"You sit there," Kara ordered the moment Zach stepped through the front door a few days later. She had been doing a lot of ordering lately, and she didn't like it. What was going on with this boy?
Slinging his backpack off his shoulder and dropping it beside the standalone counter, he took the stool she indicated. He had the audacity to look up at her with those all-too-innocent eyes he had inherited from his dad.
She left him sitting there for a minute, letting him stew with what she hoped was grim trepidation while she leaned against the counter beside the sink and finished her article in the latest Northwest Gardener. As she reached the end of it, some of the finer points of home composting now clearer in her mind, she set the magazine extra-gently on the counter. She did not look at the boy. Instead, she began a careful examination of the neatly-trimmed fingernails of her left hand.
"What time is it, Zechariah?" she asked very calmly. How convenient it was that she and Craig had given him a name that they usually shortened; she could say so much simply by speaking it full-length. Someone else gave him that name, she corrected herself angrily. She and Craig had chosen it, but this Rhonda Lerwick—she had given it to him.
The boy fidgeted and glanced at the clock. "4:50," he answered.
"You can read time. Good. When are you supposed to be home?" She still did not look at him.
"4:30."
"And how long does it take you to walk home from Cayden's house?"
"Mom, we were in the middle of—"
"How—long?" She didn't raise her voice. The extra enunciation communicated her indignation.
He dropped his eyes. "Five minutes."
"So what time should you leave Cayden's house?"
He sighed dejectedly. "4:25."
Kara switched to examining the fingernails of her right hand, keeping her voice even. "Why, then, did it take you twenty-five minutes to get home? And why was this the third time in a week? You made it home by 4:30 every time you went to Cayden's for the first three weeks of school. I was impressed that you were so responsible. Why did that change?" At last she looked up at him.
He sat stiffly, the falsely-innocent look gone, replaced by a caught-and-guilty expression. "I don't know. I forgot what time it was. We were in the middle of a game."
Kara intensified her glare.
The boy fidgeted again. "I'm sorry, Mom."
"That's good to hear," she said, resuming her study of her fingernails. "Now, go to your room and do your homework. But feed Paws first—you forgot again this morning. He was disappointed."
The boy slid off his stool and went to the side door. "Mom," he asked, turning back to her, "can I go to Cayden's tomorrow so we can finish our game?"
"Absolutely not," she replied. "Maybe on Wednesday, but I will need some assurance that you'll be home on time."
His shoulders sagged, but he didn't argue. He went outside and refilled Paws' food bowl slowly, petting the dog for a moment. Kara was glad to see him take a little extra time, even if only to put his homework off a bit longer. He had not spent much time with Paws these past few days.
The boy's attitude had changed for the worse. He had been such a good child when he had first come to them. Everything, to him, had been an adventure, a joy. Now…
He came back inside and passed her en route to his bedroom. Kara shook her head as he walked by. What had happened to the sensitive, fun-loving boy who had sat on the front step with his bare feet soaking in the rain that first morning? He had grown so melancholy these past three weeks. Was it Mr. Herd, or something about fifth grade? No, all seemed to be going well at school. It was something here at home, and Kara had a pretty good idea what it was.
Craig arrived home from work just in time for dinner—tacos that Kara and Zach had made together, the boy assisting after his homework was done. Zach remained sullen, speaking only when spoken to, even through the meal. Craig didn't help matters much. He spent most of the meal calculating. He had Bert—or Bill—Lerwick on his mind again.
"I'm going to swing by two more houses tonight," he said as he swallowed the last of his third taco. "One's supposed to be a Jerry Lerwick, the other is named Pat. Hopefully one of them knew the Lerwick we're looking for."
"Why don't you stay home tonight, just call them?" Kara encouraged. "You've been gone almost every night since you went to Mount Vernon."
Craig considered, but shook his head. "Too many people screen their calls, but they'll answer the door. And we're so close, Kara. Someone in this city knows something about this Lerwick guy. If I can find that one person, we could discover everything we need to know about Zach."
"I don't know, Craig," Kara demurred. "I've been thinking—maybe it's time to go to the police."
Zach snapped his head up at her words, attentive and wary.
"We've had Zach for almost five months," she continued. "We have the DNA test results. We have the birth certificate, not that it's much help, since it's a fraud. Anyway, he is our son, and we did not give permission for him to be adopted out. And we have Rita—she can verify how he was raised."
"I'm not comfortable with that, Kara," Craig argued quietly. "What if they do take him away? Would that be better for him?"
Kara gave him a sympathetic sigh. "I know, Craig. I feel the same way. But they can find out so much more than we can. They have access to information that we—"
"Stop, Kara," Craig said. "Look at Zach. Do you really want to put him through that?"
Zach looked worried, glancing from her to Craig and back again. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "Like he's not going through anything now?" she returned sharply. "You're gone almost every night! He needs a dad, Craig. Look, they can help us. We should have told them what was going on weeks ago."
She and Craig stared at each other for a long moment.
"Craig, you're searching for a miracle under every rock. It's not good for your family—not for Zach, not for me. We need you here."
Craig looked again at Zach. "Actually, we've found quite a few miracles already. All I need is one more." With that he stood and cleared his place at the table. "It'll only take a few more days…or maybe even just tonight." He set his dishes in the sink, then made his way down the hall and out of sight.
Kara and Zach finished their food, though it was clear that neither of them felt much like eating. She filled the dishwasher and set it running. The boy sat idly at the table, watching her. "Go get your jacket," she told him. "I'd like you to help me pick the vegetables before it gets dark."
"I don't want my jacket," he replied.
Why did he have to be obstinate, especially now? "It's wet and chilly out there, and I don't want you catching a cold." He still did not move, so she signed to him, "Go…get…jacket."
He trudged off to his room, looking sullen. Kara took her own jacket from the coat rack and pulled it on. Craig joined her there a moment later and grabbed his, as well. "Don't worry," he said, "we'll get to the bottom of this soon. And then we'll be able to keep Zach for sure and raise him the way he needs." Seeing the boy return from his room wearing his green and blue jacket, Craig asked, "Where are you guys going?"
"Just outside to pick some vegetables," Kara replied.
Zach tromped by them. "Vegetables are stupid," he muttered.
In a flash, Craig spun. He cornered Zach against the wall, blocking his progress with one hand, pointing a finger in the boy's face with the other. Stunned and suddenly breathless, the boy stared up at him in alarm.
Craig whispered at him furiously. "Tell me you did not just call your mother stupid!"
Zach went rigid, too afraid to speak. He shook his head with only the slightest motion, but earnestly all the same.
Craig's face was inches from the boy's. "I hope not. If I ever hear you insult your mother, I will ground you and put you to work for a month! You treat your mother with respect. Always."
Kara stepped to Craig
's side and laid a calming hand on his shoulder. "He said vegetables are stupid," she reported softly. "I heard him."
Craig held the boy's gaze a long moment. Finally, with a deep exhale, he stepped back. "That's better, but still rude," he said. "Go help your mother, and don't complain. I don't want to hear about anymore rude comments when I get back."
Kara thought the boy might run off to his room to hide—his eyes flickered in that direction one time—but he stayed as if still pinned to the wall.
Craig turned and kissed Kara on the forehead, then moved to the front door. "I'll be back in a little bit," he said, pulling it open.
"Please don't be too long," she pleaded as he stepped outside into a patch of evening light. The clouds that had spread a drizzly mist across the city all day had broken somewhat. Kara watched him go.
Closing the door, she turned back to find Zach still frozen in place, eyes wide, staring at her. Coming over to him, she placed her hands tenderly on his shoulders. "Hey, kiddo. Are you okay?"
He blinked at her and nodded hesitantly. He was shaking.
Craig wasn't that angry, she thought. He never lost control. He didn't even touch him…
"Look," she told the boy gently, "your dad, he—he did that because he loves me. He loves you the same way, Zach. He would never, ever hurt you. But he wanted you to know this is important."
She searched the boy's eyes; they were still scared, imploring her for some reassurance. Why did that frighten him so much? He needs to have a healthy respect for Craig, but panic?
"Your dad—he's a warrior if he thinks someone might hurt his family. It's one of the things I love about him. He always defends me. He would do the same thing for you. That's why he's working so hard to find out about Grandfather. It bothers him—he can't rest until he knows you're going to be safe here. Do you understand?"
Zach blinked at her again. At last, with a long breath, he relaxed.
She squeezed his slumped shoulders. "He won't be angry with you when he comes home. Not if your behavior is better."
Zach looked down at his hands meekly.
"Okay," Kara nodded. "Hey, you did the right thing, by the way, staying here and not running off to hide."
His eyes returned to hers in surprise.
"I saw you thinking about it. But you stayed. That was a good decision."
With a final squeeze, she dropped her hands and led him into the kitchen. "Now, stupid or not, the vegetables need to be picked." She collected four large bowls from the cupboard, handing two to him. "And we have more than we need, so I thought we might make a couple of vegetable baskets to give to families at church."
"Can we give one to Rita?" Zach asked tentatively.
Kara gave him a gentle smile; he needed some encouragement. "I hadn't thought about exactly who yet, but yeah, we could give one to Rita."
She took him outside to the garden. They picked beans, cucumbers, squash, and corn and pulled up carrots until darkness made it hard to see. Zach did not complain when she asked him to help her wash their harvest. Neither did he protest when she reminded him to take his bath—it was the first night in a week that getting him into the tub had not been a struggle. He spent the remainder of the evening alone in his room while she stayed in the den, paying bills and giving him some space. At nine o'clock, she tucked him in without much comment and wished him a good night.
Craig arrived home a few minutes later, frustrated. Neither family he had visited had admitted to knowing anything about a Bert or Bill Lerwick. He had actually stopped by two more Lerwick homes farther away—Kara gave him a hard, silent stare when he admitted it—but the residents had been gone, so he planned to try them again tomorrow.
"How was Zach after I left?" he asked an hour later, as Kara, preparing for bed, stepped out of their bathroom with her robe wrapped around her.
"Scared," she said, "but he behaved better."
He gave her a nervous look. "Was I too hard on him?"
She shook her head. "No, he earned it. But remember how they told us he didn't relate well to men when he first started school? I got the impression from Rita that this Mr. Lerwick wasn't very good with Zach. Maybe Zach understands how to relate to men at school now, like Eddie. But at home it's different."
"He's always been fine around me, ever since that first night," Craig replied.
"Yes, but when you correct him—well, he's never run to hide under the bed when I've gotten after him. But he gets scared of you. It's not your fault. It's something from his past."
"His past." Craig shook his head in frustration. "That's why I have to find this Lerwick guy." With that, he stepped into their bathroom and closed the door.
Kara sat down on the bed next to her pillow and rested her face in her hands. Both of her boys were angry—one at Rhonda and Bert, or Bill, Lerwick; the other…at his father, who didn't see it. But now was not the time to mention it.
Shifting to arrange the bedspread, she noticed an envelope propped up against her pillow. "MOM" was penciled on the front in Zach's handwriting. Inside, he had placed a sheet of paper folded into a card. With colored pencils, he had drawn a picture of himself standing with her—she could tell by the long hair—the two of them smiling under an orange-leafed autumn tree, dark red flowers adorning the grass at their feet.
She opened the card. There were only three words inside:
I'm sorry.
Zechariah
Kara held the card in both hands. Were all boys so exasperating and so beautiful at the same time, or only hers? Glancing over the card again, she wasn't sure whether she wanted to smile or cry. In the end, she did a little of both.
*****
The Boy Who Appeared from the Rain Page 82