain nodded and focused his attention on Ron and Sarah once again. "Okay and so...the money goes in the safe...and then?"

"And then he uses either me or Ron to deliver it," Sarah answered. "Ron does the deliveries in Pickering and I do all the deliveries outside Pickering."

"By yourselves!?"

"Well, Hank drove Ron to his delivery spots. Me, I would go by myself, yes."

Sarah glanced at Officer Whittaker. He looked like he might explode. The police constable took a deep breath and exhaled. "If I wasn't an officer of the law..."

He looked at Ron and Sarah. "The things those two put you through," he clenched his fists, "we're gonna nail 'em."

There was a knock on the one-way window.

"Yeah, yeah," said Officer Whittaker with a wave of his hand. "We'll have to erase those comments," he said, looking at Sarah.

He sat back, loosened his tie and took a sip from his mug. After a minute he was ready to continue.

"Alright. So. Hank made you two deliver the counterfeit money. Where did you deliver it?"

Ron and Sarah each rattled off a dozen places and when they were done, the police constable was grinning from ear to ear.

"Kids, with this information, the defense isn't going to have a leg to stand on. The Smolinski's - and the Redcoats - are going down."

There was another knock on the window.

"Right, I got it."

He looked at Sarah whose face wore a quizzical expression. "We're not allowed to inject _personal opinion_ as it suggests that we're leading you - as the witness."

Sarah nodded. "I get it."

Officer Whittaker drained what was left in his mug and closed the file folder that was open on the table in front of him. "You both did very well. Let's call it there for the day - the Prosecutor will probably want to speak with you two sometime in the next couple of months. So heads up for that. I'll let Gail know and I'll pick you guys up when it's time to do that."

"When's the trial?" asked Sarah.

"The trial probably won't start until at least March - and that's if we're lucky. Ideally March though - and then sentencing by April. It depends how much of a fight the Smolinski's legal team puts up."

"I see."

"Anyways, you two should be proud of yourselves."

"Thanks."

"No, thank _you_. Without your cooperation, we wouldn't be able to put these guys away."

Officer Whittaker wiped his moustache and stood up. "Well, I've got a meeting in two hours with their sleaze ball lawyer so I'd better get you back to Canterbury. First things first though," he said with a glance towards Ron, "I believe I promised you a motorbike show."

***

Officer Whittaker dropped them back at Canterbury an hour later. They said good bye (after Ron had thanked him for the hundredth time for letting him sit on the highway patrol motorbike) and Officer Whittaker promised to keep them updated on the Smolinski's and to let them know when they had to speak to the Prosecution.

Back inside, one of the caregivers (Tracy) fixed them some macaroni and cheese for lunch and explained to them that the other kids were all at school, but would be returning around four o'clock.

After they'd cleaned their plates, Ron and Sarah channel surfed in the den for awhile, before finally deciding to build card houses.

"Look how tall mine is!" Ron exclaimed after they'd been at it for roughly an hour.

"Not bad, little brother. See if you can add one more here and another one there."

Ron did as she suggested and the whole thing came tumbling down.

"Sair!"

"Don't freak out! I'll help you re-build it."

By three-thirty both Ron and Sarah were grumpy and tired of building card houses. They put the cards away and decided to explore, peaking in closets and exploring cubby holes until the other kids began returning home.

Dawn attended a special school only a few blocks from Canterbury so she was home first. Gail had been out running errands and had picked her up (normally one of the caregivers did this).

"Hi Ron. Hi Sarah. How did things go with Officer Whittaker?" she asked as she came in the door, her hands gripping a dozen bags while she ushered Dawn inside.

Ron answered first. "It was awesome! First we went and told everything we knew about Hank and Gloria - and then Greg let me sit on his highway patrol motorbike!"

Gail did her best to look enthusiastic. "Really? Wow!"

Ron was all aglow. "Yeah, it was so awesome."

"And for you? Was it just as _awesome_?" asked Gail with a smile, turning to Sarah.

Sarah shrugged. "So-so. He said it was good information and that they should be able to keep Hank and Gloria locked up until the trial date."

"I sure hope they do."

"Me too."

Their conversation was interrupted by shouting from the kitchen. "No! Dawn! We told you yesterday not to climb on the counter. Please get down, before you hurt yourself."

"Oh, goodness. Has she already gotten into something, Tracy? We've hardly been back for thirty seconds."

Gail, followed by Ron and Sarah, went into the kitchen to investigate. Tracy, speaking gently, grabbed Dawn and helped her down from the counter beside the sink.

"Over here, Dawn!" said Sarah enthusiastically, hoping to draw her out of the kitchen.

The girl smiled lovingly and ran quickly towards Sarah. Too quickly.

Sarah and the others laughed as Dawn bowled into her. Dawn was heavy and Sarah couldn't help but fall down.

"Sorry," said Dawn, straightening her glasses which were sitting rather askew on her face.

She yanked on Sarah's arm, trying to help her, and Sarah stood up as quickly as she could to prevent her arm from being pulled from its socket.

She's strong.

"Okay, Dawn," said Gail. "It's time to settle down now. How about we read a book with Tracy?"

"Okay. But I'm choosing the book."

"Sure."

Tracy smiled and took Dawn by the hand. Sarah watched them go into the den to select a book.

"Okay you two," said Gail after she'd hung up her jacket and bag by the door. "How about we go to my office and select a school for both of you. I'd like to get you registered tomorrow."

\- 16 -

THE WEEKS GO BY

The weeks passed quickly at Canterbury. By the first week of November, Ron and Sarah were fully adjusted to their group home and slowly adjusting to their respective new schools - Forest Park Elementary for Ron and Norman Bethune High School for Sarah. The weather had gotten colder by then and Sarah found she needed her winter jacket in the mornings (Canterbury House - via Child Services - provided all the kids with good quality, donated, winter clothing).

While things hadn't gotten worse with Crystal, Sarah still kept her guard up whenever she was around. On this particular morning, Ron and Sarah found themselves alone with Crystal in the kitchen. The caregiver shifts were just changing over and Gail hadn't yet arrived. Ron was seated at the table and had just finished pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

"Sair, can you bring me the milk?"

"Sure."

As she made for one of the two fridges, Crystal cut in front of her and blocked her path.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a sneer.

"I'm going to the fridge to get some milk for my little brother," answered Sarah matter-of-factly.

"You gotta give me something first."

Sarah tried to move around her, but Crystal moved wherever she did.

"What the hell is your problem!?"

Crystal looked her in the eye and a small smile played across her face. "I want that pretty necklace you have on. Give me that necklace and then you can have your precious milk."

"This necklace belonged to my mom you little \- "

"Girls, is there a problem here?" asked Tracy, suddenly appearing behind them.

"Sarah won't let me get by," Crystal whined. "All I want to do is go and get ready for school."

"Sarah - move so Crystal can get by please," said Tracy impatiently.

"But I - "

"Just move."

Sarah felt her blood begin to boil, but she stepped aside. Crystal nudged her as she walked away and Sarah glared after her.

"Alright, Ron has ten minutes before his bus comes. Sarah, same for you. Let's get a move on."

Sarah wanted to protest - to explain that Crystal had been the instigator - but then Trevor came in, followed by the ever-chatty Chandra and Cassandra and with all the ensuing commotion, Sarah decided to leave it be. She'd be keeping closer tabs on Crystal from now on though.

***

School was boring that day and seemed to drag on. Math was first thing in the morning and there was a test. The teacher assured her that she would only mark the questions Sarah elected to do - since she'd missed the first two months. That was little consolation though because the test turned out to be impossibly difficult and Sarah could only answer two of the fifteen questions.

Math was followed by a biology class where they watched a grainy, eighties video about the eating habits of the Snowy Owl. She'd been really looking forward to going to the cafeteria and buying a chocolate muffin at break, but just before the video ended Mr. Stephens (her Biology teacher) tapped her on the shoulder and asked her to stay after class for a few minutes to go over her microscope assignment. A few minutes turned into ten minutes and not only was there no time left to get a chocolate muffin, she was late for her next class.

Mr. Gray, her history teacher, wrote her up for being late. He was in an unusually bad mood that morning because their essays had been "absolutely disgraceful." As punishment, he had them silently read their textbooks for the duration of the class and anyone caught talking was docked a grade point.

Lunch was lunch. Sarah still hadn't made any friends - _acquaintances_ \- but no _friends_. _Friends_ were people that you could sit with at lunch - acquaintances were people you waved to, but didn't dare sit with because you hadn't yet earned the right to be a member of whatever clique he or she happened to a part of. And so, as she'd done every other day, Sarah sat by herself under the stairwell with a book and her brown bag Canterbury lunch, waiting for the bell to ring.

Three hours and two periods later, Sarah boarded the bus that would return her to Canterbury House. She was frustrated at how long it was taking to make friends. She was tired of all the homework.

I don't care if I never go back to school again.

No one sat beside her - and for once she was glad. Stretching out on the brown, vinyl seat, she stared out the window for the entire ride. The bus dropped her at Canterbury and she slowly made her way up the front walk.

Wait a second.

She turned around and what she saw made her heart skip a beat. A red mini-van - just like the Nielsen's - was parked beside the curb.

It can't be.

Sarah raced up the walkway, pounded up the front steps, and flung the door open.

"Rachel!"

"Jessica! I mean...Sarah! It seems strange to call you Sarah."

The girls hugged like nothing had happened.

"Oh my God - I missed you!"

"Me too! How've you been?"

Standing beside them and watching their happy reunion were Gail and Maria.

"Mrs. Nielsen."

"Sarah."

"I missed you guys so much."

Maria smiled. "And we missed you so much!"

Rachel cut in. "I told mom that if she didn't bring me to visit, I wouldn't volunteer at Anthony's anymore."

"How did you find me?"

"Amy told us. She told us everything. Oh Sarah - (If Rachel had found it strange to say her real name, Sarah was finding it even more strange to hear her real name from the girl she'd introduced herself to as Jessica) I was so stupid. I understand now why you pretended to be Jessica Myers."

"I felt really guilty lying to you, you know..."

"I know...I know!"

Rachel wrapped her arms around Sarah a second time.

"I'm sorry," she said, squeezing Sarah tightly. "Can you forgive me?"

Sarah grinned. "Of course. What are friends for?"

Over the next few weeks Rachel visited several times. The girls would relax in the den, exchanging stories and talking about all the cute guys at their schools.

When the den was full of kids they would go to Sarah's (and Little Sue's) room and hang out there. One night Rachel even stayed for supper and Sarah loved the sour look on Crystal's face.

It was the night after this that Sarah noticed her necklace was missing. She always took great care to keep it safe and the only time she ever took it off for any extended period of time was when she showered. She couldn't remember whether she'd left it in the bathroom or in her bedroom when she'd showered earlier that evening. Both Angie and Tracy helped her search for it - but it was in vain and Sarah could only assume that it had been stolen. And even though she had a pretty good idea who had stolen it - she couldn't prove it and Gail wasn't in the mood to hear her "speculations".

Crystal seemed to be in good spirits that week - and Sarah watched her like a hawk. Unfortunately, she gave no obvious signs that she'd taken the necklace.

One evening, while lying in bed and feeling particularly upset that she no longer had her mother's necklace - and her mother's picture - she felt a tap on her shoulder. She rolled over and saw herself staring into the big, round eyes of Little Sue. Sue smiled and her brown eyes shone as she held out a fist.

Was she giving her something?

Sarah sat up. "What is it Little Sue?"

"Take."

Sarah extended an outstretched hand and Sue dropped something warm and thread-like into it.

"My necklace! Sue! Where did you get this!?"

The girl's smile vanished and she suddenly looked very scared.

"Sue...you can tell me. Was it Crystal? It was Crystal, wasn't it?"

Sue nodded slowly.

"I knew it."

"Crystal said not tell Sarah. Crystal said if Sue tell Sarah, Crystal hurt Sue. But Sue like Sarah. Sarah nice to Sue. So Sue tell Sarah," Sue finished, her smile fully restored.

"Aww, thanks."

Sarah would have hugged her, but Angie had explained that because of the abuse she'd suffered, Sue still didn't take well to physical contact. At the very least, she could reassure Sue that no harm would come to her.

"Don't you worry about Crystal, okay? I'll talk to Gail tomorrow and Crystal won't be able to put a finger on you. Okay?"

Sue nodded.

"Okay. Let's try and get some sleep now, eh? It's getting late."

But before the little girl could respond, the door to their bedroom burst open and in came Crystal, red-faced and practically frothing at the mouth.

"You! You took my necklace!"

She grabbed Sue roughly by the shoulders and began to shake her violently.

"Let her go!" yelled Sarah, leaping out of the bed and taking hold of Crystal's hair. She pulled as hard as she could - as though her life depended on it. Crystal screamed and turned around, releasing Sue.

"You bitch!" Crystal screeched, lashing out at Sarah with her nails and catching her on the side of the neck.

Sarah ignored the pain and wrapped an arm around Crystal's neck before throwing her to the floor as hard as she could. Crystal hit the floor with a _smack_ and she began to cry. Angry tears streaming down her face, Crystal got to her feet and lunged at Sarah. Sarah sidestepped deftly and pushed on Crystal's back as she passed by. The enraged girl flew face first into the wall.

Thwack.

Angie appeared in the doorway. "JUST WHAT EXACTLY IS GOING ON IN HERE!?"

"It's her!" yelled Sarah, pointing at Crystal who was still facing the wall. "She stole my necklace - then she came in here and attacked Little Sue!"

Crystal turned to face them. Blood poured from her nose.

Upon seeing the condition she was in, Angie took a step backwards. "Okay. That's it. Sarah. Sue. Get into bed. _Now_. Crystal, come with me."

Angie took a crying, bloodied Crystal and lead her out of the room. She closed the door behind them and Sarah listened to their footsteps as they went down the stairs.

"Are you okay, Sue?"

The little girl nodded. She looked frightened. I'm sorry if you got scared from that. She's a nasty piece of work," said Sarah, looking at the door and rubbing at the scratches on her neck. "She needed to be taught a lesson. You're safe now though. Alright?"

Sue nodded, her big, brown eyes sad and mournful.

"Okay," said Sarah, crawling back into her bed. "Let's try and actually get some sleep now that crazy Crystal is done with for the night."

Sue didn't move, but pointed to Sarah's bed.

"You want to sleep with me?"

She nodded eagerly.

Sarah smiled. "Sure...why not. Here," said Sarah, sliding over and pulling back the covers. The little girl scampered forwards and dove in. With one arm wound tightly around her teddy bear and the other arm tucked under her head, she fell asleep instantly.

Cute.

Sarah opened the locket of her mother's necklace. Her mother's picture was still intact.

_Good night, mom_.

She kissed the locket, closed it, and put the necklace around her neck. It felt good to have her mom their again. Finally, she switched off the light and went to sleep with Little Sue snoring softly beside her.

\- 17 -

A HOME FOR RON AND SARAH

There was a buzz in the air the next morning and Sarah didn't have to wait long to learn why. Crystal - the "Canterbury Terror" - sat by herself at the breakfast table, eating her cornflakes, her nose swaddled in gauze. The other kids, long bullied by Crystal, bounced excitedly around the house as they got ready for school. She only looked at Crystal for a second before walking to the refrigerator to pour herself a glass of orange juice. Before she could open it however, Chandra stopped her.

"I'll get that for you, Sarah. You go and relax in the den. Would you like some toast?"

Not used to being waited upon, Sarah politely refused the help. Chandra wasn't taking no for an answer though - neither was her sister Cassandra - and Sarah was politely coerced into leaving the kitchen.

"Go. We've got it. Don't worry. Go and sit down."

She went to the den where Ron was already sitting and playing cards with Trevor on the couch.

"Everyone's talking about you," Ron said as soon as she sat down.

"What are they saying?"

"Only that you single-handedly whooped Crystal's butt," said Ron proudly.

"Well they'd be lying then," said Sarah, picking up a magazine and crossing one leg over the other. She'd never liked gossip.

Ron and Trevor looked equally perplexed. "Why...what happened?"

Sarah flipped open the magazine. "She ran into a wall."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the boys exchange a look.

"Well, then the _wall_ whooped her butt. I've never seen her look like she does now. And, for the first time since I've been here, she hasn't stolen or spilled anyone's breakfast."

"Well, let's just hope it lasts then, eh?"

Chandra and Cassandra arrived with her toast and orange juice a minute later.

"If you need anything else, Sarah, just let us know."

I will. Thanks girls."

"No, thank _you,_ Sarah."

"You're welcome...I guess."

Gail arrived a few minutes later and as Sarah was finishing her breakfast, she came into the den and asked the other kids to leave them alone.

Ron and Trevor padded out of the room, but Sarah could tell by their curious expressions that they'd be stopping around the corner to listen.

"Now Sarah...before I come up with a punishment for your for last night - I want to hear what happened. Crystal won't tell me - all she says is that you did it.

"I did do it."

"Why? You could have broken her nose. Do you realize how serious this is?"

"She stole my mom's necklace - and she attacked Sue. She was angry that Sue took it from her and gave it back to me. She came into our room and shook Sue like a rag doll - so I did what I had to do."

Gail wasn't sure how to respond. "Well...I suppose that she's equally to blame then."

In the end, Sarah was given supper dish duty for two weeks, and Gail told the other caregivers that Crystal was not allowed to be alone with either Sarah or Sue. Sarah wasn't upset about her punishment - she knew Gail had to give her some sort of consequence and two weeks of supper dishes was, in her opinion, getting off easy.

* * *

Fall turned into Winter and by mid-December it had gotten colder and there was snow on the ground. The Canterbury Christmas tree was put up one evening - with all the kids and caregivers taking part. Stockings bearing each of their names were hung up over the fireplace. They watched Christmas movies every night before bed, and sipped hot chocolate while trying to guess what was in each of the gifts piled under the tree (all donations from local charities and good samaritans).

Even though she was surrounded by so many people, and even though she had a lot of Christmas spirit this year \- Sarah still felt empty. She missed her mom. She missed Rachel (Rachel hadn't been able to come by as often because she'd taken up dancing and school had been very busy that month). She missed Julia. She even missed Mrs. Whittaker.

One evening while lying on her bed, Gail knocked on her door. She sat up quickly as the social worker entered.

"Sarah. Could you come down to my office for a few minutes please?"

She wondered why Gail - who was usually gone home by this time - was still here. More importantly, why did she want to see her in her office?

"Um...sure."

Gail smiled. "Great. Let's go."

The younger kids had all gone to bed and the older ones were making the most of their last hour, milling about in the den or getting a snack from Angie in the kitchen. Gail lead Sarah to her office - Crystal stared curiously after them - and she shut the door.

"Have a seat."

"Okay..."

Sarah was starting to feel that there was something wrong.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here so late," said Gail, taking a seat in her chair behind the desk.

Sarah shrugged.

Gail smiled. "Well...I have news. Good news," she added quickly when she saw the look on Sarah's face.

"What?"

"We've found a family to place you and Ron with."

Sarah's face fell. "Oh..."

"Don't look so glum!" said Gail cheerfully.

"Well...I guess I figured we'd get to stay here awhile longer..."

The social worker shrugged. "Well - we found a foster family for you two."

"When are we going?"

"I thought this weekend might work."

That was in like...Thursday, Friday...two days.

"That's two days from now! That's so soon!"

"I know - but - they'd like to be able to spend Christmas with you two."

"Oh..."

"I know it's a bit sudden - but the paperwork has taken several weeks - and they're impatient to have you two share their home."

Sarah nodded. _If this is how it's going to be, then so be it._

She was tired of fighting the system. Three and a half more years and she'd be an adult and she could do whatever she wanted.

"Alright. So Saturday then?"

"Saturday or Sunday."

"We might as well make it Saturday - get it over with."

Gail's expression was ecstatic. "That's the spirit! I really believe - no - I _know_ \- that you and Ron will get a loving home this time.

Would they?

"I hope you're right," said Sarah dryly.

"I know I'm right," the social worker replied with a smile. "Oh, and I thought I'd leave it to you to tell Ron - is that alright?"

Sarah nodded. "Thanks. That's probably best. He might be a little sensitive about this - I know he's made really good friends with Trevor."

"Well then I'm glad I only called _you_ in here. Can you please tell him before noon tomorrow?"

"I'll tell him right now if that's alright."

"Yes, that works just fine. I have to get going," she said, standing up, "so you go and talk to your brother now, and we'll see each other tomorrow morning."

Sarah stood up and opened the door. "Okay."

"Good night then, Sarah. See you tomorrow."

"Good night, Mrs. Gibson."

* * *

Sarah thought that Saturday came too fast. With the news that they'd be going to a new foster family so soon, Thursday and Friday flew by. She found that she could hardly pay attention in class - more than once a teacher had embarrassed her by asking her, in front of the entire class, to stop daydreaming. Sarah didn't consider herself to be _daydreaming_ ; she was _worrying_.

What would their new home be like? Was their new foster family nice? Were they normal?

The fact that she had Officer Whittaker's personal cell phone number did giver her some measure of comfort - but that was about the only comfort she had. There were just too many unknowns and Sarah spent nearly every waking moment wondering \- and worrying - about their future.

But, as always seems to be the case, the day she dreaded came upon her more quickly than she had anticipated. On Saturday morning, while all the other kids were downstairs eating cereal and watching cartoons, she was sat on her bed, alone, except for Ron who was sitting and playing his video game on Sue's bed. She held the locket of her mother's necklace open so that her mom was looking at her.

Watch over us mom. Please let this be a good home.

At ten o'clock Gail arrived and Sarah heard her talking to Tracy in the hallway. A minute later there was a knock on the bedroom door.

"Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you and Ron packed and ready to go? Oh, I didn't realize that you were both here. Good morning, Ron. All ready to go?"

Sarah couldn't find the words to reply, but Ron clearly could. "Yeah!"

The social worker laughed. "Wow, _someone's_ sure excited to be going to a new home."

"Yeah! I can't wait!" said Ron enthusiastically, bouncing up and down on Sue's bed. "But I will miss Trevor," he said, somewhat crestfallen.

"Aww, you can come back and visit Trevor whenever you like. I'll make sure that you two can see each other once in awhile. Okay?"

"Okay."

Gail turned to Sarah. "Sarah? Shall we get going then? Is everything alright?"

Sarah nodded.

"We don't have to leave just yet - we can stay until after lunch if you'd like."

Sarah shook her head and the tears that had been slowly building, rolled down her cheeks.

"Oh, Sarah," said Gail, coming over to the bed and putting an arm around her shoulders. "Why are you so upset? On Wednesday you seemed okay with the idea...are you having second thoughts?"

Sarah wiped her eyes and looked out the window. She could feel Ron watching her and she hated that he was seeing her cry.

"I guess...I guess it's just so much change...it seems like we can never just stay in one place."

Gail gave her a sympathetic smile.

"I know my dear, I know."

The social worker sat down on the bed beside her. "But - look - sometimes you just need to give it one final push - and that brick wall in front of you finally collapses. I believe that this is your final push - that - after this - you'll be able to live happily ever after with your new family."

"But what if we don't? What if - what if they're just as bad as the Smolinski's...or worse."

Gail sighed. "They won't be. They're very nice people. I've met with them several times now. But _if,_ on the off chance that they turn out to be like the Smolinski's, you just give me a call and I'll come and investigate. Alright?"

Sarah sniffed and dried her eyes. She hated crying in front of people.

"C'mon, Sair," Ron said gently. "Let's go see how it is. What if they're really cool and really nice?"

Sarah shrugged. "That doesn't happen in the real world."

"Oh Sarah," said Gail admonishingly. "It does too happen. You just watch and see. It'll happen today. I guarantee it."

Sarah took a deep breath. There was no way that they could get another family like the Smolinski's. Her mom wouldn't let that happen to them.

"Alright," said Sarah, drying her eyes with the tissue Gail gave her. "Let's do it."

Ron ran over and hugged her. "Yay!"

The social worker stood up. "We'd better get going then. I know there are a lot of kids downstairs eager to carry your bags for you. You've become something of a celebrity around here."

Sarah managed a small smile. "I guess I have, eh?"

Fifteen minutes later they were all packed and sitting in the car, driving to their new home. Ron and Sarah had spent their last quarter of an hour at Canterbury House saying their goodbyes and promising to keep in touch. To Sarah's surprise, even Crystal had wished her good luck.

Now, as they sped west along Dundas, she could hardly believe that it was happening - that they were going to a new home. She watched out the window at the passing scenery. People coming and going from stores, mothers and daughters out shopping, old couples out for dim sum. Why couldn't she have a normal Saturday like everyone else? Why was she always the special case? Going to a new foster home seemed decidedly _un-_ normal.

Stores and shopping malls gave way to houses and apartment buildings. They were heading north now, Sarah could tell because she was now staring at the sun when she looked out her window. They were heading further and further away from downtown.

How far away do these people live?

Ron was quiet as he sat playing his video game in the front seat. Sarah sighed. She'd probably have to change schools again if they were going to be living this far from downtown. Gail turned onto another street and Sarah suddenly realized where they were.

But it can't be...no...

They passed by a large, wooden sign that read "Rexdale".

It just can't be...

Sarah sat frozen, her eyes fixed on the road, moving with every turn Gail took. As much as she wanted to ask where they were going, she didn't dare say a word lest she ruin this sweet, sweet moment. Were they actually going where she thought they were going?

Gail's car struggled up a hill and finally turned left into a small, tree-lined cul-de-sac that Sarah recognized all too well. She couldn't bear the suspense any longer.

"Gail..."

The social worker smiled. "Yes?"

Sarah sensed that Gail knew what she was going to ask. "Are we..."

But before she could finish her question they rounded the corner and there, standing on the front lawn of the brick bungalow on the corner, was the Nielsen family.

Sarah screamed like she'd never screamed before.

"Ow!" Ron bellowed. "My ears!"

"Sorry!"

Gail pulled into the driveway and parked the car. Sarah flung open the door and scrambled out as fast as she could.

"Rachel!"

"Sarah!"

The two girls ran to each other and hugged as Julian and Maria looked on, smiling. Memo, standing on the front steps, barked and ran towards Ron who had just gotten out of the car. He leapt at the boy and pinned him against the car, licking his face until Julian pulled him off.

"That's enough, Memo!"

Ron grinned and wiped the drool from his face. "Ach! He's sure glad to see me!"

"We all are," said Julian. "Hey - and I see you finally got your cast off!"

"Yep," Ron beamed, glancing proudly at his feet.

"Just in time for hockey season."

"Oh, I don't know that he should be playing hockey just yet," said Gail as she came around the car. "He's only had his cast off for a few weeks."

"Well, _skating_ then - hockey can wait until next year."

Gail smiled. "Alright. That sounds like a fair compromise."

"Hockey _this_ year," Julian whispered behind his hand once Gail was out of earshot.

Ron grinned.

A few feet away, Rachel and Sarah stood facing each other.

"Rachel, how come - how come you didn't tell me?" asked Sarah.

"My mom made me swear not to - we didn't want to get your hopes up and then, if it didn't work out, have to tell you that it wasn't happening."

"Oh...well that makes sense."

Rachel smiled. "But it worked out - and you and Ron are going to live with us!"

Sarah put a hand to her mouth. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to jump for joy. "I'm so happy! I can't believe this is actually happening!"

She stepped away from Rachel and wrapped her arms around Maria. "Thank you! Thank you so much, Mrs. Nielsen!"

Rachel's mom laughed at her enthusiasm. "It's our pleasure, Sarah. We loved having you and Ron at Thanksgiving. It reminded us of the times we used to have when Jorge was with us."

"Oh, _mamá_ ," said Rachel, tearing up because her mom had uttered Jorge's/George's name (a name she only said once a year - if at all).

"It's okay, _querida_ ," said Maria, "that's what Jorge would want. I think it's time we move on. The house seemed so lively when Sarah and Ron were with us."

"To new beginnings," said Julian as he and Ron joined the circle the other three had formed.

"Here, here," said Gail, wrapping an arm around Ron.

"To new beginnings."

\- 18 -

JUSTICE

(Four months later)

On a warm Tuesday in early April, three days before Sarah's fifteenth birthday, a large group consisting of Ron, Sarah, the Nielsen's, Officer Whittaker and Mrs. Whittaker, made their way solemnly into the Ontario Court of Justice. Both Maria and Julian had taken the day off work and the kids were missing school. Hank and Gloria were being sentenced and none of them wanted to miss the proceedings.

"Don't be nervous, Sarah," said Maria once they were inside.

"I'm trying not to be..."

Maria rubbed her shoulder affectionately. "Everything will be alright. You'll see."

"I hope so."

Officer Whittaker lead them all to "Courtroom 6". They had to pass through security before they could enter because it was a trial involving the Redcoats gang - and by default \- any criminal trial involving a biker gang required security.

One by one, they removed the metal objects from their pockets, and along with their jackets, placed them in a bin before walking through the metal detector.

The metal detector only sounded once - for Ron's belt buckle - and the security guard simply smiled and waved him through.

Sarah was nervous because it was going to be the first time seeing the Smolinski's since she and Ron had run away and the heightened security didn't help to calm her nerves.

"After you, Sarah," said Julian as he held the door.

"Thanks."

She put a hand on Ron's shoulder, and with Rachel immediately behind her, strode in and took a seat on the bench closest to the wall. The rest of their group filled in the space around them and they all faced forwards because the proceedings were already underway.

"Judge Wiseman" was a grey-haired woman with sharp, pointy features and the angry expression on her face told Sarah that she was one woman you didn't mess with. Hank and Gloria, seated in a glass booth and facing forwards with their backs towards Sarah and her entourage, quivered under the judge's penetrating gaze.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?"

Sarah glanced over at the jurors' bench as a large bearded man wearing glasses stood up and cleared his throat. "We have, your Honour."

"And has the jury found that the defendants are guilty or not guilty?"

The bearded juror opened the piece of paper he was holding and said, "the jury has found the defendants _guilty_. Recommended sentence is six years without the possibility of parole."

There was a sudden buzz of excitement in the courtroom and Sarah watched as hushed chatter broke out all around them.

"Order! Order please!"

Judge Wiseman rapped her gavel on the podium, silencing the audience instantly.

"I would ask that the members of the audience refrain from speaking or otherwise disrupting the Court so that we can get on with the sentencing."

No one spoke a word after that, but Sarah did notice several journalists scribbling rather noisily on their notepads and texting on their phones. The judge looked squarely at Hank and Gloria. Dressed in bright orange prison uniforms, the Smolinski's looked to be shaking and Sarah almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

"The jury has found the defendants, Hank and Gloria Smolinski of Pickering, Ontario, guilty on all charges. After a considerable amount of testimony, in which we heard from several expert witnesses including law enforcement officers and those affected by the actions of the co-accused, I am convinced that all essential elements of the charges brought against the defendants have been proven beyond a reasonable doubt. The jury's decision therefore stands."

Officer Whittaker flashed Sarah a thumbs up as Judge Wiseman continued.

" _However_ , while the jury recommended a _six_ year sentence (she paused for effect), I am imposing a _ten_ year sentence with the possibility of parole only after at least eight years have been served. This is to ensure that this type of behaviour has been rightly punished."

Sarah watched as Gloria bowed her head. Hank sat statue-still.

Judge Wiseman rapped her gavel. "This court is now adjourned."

She gathered up her robes and stood up as the bailiff called out. "ALL RISE!"

Everyone in the court room got to their feet and waited until Judge Wiseman had gone into her chambers. The members of the audience began to slowly make their way to the exit, but Sarah stayed where she was and watched as three police officers open the glass booth holding the Smolinski's. They were placed in handcuffs and the two male officers grabbed Hank, one on each arm, while the female officer took hold of Gloria. As they were lead towards the prisoners' door, Hank looked out at the audience. He spotted Sarah. Their eyes locked and he glared at her.

Don't be afraid, he can't hurt you anymore.

Sarah met his glare with her own and they watched each other until he and Gloria disappeared through the green, metal door reserved for prisoners.

Rachel touched her shoulder then, and she nearly jumped. "How're you feeling?"

Sarah had to think for a minute. "I don't feel anything really. I thought I would be happy and excited - but I feel kind of...blah."

"That's not a bad thing - and it makes sense. I mean, I think it will just take some time to digest."

Sarah sighed. "You're probably right. I can at least say that I'm glad that they're going away for eight years \- hopefully ten. By the time they get out I'll be an adult and they won't be able to put a finger on me."

"Adults aren't invulnerable you know," said Officer Whittaker. "We're still vulnerable to people like the Smolinski's."

"Yeah, but at least you're old enough and you can take care of yourself. You're bigger, stronger, and..."

The police captain grinned. "Smarter?"

"Maybe just a little," Sarah conceded.

The adults all laughed.

"We appreciate your confidence in us, Sarah," said Julian, his eyes smiling. "Now, can us, only-a-little-bit-smarter adults take you kids for ice cream? We've got lots to celebrate."

Ron's eyes lit up. "Yeah!"

Maria tousled Ron's hair. "Ay, my boy. You have such a sweet tooth! Is there any candy you don't eat?"

Ron's face split into a wide grin, exposing his dimples. "Nope!"

Rachel giggled.

"Come on you," said Sarah, wrapping an arm around her brother. "Let's go and get some ice cream before you run out of sugar."

Mrs. Whittaker chuckled. "I second that!"

Arm in arm, hand in hand, Ron, Sarah, the Nielsen's, and the two Whittaker's left the court house and never heard from Hank or Gloria Smolinski again.

THE END

Where to go and who to talk to if you need help

To reach a Kids Help Phone professional counselor, kids, teens and young adults, from any community in Canada, can call or go online 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. 1-800-668-6868 | www.kidshelpphone.ca

TeenHelp is an international not-for-profit organisation who provide anonymous support and advice to anybody who needs it. We help users of all ages and from all walks of life, all around the world. Our staff members are volunteers, regular people just like you, and they're here to listen and to give advice....TeenHelp provides a friendly and safe environment for everyone to work together. www.teenhelp.org

Ontario Association of Children's Aid Societies: If you or someone you know has an instance of child abuse to report, consult their website to find the toll free number in your area that you can contact. www.oacas.org

Covenant House (Toronto, ON): Kids come to us in crisis, desperately needing help. We provide for their basic human needs - food, clothing, a shower and medical attention - immediately. Kids who are trying to get off the street are often scared and mistrustful. We protect our kids from violence and degradation by providing them safety. **If you are a youth in need of shelter, phone (416) 593-4849 or 1-800-435-7308. Open 24 hours / 7 days a week. We are located at** 20 Gerrard St. E., Toronto, ON M5B 2P3.

Youth Services Bureau's 24/7 Crisis Line (Ottawa, ON): Whatever the problem, you can talk to someone who understands and who wants to help you. No one should ever suffer alone, which is why we've made it easy for you to get in touch with us. We're just one call away. The 24/7 Crisis Line service is for children and youth ages 18 and under, who are experiencing a crisis, and for parents, guardians, caregivers, friends or service providers who are concerned about a young person in crisis. 24 hours a day / 7 days a week / 365 days a year. Mobile interventions: Monday – Friday: 4:30 p.m. to midnight; Saturday and Sunday: 11:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m.

Call: 1 877 377 7775 | 613 260 2360

Other places you can go/people you can talk to: Your local food bank | Places of worship (churches, mosques, synagogues, temples) | Friends, family, teachers, co-workers | Counselor | Coach | Local shelters | Salvation Army stores/shelter | Saint Vincent de Paul stores | YMCA and YWCA locations | Boys and Girls Club locations

Whatever you do, don't panic or do anything drastic - help is often just a click or phone call away!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Paul Martin: A great guy and my sounding board throughout the writing process.

Mrs. Shirley Glenn: My grade one teacher at Briar Hill Elementary (Calgary, AB). You kick-started my interest in reading and writing. Thank you.

Mrs. Jane Alberts: My grade six teacher at Eastbrook Elementary (Brooks, AB). Thank you for all the positive feedback you gave me when it came to my writing.

Michael J. McCann (author of the Donaghue and Stainer Crime Series): For his advice and assistance with the publishing process.

My mom for always being there for me.

And last, but most certainly not least, my beautiful brown-eyed Irish girl, JM3.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Originally from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Adrien Leduc makes his home in Ottawa with his fianc _ée and their two crazy cats. He is a graduate of Carleton University (BA' 10) and is passionate about Canadian history. An avid reader and writer, Adrien hopes to write and publish many more books in his lifetime._
