Chapter 46 Nikki

My hands pull the opening of my pea coat closer together as the breeze flows through my hair. I’m used to the cold, used to the frigid air being harsh on skin not covered by any type of clothing, but that’s not why my body is shivering.
My hand comes up and stops mid knock as every fiber of my body stays undecided if it’s warm or cold. Shaking my head, riding it of the doubt circling around, I whisper a quick ‘f*ck it’ and knock three times.
I wait.
And wait.
And wait, but the heavy steal door with wrought iron vines throughout the paneling, mocks me by remaining closed.
I turn, shaking my head at the dumb idea of coming here, of even attempting to get a few pieces of my messed-up life, but I stop at the unmistakable sound of the door opening from behind me. I turn, one again, and this time come face to face with the only woman to show me love after my parents died and my aunt and uncle learned how to jump off the face of the Earth.
“Nicole?” My eyes close instinctively when I recognize her voice. She’s different, different then I remember her. Her eyes are still the strange cloudy blue color that us foster kids used to laugh at, her hair has gotten grayer but longer, and her skin is less tight.
“Maggie.” Her smile is bright when I say her name. A name I haven’t uttered since the day I left. I can still remember trying to coerce Brody into staying. He thought what every foster kid does, that we weren’t really well and truly loved.
“Well, don’t just stand there honey, come on in, it’s cold out.” She doesn’t wait for me to make up my mind, simply turns and heads inside, leaving the door open and waiting.
I take a moment, a few actually, allowing the indecision to flow around until finally, I give myself a quick pep talk, and head inside, shutting the door behind me.
The place looks exactly the same as it did from years before. The same scraped wooden floors, the same old red and beige couch with the plastic around it, even the same old 1960’s television with only one working channel.
Margaret Hall was our fourth foster parent, and when you’re siblings, it’s extremely hard to stay together, but between Brody’s non verbal communication, and my raged outbreaks, everyone thought it best to keep us together.
Brody hated it here, he felt her, and her husband were like any other foster family we had, only after a check, but I never felt that with Maggie and Joe. They always showed us kindness and care, and although there were eight of us in the same home, all fosters, Maggie and Joe always made us feel equally important.
Until Joe died. He had suffered a heart attack; one no one ever saw coming. And Brody happened to be the one inside the garage with him that night. It shook him to the core, made him feel guilt for the first time in his life.
So, naturally Brody fell into something quick and easy, something he could use to forget the new foreign feeling. Drugs were his out, and keeping him protected, was mine.
“You look different.” Maggie states as she walks over and practically collapses onto an old rocking chair. I remember seeing her there often, knitting or reading, or jotting down notes when the news anchor spoke of the stock market.
“It’s been five years.” My tone is robotic as I state the palpable reason of why I would look different. We had foster homes both before and after Maggie and Joe, but they were always the ones we thought about. All the others were horrid, the last one in particular.
“Not just the fact that you have clearly aged and blossomed Nicole. You look different, as though your life hasn’t been easy. Lord knows it never was, that much I could tell when you and Brody stepped a foot in this house, but you look like life’s been a little…tiring.”
Her voice is soft, gentle even, but every word she is uttering is spoke loud and clear. I shake my head, wanting the tears and sob that threaten to break free to vanish. I turn ready to just leave the house, understanding now that this was pointless, but her next words stop me.
“Why did you come here Nicole? You and your brother only stayed here a few months; I heard the state found ya’ll a couple months after you ran from here. Found you in Pennsylvania.” I nod my head instinctively. I have no idea how Maggie knows all of this. She was always nice, but I never pegged her as someone that would file a missing person’s report.
No one even bothered to file them when we ran from the previous ones. The states would always find us though, they managed to always keep us together, but we still had to bounce around in foster home after foster home.
Maggie was the first one to care. She was the only one to care.
“So, I’ll ask you again…. why did you come here?”
“I guess I needed answers.”
“And now were getting somewhere.” She smiles, then stands and extends her hand out to mine. I take it, not knowing what else to do, and allow her to walk me further into the living room.
Maggie sits down at her previously vacated seat and I follow along, sitting where I remember Joe falling sleep often. Maggie’s face continues showing me kindness and heartfelt smiles. We stare at each other for what feels like years until she finally clears her throat and gives me a look.
She wants me to speak, but I don’t think I have the answers she is expecting. I don’t know why I came here, I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here, although I would have to be an idiot to think Rand didn’t tail me anyways. I don’t exactly know where to start, so I start anywhere I can. Wherever I can think of.
“Why did you decide to take in foster kids?”
She eyes me curiously, then leans back against her chair and closes her eyes with a small smile placed gently on her face. “You know, I don’t think that’ s really the question you want to ask me Nikki.” Her eyes open and the smile grows brighter. She turns to look at me and lifts one eyebrow. “Go ahead and ask me the real question, the question that made you come all the way here.”
“Do you think I’m capable of being loved?”