“I know,” acknowledged Kate. “And he really belongs in a more hands-on program designed for the severely autistic. I’m hopeful an opening will be available within the next month or so. You two have done your best with him, but he requires far more specialized care than you’re trained to provide. As far as Scarlett is concerned, she shouldn’t create any extra work for you. Once she’s fully healed from this wound, she should actually be able to help you around the house with chores and such. She’ll be able to get herself to and from school, take care of herself. All she really needs from you,” added Kate quietly, “is a little love and some security. Two things she’s been sadly lacking most of her life from the little I know of her thus far. Come on, let’s go meet her now.”
Margie knew the very second she laid eyes on the small, waifish girl with the wild red gold curls, blue eyes that were far too big for her delicate features, and a look of defiance on her face despite the pain she must be in, that one way or the other Scarlett would have a place in their home. There was no possible way that she and Roz could turn their backs on this frail child, a girl who looked more like ten or eleven than the fifteen Kate had told them she was. She looked almost lost in the hospital bed, her complexion nearly as pale as the stark white pillowcase she rested on. Her cheekbones were hollow, and the dark circles under her eyes gave Margie cause to suspect she hadn’t slept well in ages. Scarlett looked in dire need of a good, hearty meal, fourteen solid hours of sleep, and a comforting shoulder to cry on, and Margie vowed that the girl would get all of that and more when she came to live with her and Roz.
As they tentatively approached the hospital bed, Margie and Roz exchanged a brief glance and an even briefer nod, silently acknowledging to the other that without even exchanging a single word with this broken young girl she would become a part of their family. It didn’t matter a whit that their modest house in an older part of Las Vegas was already filled to overflowing, or that taking care of three special needs children was often exhausting, leaving them with precious little time for themselves. They would find a spot for Scarlett to sleep, would carve out enough time in their already packed schedules to make sure she was safe and secure and taken care of. Because while they might have been short on space and time and money, there would always be an abundance of love in their hearts, especially for those children that no one else seemed to want.
***
One Week Later
“I’m sorry we don’t have a spare bedroom for you at the moment. But we’ve tried to make this space here as comfortable for you as possible. It’s only a futon, but it’s pretty comfy, and there’s lots of blankets and pillows for you. I’ve cleaned out some space in the closet, it isn’t much so far, but Roz and I promise we’ll make some more room in there for your things.”
Scarlett glanced at the duffel bag that held all of her worldly possessions and shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t have a lot of stuff. I can shove most of it in the dresser.”
Margie, who built and refinished furniture whenever she could find the time, had hastily stripped and stained an old dresser that she’d had stored in her garage workshop. “You’ll need some new things,” she pointed out. “Kate said you hardly have any clothes at all, and only one decent pair of shoes. Once you’re feeling a little stronger, Roz or I will take you shopping. Okay?”
“Sure. I guess. It doesn’t matter really,” muttered Scarlett. “I’m used to not having much, and clothes and shoes and stuff aren’t all that important to me. You don’t have to bother taking me out to shop, since you’re so busy with the other kids and stuff.”
“It is important,” insisted Margie, placing a hand on the girl’s bony shoulder. She ignored the way Scarlett stiffened beneath her touch and stubbornly kept her hand in place. “You deserve to have some nice things, honey, new things. I mean, nothing fancy, of course, but we’ll certainly have enough funds from the county to shop at someplace like Target or Old Navy, if that’s okay with you.”
Scarlett gave a bitter little laugh. “Trust me, those sort of places sound like high end department stores to me. The last few years all my stuff has come from Goodwill or garage sales.”
“Well, you’re supposed to rest up for another week before you can leave the house for any length of time. But after that we’ll make it a point to get whatever you need. Okay?” asked Margie gently. “In fact, after we get you settled, I might just dash out and pick you up a few things - some pajamas or sweats since you’ll need to get a lot of rest. Now, there’s not a TV here in the office but I’ve set up my laptop for you and left some movies for you to watch.”
Scarlett yawned. “Maybe later. Right now, the pain meds they gave me are making me pretty sleepy so I’ll probably just nap for awhile.”
“Lunch first,” declared Margie. “The discharge nurse said you need to have food in your stomach when you take your pain pills. Not to mention you definitely need some fattening up. Grilled cheese sound okay to you?”
Scarlett gave a brief nod, not trusting herself not to break into tears at how kind and considerate both Margie and Roz had been since she’d first met them a few days ago. Kindness and consideration had both been in very short supply in her life thus far, and she was still having all sorts of trouble believing that this situation with the two women was going to last very long. No doubt they’d get tired of having her around sooner than later, and ship her off to yet another foster home. Or worse, she thought with an internal shudder, another of those nightmarish group homes.
But for now she allowed herself to enjoy the rare luxury of having an actual room to herself, and crawled under the covers while Margie bustled off to make her some lunch. She didn’t mind at all that they had fashioned a makeshift bedroom for her in this small room that looked like it was a combination of home office and storage space. And the futon that Margie had fretted over was actually way more comfortable than some of the lumpy old cots she’d slept on in the past. The sheets and blankets were clean and smelled nice, and the pillows were soft and fluffy. After so many years of living with her wretched grandmother in equally wretched conditions, or shoved into a room with two or three or more roommates at a foster or group home, having any sort of space to herself was a welcome relief. Maybe, she thought dubiously, she might actually get a good night’s sleep once in awhile.
The two women who were her most recent foster parents had filled her in about the other inhabitants of the house, in particular the autistic kid Aaron.
“He isn’t violent at all,” Roz had been quick to reassure her, probably guessing that she was scared shitless after the horrific incident at the group home. “But Aaron does tend to wail and carry on, and it can be a little disturbing at first. Most of the time he sleeps through the night after he takes his evening meds, but every so often he’ll wake the whole house up.”
Scarlett hadn’t bothered to tell Roz that she wasn’t really fazed by that sort of disruptive behavior, given that she’d lived with recovering addicts over the last year or, worse, kids with schizophrenia or bipolar disorder who went off their meds from time to time. Still, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of relief when Roz told her they were hoping to get Aaron into a residential treatment facility where he could receive far more specialized care than she or Margie were able to provide.