“Honey, very few of us get out of our childhood unscathed,” Clementine says with a slow shake of her head. “That goes double for foster kids. More than sixty percent of the children in foster care spend at least five years in the system before being adopted. Those years usually aren’t a picnic. You’re one of the lucky ones. Don’t go borrowing trouble. Enjoy life now.”

There’s nothing left to say. My parents don’t know anything. Heidi does but won’t talk. If I can’t find my foster parents, there’s nowhere else to turn. And Clementine is right. I need to concentrate on the present to make sure I actually have a future.

We head outside, the drizzle now solid rain. Max, the security guard, smokes a cigarette under the overhang, back curved against the wall, head engulfed in a gloomy haze. He nods at us.

“Got a spare?” Thomas asks.

I didn’t take Thomas for a smoker but then I don’t really know him. Max offers a pack of Marlboros. Thomas taps one out, puts it between his lips. The older man cups the end, lights it, and Thomas takes a draw, slowly exhales, then says, “This weather gets old.”

Max chortles. “That it does. I’ve spent every winter of my entire life in the Pacific Northwest. Surprised I haven’t turned into a duck.”

Thomas asks, “Heidi was a silver lining, though, right?”

What?

Max blows smoke out the corner of his mouth and says, “Surprised Heidi mentioned we dated.”

“She didn’t until I pointed out your photograph on her piano,” Thomas lies. “You two were young. Must’ve been serious for her to keep that picture.”

Max was the guy hugging her? I sort through the photos on the piano until I reach the one with the tall, muscular guy with jet-black hair . . . and a mole under one eye. I was too amped up to see it. Recovering quickly, I ask, “How long did you date?” The ash on the end of Max’s cigarette burns bright as he draws the nicotine deep. Heidi meant a lot to him.

“Four years.”

Beautiful woman but she never did marry though a buncha fellows tried. My eyes flick toward Thomas, silently convey that I’ve got it from here. I say, “You asked her to marry you.”

“At least ten times. That girl loved me, but she was stubborn as a bull. Said she couldn’t be married to both me and her job and the latter was a higher calling.”

“But in the end she was fired,” Thomas says. “Right after Sylvie’s adoption.”

Max grinds the cigarette butt against the wall and turns to leave.

“She wasn’t fired,” I quickly say then try to make the next right step. “She chose to leave . . . after what happened.”

Max hesitates then lights another cigarette, takes a deep draw. “I didn’t shred that file, it was just my dumb luck to catch her doing it late one night after the office was empty.”