“What will happen to me?”

“We’ll be contacting your next-of-kin. They’ll be around to collect you shortly.”

“I don’t have a next-of-kin.”

Charlotte paused. “Well. Not to worry. We’ll sort it out.”

The other volunteers who had come through that morning had looked at him with sorrow in their eyes. They saw a broken, homeless orphan. Some averted their eyes as they distributed food and water and changed blankets and bedpans. It was as if seeing him could hurt them. Maybe it did. Maybe the more tragedy they saw, the more they felt, the more they hurt. Desmond didn’t blame them. And he always thanked them. His mother was particular about his manners.

Charlotte was different. She looked at him the way people did before, like he was just a normal boy, like there was nothing wrong with him at all. That made him feel good.

Desmond lay there after she left, staring at the ceiling, listening to the news program that played on the radio owned by the elderly man across the aisle.

“Officials continue to assess the toll of the Ash Wednesday bushfires in southeastern Australia. At least seventy are dead, thousands are injured, and property losses are expected to reach into the hundreds of millions. In Victoria alone, over half a million acres burned yesterday. Over a million acres are expected to burn this season. Livestock losses are very high. More than three hundred thousand sheep have been lost, and nearly twenty thousand cattle. For the first time in its history, South Australia has declared a state of emergency.

“Fire crews are still battling the flames. They’re getting a lot of help, too. Volunteers from around the country are pouring into the region. Over a hundred thousand are expected to join the effort, including military, relief workers, and others.

“The source of the fires is not known at this time, but the extreme drought conditions are no doubt a factor. Wind gusts and dust storms have also contributed. We’ve heard reports of road surfaces bubbling and catching fire, sand turning to glass, and steaks in a deep freezer turning up cooked well done…”

That afternoon Charlotte returned with a gift. She had even wrapped it in newspaper.

“Sorry, best I could do.”

Desmond tore into the gift, then tried to hide his disappointment as he turned the books over in his hands, gazing at the covers.

“What’s the matter?” Charlotte asked.

“I can’t read.”

She was instantly embarrassed. “Oh. Oh, right. Of course.”

“I’m only five.”

“Is that so?” Her tone implied surprise. “I just assumed you were older.”

Desmond liked that very much.

“Well, I’ll just have to read them to you.” She paused. “If you can bear it, of course.”