“He also said you told him he could call you. He has one of your cards.”

Hard to tell the guy’s mood from his inflection—but finding a cop’s card in your foster child’s possession could create a boatload of anxiety.

“I did tell him that.” Steve kept his tone conversational. “I spotted him sketching in the cafeteria as I was leaving and stopped to chat. I was impressed with his talent.”

“That’s what he said—but I wanted to verify there wasn’t a problem. I also cleared this contact with the caseworker. May I put him on the line?”

Reassuring to know the man was following protocols designed to protect the welfare of foster children in his charge.

“Of course.”

“I’ll make sure this doesn’t become a habit. I don’t want him bothering you.”

“It’s no bother. I lost my son a few months back, and talking to Noah reminded me of him. I enjoyed our conversation.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry for your loss. In that case, I’ll tell Noah he can call once in a while. My wife and I aren’t much into art, so I’m glad he’s found someone to talk with about that kind of stuff. I’ll put him on.”

As the phone was handed off and a muffled conversation took place, Steve rose and walked over to the window. The sun was setting, the shadows lengthening. Nights were the hardest—and loneliest—times. The hours when it was toughest to keep grief at bay.

Noah’s call couldn’t have been better timed.

“Sergeant Adams?”

“Hi, Noah. How are you doing?”

“Okay. My foster dad said I shouldn’t talk too long.”

“Don’t worry about that. I don’t have anything going on tonight. We don’t have to hurry.”

“Awesome. I, uh, wanted to tell you I’ve been working on a drawing like that dragonfly you looked at real hard, and I thought you might like to see it—if you aren’t too busy.”

Steve followed the contrail of a high-altitude plane, tracing the long white lines against the deepening blue sky until they faded away and disappeared.

Should he ask Noah to have his foster father snap a photo of the drawing and email it to him, confine their interaction to phone—or meet with the boy?

It all depended on how involved he wanted to get in Noah’s life beyond an occasional phone call.

But what else did he have to do during his off-duty hours these days? And perhaps spending a few hours nurturing and encouraging a young boy’s talent would help him atone in some small way for the failure with his own son that ate at his gut and amplified his grief.

“Can you tell me about the drawing?” He turned away from the window, buying himself a few more moments to consider the best course.