THE RUNAWAY
I was relaxing in my worn leather chair at the Roosevelt House, a home for abused children where I was the director. My bare feet under me, I positioned the fan to blow toward my face against the stifling heat of the East Texas summer. The weatherman had predicted afternoon rain and I hoped he was right. My apricot Pomeranian, Tiffany, was curled into a ball on my lap, her fluffy tail covering her face.
The call came late morning just as I was savoring a bite of an orange-glazed cinnamon roll.
“Ms. Black, my name is Renae. I’m an investigator from Child Protective Services in Kountze. Mr. Stanley, my supervisor, asked me to confirm our visit to tour the children’s home on August 5.”
“Of course, at eleven-thirty. We plan to serve a light lunch.” I was looking forward to their visit, anxious for them to see the Roosevelt House. Other than an occasional placement by a parent, or a homeless child picked up by authorities, it was Child Protective Services who placed children in our care.
“I’m also wondering if I can talk to you about a case. I’m investigating an abuse claim and in the process of gathering information.”
“How can I help?” I picked up my pen, clicked the end of it, and held it over the notepad.
“I need psychosocial evaluations on a man, name of Deckert, and three children who live out in Caney Head. He and his wife adopted the kids from Russia.”
The room was getting darker. I pulled the chain on the lamp; light flooded the desktop.
“We advised his wife, Penny, to leave the home while we’re conducting the investigation because the abuse claims are against her. She moved in with her biological daughter in Buna, so you can get with her later.” She took a breath and exhaled the words. “The oldest child is a boy, Alexey. He’s twelve. Anastasia is ten, and Svetlana, nine.”
As I scribbled the information on the paper, I was happy to hear a few raindrops pinging the window. I glanced up. The branches of the oak tree were swaying. “I’ll be happy to see them. I’ll call and schedule an appointment.”
“Great . . . except—well, you’ll have to wait.”
Curious, I placed my pen on the desk and leaned back in my chair to listen.
“The boy ran away and he’s hiding in the woods out in Caney Head. He’s been missing since yesterday. The sheriff and his deputies are out there right now looking for him. And from what I understand, this isn’t the first time he’s done this. When they find him, I’ll let you know so you can schedule an appointment. And Ms. Black, just so you know, this case is a doozie!”
I felt a sense of foreboding. A chill slid down the back of my neck as I dated my notes at the top of the page: July 28, 2008.
I heard a tree branch caress the window and looked up. The rain was falling harder now.
Lightning flashed the silhouette of the oak tree. Branches hung like broken arms against the darkening sky. I thought about the boy and whether I should drive north of town to help look for him. I wondered why he ran away. And I wondered if he’d found shelter from the storm.
