Chapter Text
“My God it’s hot here. Keith, how are you not sweating in that jacket?”
The voice of Amara Page immediately brought Keith back down to Earth, awakening him from his daydream.
“What?” Keith asked.
“The heat Keith, isn’t it bothering you?”
“Not really.” Keith replied. He could have explained himself, told her how the heat felt like a home he could vaguely remember, how the cold had come to resemble cold emotions, and how turning on the AC often felt more like a punishment than a gift, but “not really” would suffice for his social worker, and Keith knew it.
Amara wasn’t one to pry, as she “wasn’t his therapist,” as she had told him almost as soon as they had met. Keith respected that. Amara, or ‘Miss Page’ was a woman who was only interested in getting her job done, nothing more, nothing less. She would put her kids in good homes, and take them out if they were being treated poorly. She was a no-nonsense type of women, which Keith imagined was the reason she was almost 40 years old and without any sort of relationship. One mistake, one forgotten anniversary, or one insensitive comment, and Keith could clearly picture the woman kicking them right out the door without a single tear shed, no matter how long the relationship had been. 2 weeks or 2 years, time was irrelevant to Amara Page.
In all honesty, that’s probably why she had been assigned to Keith Mayong’s case in the first place. After being placed in the foster care system at age 6, and having spoken barely a word of english, it was predicted from the start that Keith would never find a permanent home. And as time went on, his chances continued to dwindle.
By the time Keith was 11, though he had gained fluency in english due to his complete immersion, he had lost all chances of finding a home. He knew he had aged out, and was sure he was through. That is, until the first family fostered him. They had lived in a small home, and were kind to Keith. But, after 3 years of living with the Michelson family, Robert Michelson, Keith’s foster father, had lost his job, leaving the family without income, and Keith was forced to leave. This was followed by a year with another family, who Keith had known from the beginning would only be temporary. After a couple of months back in the system, Keith then found himself in the care of another family, who, although started out in California, had moved to Washington state a few months in. After a year and a half, Keith left the Parchell couple, regretting ever even thinking he had found a home with them.
Keith knew that his chances this time were as slim as always. He wasn’t exactly a likeable person, and he was 17 years old. There would be no purpose in an adoption at this point, and honestly, Keith couldn’t wait to just age out. He only had a year left after all, and besides, the family he was moving in with seemed to be tolerable enough. A woman named Grace Holt, and her daughter, Katie. So not really much of a family, but Keith prefered the quiet anyway.
The Holts lived in Sahuarita, Arizona, and Amara hadn’t stopped complaining since they entered the state. Keith had been tuning it out, and was only vaguely aware of her chatter.
“Keith. KEITH.”
“What?” Keith replied harshly.
“I need you to listen to me now. We’re going to be arriving at the Holt’s soon, and there are some things we need to go over.” Amara spoke looking down over her glasses, as if there was nothing more important on Earth than what was written on her clipboard. Maybe to her it was, but to Keith it meant nothing. He nodded in agreement anyway so as to avoid having to deal with her bad mood for the rest of the car ride.
“So, Grace Holt, she’s is a single mother, raising her daughter Katie. She used to be married, but lost her husband and son two years ago .”
That piqued Keith’s interest. “What happened to them?”
“That you’ll have to ask them yourself, though I wouldn’t recommend walking in the door and immediately asking Mrs. Holt about her dead husband and child.”
Keith smirked. Even though he and Amara had their differences, she did understand him, to some extent. Although, she had been working his case since he was 7. If she didn’t understand him at least a little bit by now, she should look into another career.
Before Keith knew it, the car was turning down a small street, right off of the main road. There were a few houses, all moderately sized on either side. If Keith strained his eyes, he could just barely make out a larger, older looking house at the end of the street. Keith vaguely wondered who lived there, before his thoughts were, once again, interrupted by his social worker. He heard Amara (who would now become ‘Miss Page’ due to the presence of Mrs. Holt) tell him to get out of the car, and “try to look pleasant.” In other words, wipe the scowl off your face.
Keith exited the car and looked around. The house wasn’t unique in any way, with a small yard with dead grass and a driveway that led up to a front door, all of which was surrounded by white siding. There were 3 windows Keith could see, and the house kind of reminded him of the stereotypical kind a child would draw. Nothing special to be seen at all, no defining characteristics, not even any chipped paint.
As Amara and Keith walked up the wooden steps, a tall, thin women opened the front door. She was petite, in every sense of the word, with sharp cheekbones, thin lips, and a dirty blonde pixie cut. Keith feared that Grace Holt would end up being another “no nonsense” type foster mom who had strict rules and gave no freedom whatsoever. However, as soon as she spotted Keith, and her mouth broke into a wide smile, all of Keith’s previous assumptions of her dispersed. She appeared to be a different person entirely, and looked almost like she wanted to jump up and give Keith the biggest hug she could. Keith really hoped she didn’t.
“Good morning Mrs. Holt. I’m Amara Page, Keith’s Mayong’s social worker. I’ll be stopping in to check on you all every two weeks, and as time goes on, that will drop to once a month. That won’t be a problem, will it?” Although Amara sounded polite, Keith recognized the threatening tone.
“Not at all! Now, do I need to take care of anything, or are we free to get Keith settled in?” Mrs. Holt asked kindly.
We? Keith thought.
Almost as though she knew what Keith was thinking, Mrs. Holt added , “That is, my daughter Katie and I.”
A small girl appeared in the doorframe, and Keith had to guess that she was no older than 14. She had an iPhone in hand, and appeared totally distracted by what was on the screen. Keith noted dully that it was an iPhone 4, an older model. The girl looked like her mother, with the same petite frame, the same pinched nose, and the same shortly cut hair, although Katie’s was much messier than her mom’s, as though she had cut it herself.
“Actually,” Amara stated, looking over the bridge of her glasses, “I do need to discuss some things with you, in private.”
“No problem!” Mrs. Holt replied with a smile, “We can go speak in the kitchen. Katie, go ahead and help Keith with his things. Miss Page, would you like some coffee?”
With Amara trailing behind Mrs. Holt, Keith found himself left in the doorway of the home, making eye contact with a stranger who Keith had a feeling was too smart for her own good.
Finally, after what felt like hours, but only a few moments, Katie said, “Follow me,” then turned sharply on her heel and went up the stairs.