“I’m aware.”
“That influence can help, but it can also complicate things.”
“I’ll do whatever is appropriate.”
She studied me for a long moment.
“Appropriate is often less satisfying than people expect.”
I glanced toward the children. “I’m not looking for satisfaction.”
“What are you looking for?”
The answer should have been simple.
Justice.
Accountability.
The truth.
Instead, I found myself watching Owen press Captain’s paw against Lily’s sleeve to make her smile.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “But they shouldn’t have to wonder whether anyone is looking.”
Maya’s face changed slightly.
Not approval.
Understanding.
“We’re checking for relatives,” she said. “So far, records show no living maternal family. Paternal side is unclear. There is a brother listed, but contact information is outdated.”
“The children mentioned him.”
“They also said they were told he didn’t want them.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I believe children repeat what adults tell them until someone shows them something different.”
I looked at her.
“That’s the second true thing I’ve heard today,” I said.
“What was the first?”
“That children who believe someone is coming cry.”
Her eyes moved toward the twins.
“And those who don’t?”
“They go quiet.”
Maya said nothing.
She did not need to.
By evening, the airport outside had shifted into a different rhythm. Business travelers had thinned. Families returning from vacations moved with sunburned faces and tired children. The sky beyond the glass darkened from silver to deep blue, and runway lights blinked like distant stars.
Lily fell asleep sitting upright, her head against the arm of a chair.
Owen refused to sleep.
Every time his eyelids lowered, he jerked awake and looked around.
Finally, I sat across from him with two paper cups of water between us.
“You don’t have to stay awake to keep watch,” I said.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m not.”
“No?”
“I’m just not tired.”
“You’ve yawned seven times in ten minutes.”
“That’s not tired.”
“What is it?”
He considered. “My mouth stretching.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
Lily stirred. Owen immediately looked at her.
“She has bad dreams,” he said quietly.
“You help her?”
He nodded.
“Who helps you?”
He frowned, as if the question were strange.
“I’m the brother.”
“You’re also five.”
“I’m almost six.”
“When?”
He hesitated. “November.”
“That’s not almost.”
“It’s closer than last November.”
I could not argue with that.
He adjusted Captain in his lap. The bear was old, its fur rubbed thin in places, one plastic eye slightly scratched. A blue ribbon hung loosely around its neck. Not original. Someone had tied and retied it many times.
“Your dad gave you Captain?” I asked.
Owen nodded.
“He said captains don’t leave their ships.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
I looked away for one second because there are moments when a man’s face becomes too honest.
When I looked back, Owen was staring at the bear.
“Daddy left,” he whispered.
“No,” I said gently. “Dying isn’t the same as leaving.”
“But he’s gone.”
