When she had walked a safe distance from the sober living home, she sat down to thread the shoelace she had taken into the holes that trimmed the quarter of her shoe. She was now walking around with shoes that boasted two different-colored laces, one white, one neon orange. Despite the noticeable clash, she was glad to feel the balance of the even pressure hugging her feet when she walked. But threading them made her think about Clifford. She imagined his empty collar still hanging from the shoelace, still affixed to the wheel of the Pizza Hut dumpster. To say she missed him was to distort sentiment. So many times in her life, the only words available to describe the way she felt fell short. She did not miss him. The absence of him was a torture.

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

“Let your roots grow down into him and let your lives be built on him.”

Col. 2:7

Nina Heng, Aria’s foster care case manager, stared at the stenciled words across the wall. Some partnership, she thought to herself. She was armed that day with a stack of papers in a manila folder, more for her own sense of security than because she needed them. Being in her position meant being an equal partner and team member to the foster parents as much as it did advocating for the children under her supervision. Sometimes she was gladder of that part of the job description than others. This was not one of those times.

Having grown up in poverty as a first-generation immigrant in Chinatown, Nina had witnessed firsthand just how little say children have in the course of their lives. She had defied her family’s hopes of her becoming a doctor, lawyer or accountant, all careers that they imagined would garner her more esteem. Instead she decided to work in the child welfare system, determined to give a voice to the voiceless.

On this day, neither Mr nor Mrs Johnson could ever have guessed at her indigent beginnings. She sat in the overwhelmingly neutral-colored living room with both the poise and the costume of a woman who had grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth. She knew they would mistake her stiffness for manners rather than seeing that it was simply a byproduct of the fact that the Christian overtones of the house made her uneasy.

“The missing persons report was filed over a week ago; we’ve provided them with a photo and Aria’s medical records,” she explained. “We’ve made several attempts to notify Aria’s mother but haven’t been able to contact her yet. We’ve listed Aria as missing with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children and we’ve notified the court. As you’re probably aware, this kind of thing is not unusual to see with kids in the system. Do you have any questions for us at this point?”