The Empty Chair at the Laundromat
Chapter 11 - The Empty Chair at the Laundromat
I left therapy immediately.
June was waiting outside the laundromat.
Police had already been called.
Eli had disappeared after school.
His backpack was gone.
So was the cardboard box containing Rachel's belongings.
"Why would he run away?" I asked.
June covered her face.
That morning, she'd received an eviction notice.
Their apartment building had been sold.
The new owners planned renovations.
June had tried to hide it from Eli.
He overheard her speaking with a social worker.
"He thinks they're going to take him away from me," she whispered.
My heart sank.
I knew where he had gone.
Café Bellmont.
The place where we'd met.
We found him beneath the same cream-colored umbrella, sitting behind the patio wall with his mother's box hugged against his chest.
"Eli."
He looked up.
His eyes were red.
"I'm not going."
"Going where?"
"Foster care."
June dropped to her knees.
"No one said that."
"They said we don't have a home."
I looked away.
There are moments when wealth becomes embarrassing.
I owned three houses.
Two were empty.
This child was terrified he would lose the only family he had because his grandmother couldn't afford a security deposit.
"I have an apartment," I said.
June stared at me.
"So?"
"So it belongs to Whitmore Home Foundation. It's normally used for employees during emergencies."
That wasn't entirely true.
The foundation owned housing.
But no emergency program existed.
Not yet.
"I can't accept charity," June said.
"Good."
She blinked.
"You'll pay rent."
"What?"
"An amount you can afford."
I turned to Eli.
"And you stay with your grandmother."
His eyes widened.
"Really?"
"If the social worker approves everything."
I wasn't going to buy a child.
I wasn't going to make promises outside the law.
But I could stop poverty from pretending to be a moral failure.
June hugged Eli.
I sat beside them and cried.
Later, as Eli gathered his things, the cardboard box tipped.
Papers scattered.
One slid beneath my wheelchair.
I picked it up.
It was an old letter Rachel had written but never mailed.
The name on the front wasn't mine.
It was addressed to Daniel.
Inside, one sentence had been underlined twice.
If you continue interfering with Claire Whitmore's treatment, I will report everything I witnessed.
May you like
Everything.
There was still something we didn't know.
