Chapter 3 - THE BOY IN THE HOSPITAL ACROSS TOWN
Table of Contents 6
Martin Halpern was arrested before noon.
The police didn't arrest him because Jonathan Reed was wealthy.
They arrested him because Noah talked.
Once Noah spoke, other pieces began falling into place.
Medical reports.
School absences.
Financial records.
Complaints that had been dismissed as behavioral problems.
Three former foster children were contacted within forty-eight hours. Two described similar abuse. Another said she had repeatedly told a caseworker that food was withheld as punishment.
For years, Martin had survived because frightened children were easier to doubt than respectable adults.
That changed when too many frightened children told the same story.
I visited Noah three days later.
He looked even smaller than I remembered.
His wrist was wrapped, and yellow bruises covered one side of his face. When he saw me standing in the doorway, his expression broke.
"You came back."
I crossed the room and hugged him carefully.
"I said I would."
"I thought you forgot."
"Never."
We cried without caring who watched.
Afterward, Noah told investigators everything.
The Halperns had discovered he knew where I sometimes slept. Martin demanded information. Noah refused.
That was why Martin hurt him.
Guilt nearly swallowed me.
Noah stopped it.
"You didn't do this."
"I left you there."
"You got out."
He looked at me with more wisdom than any twelve-year-old should have needed.
"Now I'm out too."
Meanwhile, Ethan's condition slowly improved.
The swelling around his spine began decreasing. He regained stronger sensation in both feet, but doctors warned Jonathan that recovery could take months and might never be complete.
Ethan handled the uncertainty by becoming impossible.
He complained about food.
Argued with physical therapists.
Tried to convince nurses that wheelchair races counted as rehabilitation.
I visited whenever Angela allowed it.
One afternoon, I found him glaring at a bowl of pudding.
"You look angry."
"This tastes like wallpaper paste."
"You've eaten wallpaper paste?"
"I'm rich. I've had opportunities."
I laughed so hard a nurse told us to quiet down.
Jonathan was sitting near the window.
He smiled when he heard me.
He had changed during those first weeks.
Not dramatically.
Real change rarely happens like that.
He still took business calls.
Still wore expensive suits.
Still had assistants entering with documents.
But whenever Ethan's therapist arrived, the phone disappeared.
Whenever Ethan woke frightened at night, Jonathan was there.
One afternoon, I overheard Ethan ask whether he was missing an important meeting.
Jonathan answered, "Nothing more important than this."
Ethan pretended not to care.
I saw his smile after Jonathan looked away.
The harder problem was me.
I couldn't stay in the hospital forever.
Angela placed me temporarily in a youth crisis residence while investigators reviewed my case.
It was safe.
The bedroom door locked from the inside.
Nobody rationed food.
Nobody yelled when I took a second shower.
For the first week, I still slept wearing shoes.
Jonathan never asked why.
He simply visited with Ethan once Ethan was stable enough to leave the hospital for short periods.
The first time they arrived, Ethan was in a wheelchair.
Across his lap lay my old coat.
I stared at it.
"I thought you threw that away."
Ethan looked offended.
"You saved my life with this."
"It smells."
"Not anymore."
Jonathan had it professionally cleaned and repaired.
I immediately glared at him.
He raised both hands.
"Ethan ordered it."
"With whose money?"
Jonathan looked at his son.
Ethan shrugged.
"Technicality."
I took the coat.
The torn sleeve had been carefully mended.
For reasons I couldn't explain, that nearly made me cry.
Then Jonathan handed me another bag.
Inside was a new winter coat.
I pushed it back.
"No."
"It's cold outside."
"I don't want charity."
He considered that.
"Then call it repayment."
"I don't want repayment."
"Fine."
He placed the bag beside Ethan.
"Then it's an object currently occupying a chair. What happens to it afterward is beyond my control."
Ethan grinned.
I hated both of them a little.
I kept the coat.
Weeks passed.
Noah moved into a therapeutic foster home.
Mrs. Halpern began cooperating with investigators.
Martin remained in custody while prosecutors expanded the case.
Then Angela asked me to meet her.
My temporary placement would eventually end.
At seventeen, I had fewer options than younger children. Transitional housing was possible. Another foster home was possible.
Then Angela mentioned a third possibility.
"The Reeds have asked whether they can be evaluated as a temporary placement."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"They haven't asked to adopt you. They haven't asked for guardianship. They've asked whether their home could legally be considered while you finish high school and decide what you want."
My immediate answer was no.
That night, I lay awake thinking about why.
It wasn't because I disliked Jonathan.
It wasn't because I disliked Ethan.
It was because I did.
Too much.
Wanting to belong somewhere meant having somewhere to lose.
The next afternoon, Ethan called.
"You said no."
"Angela told you?"
"Dad did."
I became angry.
"He shouldn't have."
"He said you're allowed to."
That stopped me.
Ethan continued.
"But can you at least come see the room?"
"What room?"
"Yours."
"I don't have a room."
"You could."
Against my better judgment, I visited.
The Reed penthouse overlooked Central Park.
I hated it immediately.
Too much glass.
Too much marble.
Too many rooms nobody used.
Then Ethan rolled down a hallway and opened one ordinary white door.
The bedroom inside was simple.
Bed.
Desk.
Bookshelf.
Warm blankets.
Nothing extravagant.
My repaired coat hung beside the window.
I turned toward Jonathan.
He remained in the hallway rather than entering.
"I told the decorator to leave it alone."
"You have a decorator?"
Ethan sighed.
"Focus, Lily."
I almost smiled.
Then I looked at Jonathan.
"What if I hate living here?"
"You leave."
"What if I stay three months and change my mind?"
"You leave."
"What if I turn eighteen?"
"Then legally you can do whatever you want."
"And if I don't want anything from you?"
His answer came immediately.
"Then you don't owe me anything."
I looked around the room again.
For most people, it was just a bedroom.
For me, it was terrifying.
Because for the first time in years, there was an empty room somewhere that seemed to be waiting for me.
And part of me desperately wanted to let it.
Other posts
