By the time Dylan is asleep, the downstairs is empty and dark. It’s nearly ten o’clock; I must have dozed off without realizing it. I go upstairs and knock on Josh’s door; at his grunt, I open it and see he is on his bed, looking at something on his laptop.
“Hey.” He simply stares at me. “Emma’s home.”
“I know.”
I swallow the pointless question don’t you want to see her? “Have you done your homework?”
“Yeah.”
I wait, longing to bridge this chasm, but having no idea how. It’s become far, far too wide. “Don’t stay up late,” I finally say, and Josh doesn’t respond. Just as I am opening the door to leave, he speaks.
“Was it drugs?”
I freeze, my hand on the doorknob. I don’t know what to say.
“Was it?” he asks, and there is a ragged note in his voice that tears at me.
“Yes.” I pause, not meaning it unkindly, but needing him to know. “Prescription drugs.”
Josh lets out a choking sound, his head bowed, and I take a step towards him.
“Josh…”
“I’m sorry.” The words are barely audible, but I know what he means. Finally, my son is sorry for what he’s done. And yet it took this? It took almost losing his sister?
I take a deep breath, needing the moment to weigh my words. “I know you are, Josh.” I pause, and Josh remains as he is, head lowered, shoulders slumped. My poor little boy. “Thank you,” I say softly. And then, because I can see that he’s worried, “She’s going to be okay.”
After a few endless seconds, Josh moves his head in the barest semblance of a nod. I want to go to him, I want to enfold him in a bone-crushing and life-giving hug, but I know he’ll resist. The truth is, I can’t remember the last time I’ve hugged him.
“Sleep well,” I say, and I slip out of the door, closing it behind me.
Nick is in our bedroom, already in his pajamas. He gives me a questioning look, and I mouth “Josh.”
“He’s okay?” He speaks in a whisper, conscious of all the fragile children around us.
“Yes. He’s… feeling it, I think.”
Nick nods. “It’s been a long couple of days,” he says. “I think we all need some sleep.”
“Emma…?” I ask, and he shrugs.
“She didn’t say much. She seems tired too.” Nick pulls back the duvet on our bed. “There will be time to work through everything tomorrow.”
“Yes.” I pull off my sweater, running a hand through my rumpled hair. I am exhausted, and despite everything, I am looking forward to going to sleep in my own bed.
“Ally,” Nick says as I come out of the bathroom, teeth brushed. I tense at his tone, which is faintly parental. “We can’t keep taking care of Dylan now.” He makes it a statement, one I can’t deal with right now.
I get into bed, my body and mind both aching. “I thought we were going to talk about things tomorrow.”
“Yes, with Emma. But Dylan… we don’t have the emotional resources to help him, Ally. Surely you can see that. Beth was pissed off today when she came over, and I could hardly blame her.”
“If we don’t take care of him, who will?”
“DCF can get another foster family. It’s not like we’re the only ones out there.”
“But Dylan is just starting to make positive steps. To change everything on him now… it’s not as if he’s any trouble, Nick.”
“He woke up every night you were gone. Screaming his head off.”
Anxiety tightens my stomach. “Were you able to settle him?”
“Eventually. But it took hours.”
“It will be different now that I’m here.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
I stare at him, trying to discern his flat tone. “What do you mean?”
“The point of foster care isn’t for him to bond with you, Ally. It’s for him to get back with Beth. And, frankly, she seems completely capable to me, so I don’t know why DCF doesn’t just give him back now. The whole thing has gotten out of hand, if you ask me.”
“There are other issues…”
“Yeah, ours. We can’t deal with it anymore, Ally. I think that’s obvious. Our daughter tried—”
“I know what she tried, Nick.” I don’t want him to say it out loud. I don’t want Nick to say any of this; I can’t bear the thought of Dylan being passed around like a hot potato, and selfishly, I know, I also don’t want him to go. He is the one child in this house who actually acts as if he both