Christmas?”
“Not sure. Probably find an apartment in town, have a huge garage sale. What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you, Mr. Observer. Where did you grow up?”
Ethan tensed. “Northeast Portland.”
“I hear that’s turning into a nice area.”
“Wasn’t when I was there,” he mumbled.
She’d opened up to him, and he figured he needed to give her a little more back. He wasn’t ready to share some of the really awful stuff. Wasn’t sure he ever would be. Not everyone could handle it. But he definitely wanted her to know more about him so they could see where this—whatever it was between them—was headed.
“I told you my siblings and I were all adopted, right?” When she nodded, he said, “I was the first. Fourteen years old. Michael McClane was my counselor at Bennett.”
Samantha stopped on the path and stared up at him. “The juvenile detention center?”
He nodded, watching her eyes closely for fear, apprehension, revulsion. What he saw was genuine curiosity, and in some strange way, that put him at ease. “My mother died when I was five. Drugs. My dad was an alcoholic. He passed from complications of cirrhosis when I was seven. I flitted from foster home to foster home after that, always managing to get myself into some kind of trouble. When I was thirteen, I got wrapped up with the wrong crowd. It was a stupid mistake, but it landed me in Bennett for about a year. After, I was placed with a family that already had four other foster kids. Michael came to check in on me one day. Saw it wasn’t a great situation. He arranged to take me in instead.”
“Just like that?”
“No. Not like that. It was highly irregular. But a guy in social services owed him a favor, and he arranged it.”
She turned up the path and kept walking. “And the others?”
He fell into step beside her again. “Alec was a street kid. Got himself into some trouble and wound up at Bennett as well. We knew each other briefly there before I got out. Michael was also his counselor. After I’d been with the McClanes about three months, they brought Alec home. Figured I probably needed a sibling. They had no idea how, or even if, it’d work. But it did. My other brother, Rusty, came from a pretty screwed-up family. He ended up in my mother’s ER one night after a pretty horrendous incident. She took one look at him and figured he needed a home too.”
“Wow.” Samantha stared ahead at the trees around them. “Your parents really are saints.”
“Crazy is more like it. We were at each other’s throats the whole first year. By the time we stopped trying to kill each other, those teenage hormones kicked in. It was one thing after another with us.”
One side of Samantha’s lips curled. “I bet. And what about your sister? You did say you have a sister, right?”
She’d been paying attention the other night. “Yeah. She came along a few years later. She was ten. She’d bounced from foster home to foster home too, got into some trouble, and wound up in counseling.”
“With your father?”
“No. A colleague of his. I guess Mom always wanted a girl. She got one. A freaked-out ten-year-old who had to learn to fend for herself in a house with three rambunctious boys.”
“I think I understand why you each feel such a tie to one another.”
“When you’re given something you’ve never had before, you realize how special it is. It sounds crazy. Like it never should have worked. But it did. I can’t imagine my life without those lunatics in it.”
“You’re lucky.” Her voice softened, and she glanced down at the path.
Ethan’s chest tightened, and he gently gasped her arm, tugging her hand from her pocket. “Samantha.” Their feet stilled. His fingers slid down to hers, and warmth radiated from her skin, sending tingling sensations straight up his arm. Sensations he knew she felt too by the way her pulse skipped against his hand. “You don’t have to keep things locked up so tight.
“Not sure. Probably find an apartment in town, have a huge garage sale. What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you, Mr. Observer. Where did you grow up?”
Ethan tensed. “Northeast Portland.”
“I hear that’s turning into a nice area.”
“Wasn’t when I was there,” he mumbled.
She’d opened up to him, and he figured he needed to give her a little more back. He wasn’t ready to share some of the really awful stuff. Wasn’t sure he ever would be. Not everyone could handle it. But he definitely wanted her to know more about him so they could see where this—whatever it was between them—was headed.
“I told you my siblings and I were all adopted, right?” When she nodded, he said, “I was the first. Fourteen years old. Michael McClane was my counselor at Bennett.”
Samantha stopped on the path and stared up at him. “The juvenile detention center?”
He nodded, watching her eyes closely for fear, apprehension, revulsion. What he saw was genuine curiosity, and in some strange way, that put him at ease. “My mother died when I was five. Drugs. My dad was an alcoholic. He passed from complications of cirrhosis when I was seven. I flitted from foster home to foster home after that, always managing to get myself into some kind of trouble. When I was thirteen, I got wrapped up with the wrong crowd. It was a stupid mistake, but it landed me in Bennett for about a year. After, I was placed with a family that already had four other foster kids. Michael came to check in on me one day. Saw it wasn’t a great situation. He arranged to take me in instead.”
“Just like that?”
“No. Not like that. It was highly irregular. But a guy in social services owed him a favor, and he arranged it.”
She turned up the path and kept walking. “And the others?”
He fell into step beside her again. “Alec was a street kid. Got himself into some trouble and wound up at Bennett as well. We knew each other briefly there before I got out. Michael was also his counselor. After I’d been with the McClanes about three months, they brought Alec home. Figured I probably needed a sibling. They had no idea how, or even if, it’d work. But it did. My other brother, Rusty, came from a pretty screwed-up family. He ended up in my mother’s ER one night after a pretty horrendous incident. She took one look at him and figured he needed a home too.”
“Wow.” Samantha stared ahead at the trees around them. “Your parents really are saints.”
“Crazy is more like it. We were at each other’s throats the whole first year. By the time we stopped trying to kill each other, those teenage hormones kicked in. It was one thing after another with us.”
One side of Samantha’s lips curled. “I bet. And what about your sister? You did say you have a sister, right?”
She’d been paying attention the other night. “Yeah. She came along a few years later. She was ten. She’d bounced from foster home to foster home too, got into some trouble, and wound up in counseling.”
“With your father?”
“No. A colleague of his. I guess Mom always wanted a girl. She got one. A freaked-out ten-year-old who had to learn to fend for herself in a house with three rambunctious boys.”
“I think I understand why you each feel such a tie to one another.”
“When you’re given something you’ve never had before, you realize how special it is. It sounds crazy. Like it never should have worked. But it did. I can’t imagine my life without those lunatics in it.”
“You’re lucky.” Her voice softened, and she glanced down at the path.
Ethan’s chest tightened, and he gently gasped her arm, tugging her hand from her pocket. “Samantha.” Their feet stilled. His fingers slid down to hers, and warmth radiated from her skin, sending tingling sensations straight up his arm. Sensations he knew she felt too by the way her pulse skipped against his hand. “You don’t have to keep things locked up so tight.
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