Chapter Thirty-Four
A large pad of paper sat under Frankie’s hand, and a pen was intertwined in his long fingers. Luke had worked with him to set up a system so that his son could hold simple conversations with people in the room. A checkmark, which was easier to produce than a plus sign, stood for "yes," and a minus sign stood for "no," whereas a question mark signified "I don’t know." It had seemed to Luke that Frankie, although incapacitated, was bored and wanting to communicate. So far Luke had been able to determine that Frankie was suffering from numerous minor side effects of his medication – headache, nausea, fever. Luke was able to communicate that information to the nurse that came into the room every fifteen minutes. When Luke had asked him if he were in pain, Frankie had placed three large checkmarks on the pad. Luke’s heart had sunk when he saw that. He was then able to narrow down the boy’s major sources of pain to his chest wound and bruised hip.
Luke laughed when Frankie scrawled out an especially large checkmark after Luke asked him if he liked Frank Sinatra. "Good taste," he complimented him. "I’ll bring more Sinatra when I come back." Frankie tapped the pen on the pad in response to Luke’s comment.
Luke looked appraisingly at his son. "Your hair has grown long," he remarked. "It keeps falling into your eyes. Does it bother you?" When Frankie made a checkmark, Luke suggested, "How ‘bout if I have a barber come in and give you a chop? It won’t be as GQ as I’m sure you’re used to, but it might help you feel better." Luke nodded with satisfaction when he saw his son write a checkmark. "Do you like your hair dyed dark like that?" Luke questioned with a frown. Frankie drew a large minus sign. "Why did you dye it? Did Frank make you?" Frankie made a checkmark, and then lost control of the pen. It tumbled down the bed and landed near his feet. He grunted with frustration and made a kicking motion with his foot. Luke rapidly retrieved the wayward pen and placed it back between Frankie’s fingers. Luke noticed that the boy’s hand was starting to tremble, and his forehead was perspiring. "Why don’t you rest for a minute?" Luke asked gently. "We can talk more after you get some sleep." Frankie didn’t protest when Luke removed the pad and pen from his hand, and the boy immediately closed his eyes.
~*~*~*~
Frankie was still asleep when the barber showed up. He didn’t wake as the barber set up her equipment to do a bedside haircut. She gently lifted Frankie’s head and placed a blue, padded rubber mat underneath it, but the boy didn’t even flinch or open his eyes. Luke watched as the barber cut off much of Frankie’s hair. He had instructed her to make it short and neat with most of the dyed stuff removed, but as stylish as possible. She worked quickly with the scissors and occasionally brushed off the stray, dark strands of hair that fell onto the boy’s exposed neck or cheek. She carefully moved his head several times in order to reach all of the hair, but Frankie never stirred. Luke felt a sharp sense of anxiety attack him as he watched. Was his son doing so poorly that he didn’t feel or recognize the different sounds and touches of having a haircut? Was he that exhausted from marking several symbols onto a pad of paper?
The barber firmly brushed through Frankie’s hair to make sure that all of the cut-off strands were removed. She used her fingers to brush off his forehead and neck. "Would you hold your son’s head up so I can remove the mat?" she asked quietly. Luke’s large, capable hands supported the boy’s head and neck, and she swiftly pulled the mat off of the pillow and walked over to the trash receptacle to empty the hair into the can. Luke gently laid Frankie’s head back onto the pillow. He gazed at his son and smiled. Most of the darkly dyed hair was gone with a few dark tips scattered throughout his hair, creating sort of a reverse highlighting effect. The light brown hair was short on the sides and back, but longer on top, a tad spiky but not ridiculously so. "Looks good," Luke whispered to the barber. "Thank you. You did a great job."
Luke settled back into his chair and stared at his son. He smiled, pleased like most parents were when their children appeared younger than their actual ages. To him, Frankie now looked twelve or thirteen years old, rather than fifteen. The dark hair had aged the boy’s appearance, giving him a harder, tougher look than with his naturally lighter hair. But, Luke’s face fell when his mind led him to other thoughts. Now we have to get you well and on your feet again. And, that’s not as easy as a good haircut.
~*~*~*~
Johnny lifted the heavy curtain from the window of his rundown motel room and grimaced at the rough, tacky feel of the avocado green and orange abstract print fabric. He doubted that it had been laundered once since 1972. The neon light from the competing motel across the street still flickered annoyingly. Johnny had had a difficult time sleeping the night before as its red flash had repeatedly washed across his tightly closed eyes. He sighed. He missed Bobbie. He’d been hoping to see more of her upon his return to Port Charles, but Frankie’s plans for the business had placed a damper on that dream. Johnny wanted to be careful in his relationship with Bobbie as he had the instinct that this was a good match for him. He’d been so lonely in the two years since his divorce, and now he dared to hope that he might recapture the family life that he’d enjoyed so much.
His relationship with Maria had soured shortly after Joseph’s violent death, and with that water under the bridge, Johnny doubted that they’d ever be able to reconnect in the way that they had before. The mob was too intertwined in both of their lives, and it was impossible to look at one another without seeing the full price that each had suffered.
*** "Maria, he died nobly, doing what he loved," Johnny explained as he held his sobbing wife. "I know you love your papa," he said tenderly as he hugged her tightly. Maria broke away from him harshly and crossed her arms as a hurt, angry look invaded her features.
"Frank Smith is a pig!" she declared angrily with a waved fist. "My father should lose his life for dat piece of filth?" She fumed and stepped further away from Johnny. "And you’re working for him, too. Am I gonna have to tell Rickie his daddy is dead as well as his grandpa? Do you want your son to carry dat?"
"I have no choice," Johnny replied sadly. "You know that. Once you’re in, there’s no leaving."
"Unless you’re killed like my papa!" Maria retorted with flashing eyes.
"I don’t intend to be killed," Johnny said shortly. "I’m good at what I do – the best. Anybody wants to mess with me, it’ll be their bodybag, not mine."
Maria sat down on their bed with a plop and a sigh. "I’m so tired of the violence," she whispered forlornly. "My father was a good man. How many men did he kill over all those years? And now he’s dead. He who lives by the sword dies by the sword."
"Not always," Johnny replied firmly as he sat beside he wife.
"I don’t want it anymore – this life," Maria intoned wearily, running a hand over her forehead. "I just want to run far away from it." She made a sharp cutting motion with her hand to emphasize her point. "I don’t want my children to grow up like I did. It was a mistake to marry in da mob. I shoulda moved away."
"But you didn’t," Johnny said angrily as his eyes narrowed. "You married me. You’re my wife."
"Maybe not for long," Maria said flatly as she stomped away.
"What’s that supposed to mean?" Johnny asked. "Why are you always throwing around these threats – you’re going to leave me, take the children and keep them away from me? I’m a good husband and father. I love you and the children. You know that. You’re my life." Johnny looked at his wife with tears in his eyes. "I can’t help it," he protested tearfully. "I’m working for Frankie now. Doesn’t that make a difference to you?"
"Frank or Frank Junior, what’s the difference. They’re two peas on a pod," Maria declared. "You’re gonna lose your life for scum."
"And Joseph was scum?" Johnny shot back. "He was proud of his service for Frank. You’re not going to respect that?"
"Don’t you talk to me about my father," Maria screamed.
"Well, what about Frankie?" Johnny yelled back. "He’s been a part of this family for years. You’re going to turn your back on him and act like he doesn’t matter? The kid is only twelve years old. You’ve known him since he was an infant. He needs someone to protect him and look after him. I can do that."
"He’s growing up to be scum. He’s too much like his father. They’re nothing but two-bit hoods. I don’t care how much money they have."
"I can tell that there’s no talking to you," Johnny said bitterly.
"Guess not," Maria huffed as she brushed past him and slammed out of the bedroom. ***
Johnny released the grungy motel curtain and stepped back to the rickety painted desk. He opened up the laptop and sat down to work again. Frankie gave me the general outline of what to do, but I hope I can work out the specifics as well as he can. Johnny rubbed his chin and remembered the indications of his boss’ strategic prowess.
*** Whenever Frank would become annoyed at a minor competitor or a mob wannabe, he’d call in his son to take care of the situation. Frankie had a way with applied research. He’d plant moles to figure out what people in an organization were talking about or whispering to each other behind closed doors. Were they discontented with pay, hours, or advancement? Frankie would hone in on those issues and develop an alternate organization, the Smith organization, which would answer those concerns. One by one, he’d court middle echelon mobsters and win their support. If there were one or two reluctant players on the board, then they’d be removed swiftly and quietly. When he’d have the middle echelon in his palm, then the lower levels would be secure under their leadership. By the time upper management woke up from their contented slumber, they’d discover that all of the chess pieces on the board had turned color, and they were the only ones standing on the board with nowhere to run or hide. Soon, one of the turned mobsters would take the king, leaving the position open for Frank. Frankie was very smooth and very sly. No one ever knew when he was operating within a rival organization. He used front men and never revealed his identity. He was a master spy and detective and used his computer as a major offensive weapon. His father’s power grew as he overtook minor competitors. Soon he’d be the only presence in a region and then look to the next one to conquer. Of course, Frankie studied legitimate businesses like Wal-Mart and absorbed any usable strategies and techniques to his own advantage. He turned the Smith organization into a black hole that absorbed any star that happened onto its relentless path. ***
Johnny shook his head. Frankie was truly responsible for the major increases in Smith revenues. It was no lie or front to impress the men in the organization. In the mob world, he was a virtual killing machine, taking out competitors left and right. The major difference, however, between a Frankie Smith and Sam Walton was that Frankie wasn’t afraid of a little bloodshed in the name of acquisition. In many ways, he resembled the youthful, brilliant Alexander the Great, another great man whom he’d studied under private tutors. Frankie would become a major business mogul in the legitimate business world if he ever survived to unload the shady side of the organization.
Johnny cracked his neck and said out loud, "Okay, gentlemen." He picked up the phone and dialed a number that he’d obtained from Frankie.
"Yeah," came the impatient answer on the other end of the line.
"Mr. Corinthos, my name is Johnny Callahan. I’m calling for Frank Smith, Junior."
Sonny’s heart pounded. Holy shit, he thought. This is the last phone call I expected. Jason hasn’t figured out what’s up yet with Frank Junior. Dammit. He rubbed his forehead tensely and snapped his fingers at Jason.
~*~*~*~
"Cheryl, Cheryl," the young ICU nurse called out breathlessly as she ran up to the nurse’s station. "The patient in ICU 5 isn’t acting right."
Cheryl frowned and laid down her pen. "What do you mean specifically?"
The other nurse looked frightened. "Just come with me and see. It’s like he’s struggling or fighting. I can’t get him to calm down."
Cheryl’s expression softened as she regarded the nurse’s obvious tension and concern. This was the girl’s first week in ICU, and it was stressful to care for critically ill patients. She rapidly followed her to ICU 5 saw immediately that there was a problem.
Frankie was making a lot of noise in spite of the tubing in his throat and moving as frantically as his body was able. His legs kicked, and he rocked from side to side. Cheryl’s heart tightened when she saw the utter look of terror in the boy’s wide blue eyes.
The boy soon exhausted himself, and he was reduced to making an occasional twitch or groan. But Cheryl noticed that his eyes still betrayed the terror within. She held his hand and talked to him quietly for several minutes, telling him that he wasn’t alone, that they would be there for him. Frankie finally calmed down and settled into an uneasy sleep, but Cheryl was a veteran of the ICU and knew that this wasn’t a good sign.
~*~*~*~
Manetti was picking his teeth with a toothpick and waving a hand at the waiter to bring him another drink. He took the shot of bourbon and threw it back at his throat, exclaiming, "Ahhh," with satisfaction. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at his fingernails and began picking at them.
"Mr. Manetti."
Manetti looked up with his dark, beady eyes and regarded his henchman, Butch. "You’re late," he said with a sneer. "It better be good."
"Da best, boss," Butch replied softly. He leaned in closer and said, "We’ve located the kid. As we suspected, he’s in Port Charles, New York. He’s in the hospital." Butch chuckled. "Caruso and Jackie did good. The kid’s shot up – major bullet wound to the chest. He’s not expected to survive. What do we do now? Johnny isn’t anywhere near the kid, but there are some plain-clothes guards that hang out near the ICU. Apparently, the kid is related to the CEO of the hospital somehow. Couldn’t get any specifics on that."
Manetti rose from his personal table and threw several twenty-dollar bills onto the wooden surface. His beady eyes swept the room, and he motioned to the waiter. Manetti and Butch walked slowly through the tiny, backwater Italian restaurant with few patrons. The restaurant had done a good business for fifty years by providing service to middle echelon mobsters. The occasional civilian walked in where they weren’t wanted, but no one made a fuss.
Manetti placed a hand on Butch’s shoulder as the two walked out onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Manetti squinted in the bright light and pulled on his dark sunglasses, which completed his mobster attire. "Time for a coup," he instructed Butch as he made a lopsided grin. "Three men, low key, during the night. Our little Frankie won’t know what…"
Manetti never finished his sentence. His mouth filled with blood as fifty bullets from a submachine gun ripped through him head to toe and threw him to the ground in a soggy puddle next to an equally decimated Butch. The two men were lifelessly draped over one another like Romeo and Juliet after their final moments on the earth.
~*~*~*~
Sly and Emily held hands as they entered Kelly’s Diner. His eyes softened as he glanced at Emily. Sly was falling hard for the pretty girl with the rapid speed and discretion of a kamikaze pilot.
"Hi Maxie!" Emily called out. Maxie was seated at the counter and talking to Ruby while she swung a plush black bear from a metal chain. Maxie turned and waved at Emily with a bright happy, smile.
"Maxie doesn’t know the truth about Frankie," Sly whispered worriedly to Emily. "We’re not supposed to talk about it. It’s a family matter. That’s what my uncle and aunt said."
Emily sighed and rolled her eyes. "I know about family secrets," she exclaimed. "I did mention a few things to my brother Jason when I talked to him. That’s okay, isn’t it?"
Sly sat back in his chair and said, "I don’t know," as he grew tense at the thought. "He’s the brother that’s in the mob, isn’t he?" Sly realized that Emily didn’t know about Frankie’s history or his real identity either. This could get tricky. Sly had shared the seriousness of Frankie’s injuries with his friend, but that’s it. Damn, things were getting crazy.
"Yes, unfortunately he is," Emily nodded. She frowned. "So I’m not supposed to talk to Jason about Frankie?"
Sly shook his head. "No." His eyebrows rose when he saw the quizzical look on her face. "And don’t ask why," he laughed. Sly leaned in to kiss Emily on the lips, and the two promptly forgot about Frankie for the moment. "You have pretty eyes, the best in Port Charles," Sly said shyly as he gazed at Emily. Emily smiled and kissed Sly again, and they quickly forgot that they were in public as they deepened the kiss.
"Hey, you two," the bemused voice said.
Sly and Emily looked up and blushed when they saw Maxie standing at their table. "Sorry to interrupt," she teased with laughing eyes. She sat down at their table and placed the bear in front of her. "Frankie bought me this," she said with a soft voice. "Isn’t he sweet?" Emily nodded while Sly shrugged and frowned as if to say, how can I tell if a guy is sweet, I’m a guy myself.
"Ms. Spencer told me that Frankie bought this for our date," Maxie explained. "Only he was injured so he couldn’t come. But he wanted me to have this. It’s so cute, I love it. I can’t wait until I can see him to thank him."
Sly made a mental note to go buy Emily a stuffed animal. Dammit, where is Frankie when I need him, he groused to himself. I want some more tips for my date with Emily on Saturday. How am I supposed to keep up with all of this stuff by myself? He cleared his throat and sat up straighter when he realized that he was annoyed with someone who was injured and in the hospital.
~*~*~*~
Bobbie was wearing her blue surgical scrubs when she walked up to Luke and gave him a hug and kiss. "I’m on break, and I wanted to talk to you," she said seriously. Luke caught her intense tone of voice and gave her his full attention. "What’s up?" he asked as his blue eyes searched her face. He’d just come from the men’s room in the pediatric ICU wing and wiped his hands on his jeans to remove several drips of water that the hand dryer missed.
"I spoke to Johnny for quite a long time last night," she said. "He gave me a ton of information about Frankie." Bobbie walked with Luke to a waiting area, and they sat down together on a couch.
Luke smiled half-heartedly and chuckled to relieve his tension. "Don’t sound so enthusiastic, Barbara."
Bobbie’s expression softened as she detected Luke’s fear, and she rubbed his arm reassuringly. "Johnny has known Frankie for over twelve years apparently."
Luke looked surprised. "What? I thought he was a bodyguard."
Bobbie nodded. "A bodyguard and more – sort of a foster uncle I’d say."
"Are you going to explain?" Luke asked with irritation.
"Johnny is finishing up some business and didn’t think he’d be around for a time, so he wanted to give me some information about Frankie and have me pass it on to you," Bobbie began. "Frankie didn’t have a normal childhood by any means. He was neglected in his own home and bounced around to different families when Frank was out of town, which was often. Johnny’s ex-wife belonged to one of the families that Frankie lived with, so Johnny’s known him since he was an infant. He said that Frankie didn’t fare well with Frank. Johnny’s mother-in-law and others in the family would feed the child well and give him lots of affection, but then he’d be taken home. When he’d return to the family, he’d be very sad and thinner than before. In the medical world they call it failure to thrive. It’s sometimes brought about by neglect or lack of attention and affection." When Bobbie saw the look on Luke’s face, she said softly, "There’s a lot more. Are you ready to hear it?" Luke nodded wordlessly, but his face was rigid with apprehension.
"Johnny wanted to emphasize strongly to us that Frankie is not a normal teenaged boy. He’s not going to react like one or behave as you might expect. He’s seen so much violence and has participated in it, too. He warned us to be careful around him, that if we know Frank, to some extent, his behavior is a part of Frankie, too. The child has been carrying weapons since he was eight years old."
"The guns," Luke stated flatly as he slapped his knee. "He keeps asking for the guns. That’s what he wants. Shit."
"A rival faction within the Smith organization has been trying to kill Frankie," Bobbie whispered to Luke. "That’s how he received his gunshot wound. Johnny mentioned that Frankie he needs a team of bodyguards around the clock. It’s critical. They’re going to be after the boy. He wants the backgrounds of the guards so he can check them out."
Luke nodded. "I figured this would come up. Stefan has some plain clothes men roaming the halls, but I’ll talk to him about this and provide the boy with more protection." Luke met Bobbie’s eyes. "What else?" he asked with dread.
"Frankie never had a mother figure of any type except for Johnny’s mother-in-law to a limited extent," she explained. "He’s not especially comfortable around women since he wasn’t raised with them. But, Johnny said that he’s sensitive about not having had a mother and feels the loss." She sighed and hesitated before continuing.
Luke noticed her reaction and said, "Spit it out, Barbara."
"Okay," she replied softly. "Apparently, Frank abused the boy physically and emotionally for the last two years. It was serious and continual."
Luke made a face and folded his hands in his lap. "Alexis told me about it. Her PI’s told her that the child walked around the mansion with continual bruises."
Bobbie nodded. "Johnny thinks that Frank upped the abuse when Frankie began looking and acting like his real father."
Luke’s eyes bugged, and he looked stricken.
"No, Luke," Bobbie reprimanded. "This is not your fault, and I won’t allow you to go down that road. This is about Frank and his lack of humanity. He had no business keeping a boy that he couldn’t parent. At the very least he could have hired someone to do it, but he refused."
~*~*~*~
Laura stepped hesitantly into Frankie’s ICU room. Her eyes were still swollen and red from crying earlier in the day. When she and Luke had talked to the doctors, she’d cried then, but later at home, it seemed like she couldn’t stop the tears. She’d placed an ice bag over her eyes and carefully applied corrective makeup, but now the tears were welling again as she stood in the doorway.
Laura placed her hand over her heart. It pained her to see her son still connected to a respirator, a machine that breathed life-giving oxygen into his lungs. She wondered what a recovered Frankie would be like and if she’d ever see her son happy, whole and smiling. She’d only seen him gravely injured and lying in a hospital bed. Would his personality remind her of Luke? Would he have the same quirky sense of humor and the Spencer quick temper? His looks sure reminded her of her ex-husband. Frankie had Luke’s angular, even features and a similar haircolor to the days back when Luke had abundant hair. She bent down and kissed Frankie on the forehead. "Where is all of your dark hair?" she teased him. "Someone came in and stole it." She ran her fingers lightly through the hair on the top of his head. "I like it, though. You look very handsome. You’re the only person I know who can look wonderful in a hospital." Laura patted Frankie on the cheek, but her son didn’t respond.
Luke had told her that he’d devised a simple system so that Frankie could communicate with them through the use of pen and paper. Laura picked up the pad of paper and placed it under her son’s slender fingers, but he didn’t move or try to grip the pen. The pen slipped away from his lax muscles and fell onto the floor with a loud plinking sound. Frankie had opened his eyes while Laura was trying to help him use the pen, but she was forced to give up and discretely removed the pad of paper.
"I have a surprise for you," she said gently as she reached into her purse. Laura produced a photo of herself and Lulu. In the photo, Laura’s lustrous blond hair tumbled down her shoulders, and her pretty pink lips parted into a happy smile. Lulu was too young to smile, but she looked positively content to lie in her mother’s protective arms. Laura had been careful not to bring the complete family photo that included Nikolas and Stefan, as she wasn’t sure if Frankie was over his upset with his brother and she didn’t want to disturb him. "This is your print – just for you," she said. She placed it in Frankie’s hand, and he ran his index finger over it with a tiny sweeping motion. "Would you like me to place it where you can see it?" she asked. Laura was surprised when Frankie made a barely perceptible low, moaning sound in agreement. I need to put together a small display board for him, she decided. We can fill it with photos of his friends and family.
A distinctly uneasy feeling descended on Laura and placed a pall over their visit. With the recent birth of her new baby, Laura’s mothering instincts were on strong. Frankie didn’t seem fully present to her, like he was slipping away. She bit down hard on her lower lip to keep the threatening tears at bay as she ran a soft hand over his forehead and cheek. Her son’s complexion was cold and gray, not lively at all. She remembered the doctor’s warning that morning and the ICU nurse’s carefully chosen words: "He’s preparing himself."
Laura released the metal guardrail on the side of Frankie’s bed and eased herself next to him. She wanted to hold her son. She needed it, and she deeply felt within every fiber of her being that Frankie wanted someone to hold and comfort him. She gently drew her son closer to her so that his head was in her lap, and her arm was firmly nestled around his shoulder and arm. "I have you," she said. "I’m right here." She looked down into Frankie’s eyes and saw that they were filled with pain, joy and something intangible, like he was staring at a place far into the distance, a place that she wasn’t able to see.
Frankie felt himself wrapped in his mother’s warmth, and he relaxed more than he had in a long while. The pain was too harsh, and his hold on the present too uncertain to make out the meaning of the words that he heard in the background, but he understood their intent. His eyes were open, but the shapes and colors that they revealed were fading and becoming less important to him. Although he felt the air pumping regularly into his aching lungs, it held no significance to him. His vision turned fuzzy and uncertain and stayed that way for awhile as he felt his mother’s hands on his face and arm, rhythmically stroking and soothing him. His forehead crinkled slightly and his eyes closed as his sense of smell was the last to depart from him. His mother’s scent – it was familiar, and deep, deep down inside of him something leaped and rejoiced. He rested in that sense for minutes before he felt a gradual separation taking place inside of him, a lightening, a lifting within. Finally, he felt so free and weightless, removed from the earthly burden of his ravaged body.
Laura was rocking Frankie slightly and talking softly to him about memories that she had of him as a baby. She noticed that his eyes closed softly and for some reason felt a shard of fear stab her insides. She continued to stroke his limp, motionless face and body for minutes but drew in a gasp when his head suddenly lolled to one side. The cardiac monitor sounded its shrill warning, and she uttered an anguished cry not unlike the one that she’d made fourteen years ago on a hellish night in a small, Florida town when a small, clapboard house had been engulfed in flames.
~*~*~*~
Sly’s mind wandered as Emily and Maxie began chatting about clothes and the latest fashions that were hitting PCHS. He looked over at Ruby and frowned. She had a very upset, worried look on her face, and she was on the phone. When Ruby saw that Sly was looking in her direction, she motioned with her hand for him to come to her. Sly excused himself from the table and walked quickly to his great aunt. Ruby nodded and hung up the phone. She called out to the waitress in the back and asked her to take charge of the diner.
"It’s an emergency, Sly. We need to go to the hospital right now. It’s Frankie. We have to hurry, come on!" Ruby placed an impatient arm around her nephew and led him out the back door.
~*~*~*~
Luke bent his head over his knees and rubbed his head distractedly. "What does this mean, Barbara?" he questioned sadly. "Are you telling me that my son is not my son anymore? How can I accept that? I’ll love him no matter what."
"No one’s telling you not to love or care for the boy," Bobbie explained kindly. "You need to be sensitive to some of the issues that he’s likely to have and anticipate any problems. That’s what we’re trying to prepare you for. I’ve been a foster parent for years. I’ve seen the damage that has been inflicted on many children. They can be difficult to understand and deal with sometimes. They don’t know how to love or interact appropriately. It takes lots of time and patience to teach older children what they should have learned as toddlers. And, they can be dangerous and act out in violent or aggressive ways. I think you should know this so that everyone can be safe."
"How can I even think in those terms or that far down the road?" Luke asked as his eyes filled with tears. "My son is hanging on by a thread. I’m desperately trying to help him to trust me. That’s all I can concentrate on now."
"I know," Bobbie said softly. "You have lots of people who are willing to support you when you need it."
Luke’s head whipped up when he heard the PA system call out a code blue. Hysteria rose within him, and he said, "Barbara," in a wavering voice as he jumped to his feet.