"Okay, let's see those fingers," Kara said to Zach as she stepped into the bathroom.
The boy was carefully pulling the third bandage off his injured digits. Setting it aside, he held his hand out for Kara to inspect.
She took it and looked at it closely. "They're healing up. How do they feel?"
"Okay," he reported. "They only hurt if I go like this." He balled his fingers into a fist.
"Good," she said. "Let's go ahead and bandage them for another day, just to be safe." She fetched the bandages, pulled out three, and began to position the first one on his index finger.
"You guys are really funny," the boy said as he watched her.
"Yeah?" she asked. "How do you mean?"
"Dad found a worm in his hair and you caught a rubber fish," he answered with a grin.
She grinned back at him as she secured the first bandage and began to place the second. "Hmm, I guess we are."
"Did Dad really put that worm out in the garden?"
"His name is Craig, Zach."
"Fine—Craig."
Kara wrapped the second bandage around his middle finger. "He sure did put the worm out there. I watched him do it."
The boy's eyebrows rose. "When he didn't have any clothes on?"
Kara laughed. "The worm didn't care."
The boy gaped at her.
"Actually, he wrapped an old towel around himself. Nothing else, though."
The boy shook his head in amazement.
How is this child so normal, so happy, when he's been abandoned? Kara wondered. He should be scared to death! The thought surprised and sobered her.
"Is it still out there?" he asked.
"Is what still out there?"
"The worm? Is it still out in the garden?"
The question intruded on her sobriety, and she gave him a thoughtful smile as she finished the third bandage. "I suppose so, if it's still alive. I don't know how long earthworms live." She patted his hand. "There you go, Zach. Let's check those fingers again tomorrow."
"Okay," he replied.
"And now, off to bed. We probably shouldn't have let you stay up so late, but at least it's not a school night." She had a thought. "Is there anywhere you need to be tomorrow?" If so, it might lend them clues about him.
"No. Grandfather always made me stay home on the weekends."
No help there. "Hmm. Well, when you're done in here, climb into bed. Oh, and in case you'd rather not wear these clothes to bed"—with a hand she indicated his shirt and jeans—"I left my shorts and shirt on the desk in the guestroom. You're welcome to put those on again if you want."
"Thanks," he said, and reached to shut the bathroom door as Kara departed.
She made her way to the den, where Craig was reclining on the couch, still thumbing through one of the photo albums. She sat down next to him and leaned against his shoulder. "I'm trying to wrap my head around all of this," she told him. "Last night a police officer shows up and drops off this boy who says he's our son and happens to know where the glasses, the bathroom, and the dog are."
"And knows our middle names," Craig added.
"Mm-hmm. And looks just like you did at that age, only with blue eyes. And scratches his nose like you do."
"I caught myself doing that tonight," he admitted. "And then I saw Zach do it, only with his left hand."
"And then this morning we had a good plan, we really did—but the school thinks we're his parents and he lives here."
"Them and the police." Craig gave a small grimace. This was bothering him, too.
Kara sighed and shrugged, her shoulder rising and falling against Craig's chest. "I don't know which is worse: that somebody convinced him we were his parents and sent him away, or that I can't help seeing you when I look at him." Her voice shook a little. "And I know we shouldn't let him call us 'Mom' and 'Dad'…"
"I tried to get him to stop. I should insist on that tomorrow."
"Me, too." Kara sighed again and shut her eyes tight. "But whenever he does it, there's a part of me that wants to believe… I just think, what if things had been different ten years ago…"
Craig squeezed her arm. "I know. He's a neat kid. Fun. Smart, too. He catches on to things right away."
"Yeah," Kara agreed. "I know in my heart there's no way he can be ours, but for goodness' sake—if I could get my hands on Elliott right now, I'd wring him out until he explained how he ever let a boy like that go!"
"Elliott might not have ever met him, for all we know. At least, Zach doesn't know Elliott."
Kara shook her head sadly. "I just can't fathom it, not after trying so hard to have a child of our own." She heard the boy move from the bathroom to the guestroom.
"What I can't figure out," Craig said, "is how he turned out so well. He's well-behaved. He's doing okay in school. Did you watch him tonight? He was having a great time."
"He thinks he belongs here, Craig. That's why he's happy."
Craig nodded solemnly. "I know."
"How is he going to feel when he finds out he belongs somewhere else?"
This time it was Craig who shook his head sadly. "We'll get this figured out," he said. "He's a relative, we know that much. So maybe, after we get him back to his parents or whoever, we can…have him over sometimes..."
Kara nodded. "Yeah." Zechariah Timothy Fleming—the name she had chosen. Someone had stolen it and given it to this beautiful boy… She loosed herself from Craig and stood up. "I should go tell him good night."
Pondering, she walked to the guestroom door and tapped on it gently. "All clear in there?" she called through it.
"You can come in," the boy's voice came.
She pushed the door open and found him sitting cross-legged on the chair by the desk, again dressed in her gray shorts and blue T-shirt. "I forgot—I was going to get you the pink shirt tonight," she teased. "I hope you don't mind."
"I'll be okay," he assured her with ample certainty in his voice.
"As long as you're satisfied." He had left his own shirt and jeans on the floor in disarray, so she scooped them up, folded them, and hung them over the back of the desk chair. "Why don't you hop under the covers, then? It's late. You should be tired by now."
"I don't feel tired," he replied, but he stood up, clambered into the bed and settled in under the covers just the same.
"Snug as a bug?" she asked him.
"Huh?"
She gave him a small grin. "Just an old saying." She straightened the blankets a bit. "In the morning, if you wake up before we do, you can go out in the back yard and play with Paws if you like. Not the front, though, okay? For safety."
"Okay," he said, beginning to sound sleepy at last. It's about time, Kara thought with amusement. He yawned widely, right on cue.
"Okay, then. Is there anything you need?"
"No," the boy answered, closing his eyes. But then he opened them again and looked up at her. "Just one thing."
"What's that?" Kara asked.
The boy hesitated the briefest moment. "I need you to be my mom. I know you don't believe me—"
"Zach," she explained patiently, "you're the sweetest kid, but you have a real mother out there somewhere who—"
"But Mrs. James at the school, she said you and Da—I mean Craig—are my parents."
"Because somebody gave the school the wrong information—on purpose, I think…"
"But Grandmother always told me that you—"
"Zach, honey," she interrupted him miserably, "I'm so, so sorry… Your grandmother was wrong, Zach. I'm not your mom. And Craig is not your dad. Maybe a cousin, or a cousin once removed, whatever that is…" She hated that look of disappointment in his eyes. She knew that look. She had seen it in the mirror after the doctor had told her and Craig the last time…
She put a gentle hand on the boy's head and pretended not to notice when he blinked back an extra bit of moisture. His hair was dry—why should that surprise her?
His blue eyes looked to her for some kind of reassurance.
"Zechariah," she said at last, "here's what I can do… I hardly know the first thing about being a mom, but as long as you're here—until we can find where you really belong—I'll do the best I can. Like when you have a substitute teacher at school. Mom with a small 'm,' okay?"
The boy nodded reluctantly, lips pressed tightly shut. He rolled over to face away from her, but swiped a hand across one eye. It brought a tear to her own eyes.
She straightened his covers again, unnecessarily. "I think moms with a big 'M' are supposed to say things like, 'No more talking now, go to sleep.'"
His ear twitched; he sniffled, ignoring the weak joke.
She stepped quietly to the light switch. "Good night, Zach." He didn't answer. She turned out the light and shut the door behind her.
The Boy Who Appeared from the Rain Page 21