Page 45 of Phoenix

“Do you like tea?” I ask, and she nods, just once again.

“Sometimes, tea was all I would have,” she admits with a nervous smile, “there wouldn’t be anything else in the house.”

“Oh,” I reply sadly, not knowing how to respond to that for a moment or two. Fortunately, Ruth comes out and sets down a mug of tea for the both of us, to which we both smile in thanks. Ruth then looks between the two of us with a frown, as if waiting for something to happen or to be said. When it doesn’t, she sighs and steps back.

“I’ll just be inside,” she says. “Mom’ll be back soon, Mia. Diesel, I know she’d love to see you.”

“Me too, thanks, Ruth,” I tell her, and she smiles before shuffling inside again.

“I guess that’s why you were so thin when I found you,” I begin, “but it looks like Mom’s been feeding you up.” She says nothing but looks at me with a bright blush spreading over her face. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean anything bad by that, just you look so much better. God, even I know you don’t say that to a—"

“It’s ok,” she laughs, no doubt thinking how ridiculous this six-foot-something ape now looks with my flustering. “I know what you meant.”

“As you can tell, I don’t have a lot of experience with young girls,” I admit with a small smile, “apart from Ruth.”

“She’s nice, I really like her,” she says shyly, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“Good, I’m glad. And how about Mom? She ok?” I ask, even though I know she will be. You couldn’t ask for a better stand-in mother.

“Yes,” she replies with a small smile. “Thank you.”

“For what?” I ask her with a confused expression. I thought she would give me a talking down, a release of her anger over everything; I thought she might even threaten to turn me in.

“For getting me out of that place,” she replies with emotion beginning to seep through her voice. I stare at her for a moment or two, contemplating leaving it there, but curiosity wins out, and I have to ask the obvious.

“What was your situation there, Mia?” I ask with a barely there voice, almost wishing she hadn’t heard, particularly when her face drops straight to where her tiny hands are clutching hold of the warm mug of tea. “You don’t have to tell me, but I want to help if I can.”

“My mother, the one who you saw in that house, the one who was already dead from what I heard, was a prostitute when she met my father. I guess it wasn’t his proudest of moments when he made me with her, but it was what it was,” she explains, then puts down the mug to wrap her arms around herself, providing a shield against all that she is telling me. I choose to keep quiet, to let her get out what she needs and in her own time. “As soon as I was born, I was left on his doorstep with a note to say she was sorry, but she was in no position to look after me.”

“I bet that was quite the shock,” I comment, and she smiles shyly. “Sorry, go on.”

“As far as I was concerned, he was the best father there ever was,” she says with fond recognition in her voice. “We had a nice house, went on vacations, and lived a good life. But more than that, he came to every school event, read with me each night, took me to the movies, all of it. He was as good as any of the moms my friends had, better even.”

“What happened to him, Mia?” I ask with sadness for her. This story can’t end well.

“Heart disease happened to him,” she says with a ghost of a voice. “It was relatively quick but brutal. He paid for a Carer, but I still saw it, still heard it. There were no other family members, but my friends were really good, as were their moms. One of them even offered to have me when the time came for him to…well, you know. I was numb to it all at the time, I couldn’t see anything beyond him dying.”

She pauses for a moment to wipe away her tears, then takes a slurp of her hot tea with what looks like reverence.

“When the time did come, however, Children’s Services tracked down my mother. She was seemingly in a different position, married, and with a legit job. He was a banker, and she was a housewife. We had these meetings twice a week while I temporarily lived with my friend and her family. She and her husband, Dennis, seemed ok. I mean, it was weird, but they were keen to form some sort of relationship with me. It was enough to convince Children’s Services that I should be rehomed with them. Things were ok for a month or two, but after that, it became apparent that they both regularly took drugs. His job was fake, the house was owned by a friend, and they were pretty much penniless.”

“So why did they offer to—"

“I had just inherited a lot of money, Diesel,” she says deadpan. “That house, the filthy belongings, the drugs, they were all paid for by my inheritance. They told me if I didn’t give them the money, they knew people who would pay them to use my body instead. They took me far away from where I had lived; I knew no one and I was scared.”

“Shit,” I gasp through shock and anger.

“By the time you found them, all the money had gone.”

“Oh, Mia, I am so sorry,” I tell her, taking a chance and placing my hand over hers in support. She merely shrugs, but with tears now filling her eyes.

“So, you see, you turning up that day and killing them, wasn’t a reason for me to hate you,” she says with a crack in her voice, “you were merely doing what I had so longed to do for years.”

“Fuck…I mean, fuck!”

“It’s funny though,” she says with tears now streaming down her cheeks, “I am not far off turning eighteen; I am very nearly an adult. I was going to make a run for it, take my chances on the streets, or whatever. But then you brought me here, and although I am no longer considered a child, your foster mom and Ruth said I am welcome to stay for as long as I want. I haven’t felt this cared for in such a long time, and I guess I just needed it. I know I can’t stay forever—"

“You can stay as long as you like, Mia, any costs incurred, I will cover,” I tell her. She looks up at me in surprise, then bursts into floods of tears. I take a chance and wrap my arms around her, letting her shudder against me. When I look up, I see Ruth standing in the doorway, with her own tears streaming down her face. She’s heard some sad stories from girls and boys just like Mia, but hers is one of those that sticks with you. Suddenly, I don’t feel so guilty about that day.