And then, out of all other options, I hefted my suitcase to the bed. “This will just be some more T-shirts and my toiletry kit. Some things from the kit are in the bathroom, but most of it is in here. Toothpaste, tampons, you can take it all with you to the station; it’s all I’ve got.”

Downstairs, one more voice. Terry Johnson barked. Sean picked him up and whispered something into the top of his scruffy head. Terry growled but let Sean hold him.

Footsteps on the attic stairs, and Francine stood in the doorway, small in her jeans and sweater, her eyes first to me, then to Cop Irvin, his hands on my suitcase to open it.

“Don’t touch that suitcase,” she said.

“Ma’am, I’m Officer Irvin. And you are?”

“I am Muiriel’s mother.”

“Foster,” I said reflexively.

“Foster mother,” she said, and came to me. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

I nodded. “But please don’t leave.”

“Of course not,” she said, then she turned Cop Irvin. “What is going on here? What information could you possibly need from this girl?”

“This young lady says she’s in possession of stolen property, so I am conducting an investigation. Just doing my job, ma’am.”

“So am I. You listen to me,” she said. “You cannot separate your actions from their context. This child is not a thief. Zola is a baby. She is not a thief. I want you out of my house. Now.”

Warmth flooded my hands and heart. “It’s all right, Francine,” I said. “Everything will turn out right.”

Cop Irvin opened my suitcase, pulled the blackbird bag of useless crap from its place beside my shoes, and emptied it onto the beautiful handmade quilt. A quilt for a kid in foster care.

“What am I looking at?” Cop Irvin asked.

“My life,” I said, surrendering to humiliation. “I took these things. I carry them with me from house to house.”

I stepped apart from everyone, my heart thudding and shamed, and watched this cop rummage through my secret treasures, searching for anything of value. No one said a word. Cop Irvin held up something shiny. “What’s this?”

“That is a thimble,” I said, barely audible.

He tossed it back on the bed. “Okay. And this?”

“Sobriety coin. From when I got off meth.”

Cop Irvin frowned. “Okay. This?”

“A key.”

“To what?”

“A Christmas closet.”

He looked around the room.

“No, in another house. For gift wrap and a plastic Santa and lights.”

“Why?”

Nothing and everything.

One by one these worthless things, my only worth.

Library card. Fruit Stripe gum to help me sleep. Dollhouse dollhouse. Paper price tag for the beautiful shoes I wish I’d bought. Paper Dixie cup, my very own.

Zola’s Allen wrench.

At last, he picked up the empty pillowcase, turned it inside out, and shook it.