The County File
Chapter 06 - The County File
Erica Lawson would not tell me everything.
She could not.
Noah was a minor in state care, and I was not family.
But she agreed to meet me and Lily at a quiet family-services office that afternoon because Noah had asked to see us.
He was sitting at a plastic table drawing when we arrived.
The picture showed a huge chandelier.
A man with a microphone.
A little girl in white.
And a boy standing far away.
Lily sat beside him.
“You forgot my hair,” she said.
Noah looked at her.
Then, for the first time, he smiled.
It disappeared quickly.
Erica asked me to step into the hall.
“Mr. Mercer, Noah has been in care for six years.”
Six.
He had been four when Vanessa left him.
My throat tightened.
“Has anyone tried to reunify him with his mother?”
“His mother was listed under the name Rachel Blake. She could not be located.”
“She was living thirty minutes away under another name.”
Erica’s expression was careful.
“I understand why that makes you angry.”
“Does the file mention Fairview?”
She looked at me sharply.
“That information is confidential.”
“That means yes.”
“It means I can’t discuss it.”
I leaned against the wall.
“What can you tell me?”
She thought for a moment.
“I can tell you Noah was found at the Fairview bus terminal. I can tell you an adult male contacted authorities shortly afterward, claimed to be a maternal relative, and said the mother was medically unfit and had fled the state.”
“Conrad.”
“I did not say that.”
“Did he take Noah?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Again, the careful pause.
“The petition did not proceed.”
“Why?”
She lowered her voice.
“Because the relative withdrew it.”
I stared at her.
Conrad had known.
He had not merely covered for Vanessa.
He had stood close enough to take Noah home.
And then walked away.
When I returned to the room, Noah was telling Lily about a foster mother who used to make cinnamon toast.
He looked ordinary.
That was the unbearable part.
Children in terrible stories are still just children. They like cartoons. They hate peas. They remember who packed their lunch and who forgot.
My phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
I answered.
A woman said, “My name is Mara Blake. Noah’s father was my brother.”
May you like
I stopped breathing.
Then she said, “I’ve been looking for that boy for six years.”
