Sophia

 

 

I watch as Franco pours a can of something red into a pot on the stove.  We're in the basement of a brownstone in Lower Manhattan. He brought me here yesterday. I came willingly. 

I decided to take a shortcut to the subway after work. It was just starting to rain, and the dress I'm wearing is too special to risk the long walk around the corner. Darting through the alley meant time saved and fewer stains on the fabric of the skirt. As soon as I saw Franco step in front of me with a small knife in one hand, I froze.

I didn't scream. I didn't try and run. Instead, I walked with him to a rusted car he pointed at that was parked less than ten feet away.

I got in the back seat when he told me to and then I watched in silence as he opened the other back passenger door so he could help the young boy who had been holding his hand, get in.

"Elroy," I whisper to that same boy who is now resting his head on my lap. "Are you hungry?"

He nods.

I spent all of last night wide awake watching Franco interact with the child. At first, I had no idea who he was but as the evening wore on, Elroy spoke. His mother and Franco were friends at one time. Elroy lived on the streets and Franco would stop and offer whatever he could to them both. When Elroy's mother was taken to the hospital yesterday, Franco stood by and watched before he took the child by the hand and led him away from the uncertainty of life in the same foster care system Franco himself had grown up in.

"It's almost ready," Franco calls back over his shoulder. "I only have enough for you two."

I have no appetite other than a hunger for contact with someone I know. I didn't realize that I'd dropped my phone until we got here. I searched for it in the pockets of my coat but it wasn't there.

"Elroy feels warm." I rest my lips against the forehead of the five-year-old again. "I think he needs to see a doctor, Franco."

"Our son is fine." Franco turns to look at us both. "I knew you'd be a good mom, Sophia. Our son is going to grow up and tell people that you're the best of the best."

He's delusional. When I first heard him tell Elroy to call him dad, I saw the look of confusion on the brown haired boy's face. He's as terrified as I am which means I can't leave his side.

"I think you can give a child ibuprofen when they're fevered," I ignore Franco's ramblings about our make believe family. "Can't you go get some, Franco?"

"And waste time being with my wife and son?" he scoffs. "No way. This soup will help. He'll fall asleep and be fine by morning."

He won't be. His skin is clammy and his eyes barren. I know a lot of that has to do with what he witnessed back on that street in Florida when his mother was taken away. He has to be terrified now, wondering if she's survived and whether he'll ever see her again.

"Let me go get it." I reach out my hand toward him. "Please, baby. He needs help."

The pet name does the trick. The grin on Franco's face is genuine and broad. "People might be looking for you, beautiful. I don't want anyone to take you away from me."

He's right. People will be looking for me. It's been almost a full day now since I got in his car. Nicholas will be frantic by now. My parents will be too.

I go to Plan B.  "On the ride here I noticed there's a pharmacy a block from here. We can order the medicine and they'll bring it right to us."

"They'll bring it here? They'll come to our place?"

"A delivery boy will." I try and laugh. "Most of them are teenagers. The last one I had didn't even look up from his phone when I gave him the money for my order."

He contemplates what I'm saying. "You really think our son needs that to get better?"

It shouldn't be this easy. I'm drawing him in hook, line, and sinker. He loves this child. That's obvious and if I have to play on that to get this little boy back to his mother, I will. "Fevers can get dangerous quickly, babe. If we stop it now, he'll feel better in a day or two and maybe then we can take him to the park and for ice cream."

"How do I do this?" He tugs his phone from the pocket of his pants.  His long dark hair shields his face as he stares at the screen. "Do I just call?"

"I usually do my orders online." I hold out my palm. "I can order that way. It would be the fastest."

He eyes me before his gaze drops to Elroy. "That won't work. I'll call and see if they can bring it. I have a credit card I can use."

I know there's no way in hell that credit card bears his real name. "Is the card stolen?"

He nods. "It probably won't work by now."

"We can pay cash." I scramble for my purse. "You call and I'll see how much money I have on me. Tell them we need children's ibuprofen and get some candy too."

"You think of everything." He turns his back and pours the soup into two ceramic mugs. "I'll call while you two eat. We'll have our boy feeling better in no time flat."