Chapter 1

Eitan sat on the old worn couch that smelled vaguely of sweat and fear, keeping his hands in his lap out of fear of contamination. Mr. Branston had stepped out of the room for a moment, leaving Eitan to his own thoughts. Today marked the six-month anniversary of his parents’ deaths in a pileup on the interstate, making him sadder than usual. They had left him with a babysitter to go out for their anniversary on a foggy night. Now, having celebrated his tenth birthday only last week, he waited to learn what his fate would be.

Eitan looked up when Mr. Branston returned. He had a belly, and his jowls jiggled when he shook his head. He shook his head a lot and sighed too, Eitan decided. Mr. Branston pulled over a wood chair and sat down right in front of Eitan.

“I have good news and I have great news,” Mr. Branston said, using his handkerchief to wipe his forehead and nose. Eitan’s eyes went wide.

“The good news is that you are being adopted,” Mr. Branston said. “You will never see the inside of a state children’s facility, which makes me incredibly happy. The better news is that you are being adopted through the Hobart Foundation. Do you know who they are?”

Eitan shook his head and shrugged.

“Dr. Hobart founded a company that specializes in bio-nanotechnology, and like the ads say, he got it right,” Mr. Branston said. “His science worked. Dr. Hobart made a fortune, I mean, a lot, a lotta money. He took a chunk of that fortune and put it in a foundation that helps kids like you, kids who have terrible tragedies like they have diseases or lose their parents. The foundation has found you a forever home.”

“Mrs. Johns taught me to play gin rummy, euchre, and canasta,” Eitan said. “Is this new home going to be like that.” They had played cards almost every night for the past six months, even if Eitan did not have much to say.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Branston said, his jowls jiggling again. “I’ve never worked with the Hobart Foundation before, but their reputation is excellent, winning awards and stuff like that. I know you don’t feel it, Eitan; it’s only been six months, but you’re gonna be okay. You can still be everything your parents dreamed you would be, everything that they would still want for you.”

“Okay,” Eitan said, more to stop the man from talking like he had any clue what Eitan was thinking. “When do I leave?”

Mr. Branston sat up with a slight smile on his face. “I left a moment ago to greet the woman the Hobart Foundation sent to pick you up. As soon as the paperwork is done, you can leave. Is that fast enough for you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you want a glass of water while you wait? We’re not allowed to hand out soda in the building anymore,” Mr. Branston said. Eitan nodded and Mr. Branston stood, reaching for the door.

Eitan hardly noticed when a glass of tepid water was pushed into his hand. He looked at his hands in his lap as they clasped the paper cup, trying his best not to think. When he let his mind wander, his thoughts went to bad places. He would get angry and his fists would clench so hard they hurt. People he did not want near would touch him. He would get sad and those stupid tears would scroll down his cheeks. Then people would try to hug him – he hated that.

“It’s time,” Mr. Branston announced with excitement.

Eitan looked up, straightening his shoulders. He put down his untouched cup before standing. Without saying a further word, he allowed the social worker to guide him down the hallway and into a conference room. He cocked his head with curiosity as he looked at the woman standing on the other side of the table. She was dressed in a business suit and she had a beauty parlor hairdo, but she stood like a soldier with an I-am-here-Here-I-am air about her. He half expected her superhero costume to burst out from under her clothes.

“Uh,” Eitan managed.

The woman walked around the table and bent at the knees until her face was even with his. “Hi Eitan,” she said with soft smile. “My name is Camille. I’ve come to take you to your new home. Are you ready?”

Eitan nodded. “Where is my new home?”

“Your new home is far from here. We have to take an airplane to get there,” she said. “Have you ever flown in a plane?”

Eitan shook his head.

“Then you are going to have your first plane ride,” Camille said. “Today, you are going to have a good adventure with a good ending. I think you deserve a good ending. Don’t you?”

“Like in the movies?” Eitan asked, wondering if he was acting out of line, as his mother always put it.

“O my,” she said, letting the smile grow larger. “You are asking a tough question. The short answer is ‘yes’. The longer answer will have to wait until we arrive. Let’s, you and I, grab your stuff and go out to the car. We can talk more on the way to the airport. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Eitan allowed the woman to take his hand and lead him out the door. Behind the receptionist desk were his two suitcases, one containing his clothes and the other holding his stuff, or as Mrs. Johns put it, his memories. Camille took one and he took the other, struggling with the weight and determined not to show it. She hoisted it into the trunk for him.

She made sure he was buckled in the passenger seat. Camille tapped the navigation panel on the dash, setting the course to the airport. Eitan watched her plug in the information in silence. His friend Jerry had a fancy car with a screen and computer stuff; Jerry’s father was a jerk about it though, yelling at anyone whose hand got near it even though the radio was one of the screens. His parents never owned a car with the fun stuff.

“Okay, Eitan,” Camille said, “The map says we can be at the airport in twenty-five minutes barring accidents. Do you want to drive by your house one last time before you leave for a long, long time?”

“No,” Eitan said firmly. “Everything good there is gone. Mrs. Johns took me home to pick up the last of my stuff. It’s just an empty house now and I don’t like being there.”

“Makes sense,” she said. “Let’s go to your new home.”

Eitan was confused when she turned right at the airport entrance, veering away from the front of the airport. He did not say anything, but he started paying close attention for the first time. They drove past the air cargo entrance and continued further to a sign that read, “General Aviation.” She turned in and parked at the far end of the lot.

The door had a big blue wing on the sign above the door. Camille led the way as they both towed a suitcase. Inside, Camille waved to someone in a uniform while asking Eitan to take a seat. The man came over and took their bags away. Eitan sat up on his knees when the man opened the backdoor, allowing Eitan to see the planes that were just outside.

“Are you hungry?” Camille asked as they walked out the door, heading towards a small jet with an “H” symbol constructed of tiny circles on the tail. He told her he had barely eaten breakfast, and no one eats the food at the CPS office unless they were being punished.

“Mr. Branston calls the food toasted cardboard with recycled engine oil on top,” Eitan said. “It smells like the lost-n-found in the boys locker room.”

Camille laughed as she escorted him up the stairs. The flight attendant pointed him to a seat, buckling him in without asking to help. The pilot stepped out of the cockpit and spoke quietly to Camille for a moment. He gave Eitan a sharp two finger salute from the edge of his forehead before shutting the cockpit door after he stepped through.