Page 23 of Heart of a Hero

“I used to think she was at work, but the kids told me sometimes she isn’t there when they get home, or sometimes she’s sleeping.”

“Do you think she’s sick?”

Roscoe snorted, then whispered, “My guess is she’s drunk.”

“I’m gonna chat with the kids for a few minutes and see if they need anything.”

“Go ahead, Ms. Karen. I was hoping you’d talk to them some more.”

She walked over, and since there wasn’t another chair at the small table, she squatted, placing her forearms on the table. “Was that cereal good?”

“I love it!” Zannie said. “It’s got crunchy parts, and then it has these little sweet things that have lots of shapes. There is a star, a rainbow, and?—”

“She’s probably had Lucky Charms before,” Marty said softly. Karen’s intuition that Marty looked out for his sister was confirmed. Even the way he spoke to Zannie, not telling hissister to hush but assuming that Karen wouldn’t be interested in the different shapes of their cereal, he’d gently spoken up.

She smiled at him, glad when his lips curved. Turning her smile toward Zannie, she said, “Marty’s right. I have had Lucky Charms before, but it’s been a long time.” She smiled and then plunged ahead. “I hear you guys have been visiting Mr. Roscoe after school this week.”

Zannie nodded. “He’s nice. He lets us come inside and has snacks for us.”

“Beats staying out in the rain.” Marty’s voice was less animated, and if Karen wasn’t mistaken, the little boy was filled with resentment.

Prying carefully, she asked, “Is your mom not at home when you get off the bus anymore?”

“Her work has changed,” Marty explained. “She now goes to work at night, and then she likes to sleep late. She gets up about when Alan gets home, and he’s usually mad because she hasn’t fixed anything for him to eat.”

“They yell at each other,” Zannie said, her bottom lip quivering. “My teacher says we shouldn’t yell at other people.”

“I agree with your teacher,” Karen said. “But I know that sometimes families get upset with one another.”

“Alan isn’t our family,” Marty said, his words brittle.

“Do you ever see him get physical? Like pushing or hitting or anything like that?” Karen asked softly, keeping her gaze on Marty. She had a feeling he would protect his sister, and she wanted to see his reaction.

His brow furrowed. “No, not really. Sometimes, when mom isn’t doing anything that Alan wants, and he’s been drinking, he pushes her a little bit, but that’s all.”

“Oh, okay. Good.” She smiled, hoping her eyes portrayed concern and not anger. “And has he ever done anything to you or your sister?”

Marty shook his head, his voice low and matter-of-fact. "No, he just yells. We try to stay out of his way."

Zannie chimed in with a brighter tone, her innocent smile tugging at Karen's heart. "That's why it's so nice that Mr. Roscoe lets us come over. Marty does his homework when nobody’s yelling, and Mr. Roscoe gives us a snack." She scrunched her nose in that adorable way children do. "When we get home, we mostly just stay in our room."

Her heart was heavy, but she kept her voice gentle. “Do you feel safe at home, sweetheart?” she asked softly, trying to read beyond their words.

Both children nodded, but Zannie leaned in closer, her voice a whisper that broke Karen’s heart. "I don’t like it when they yell. But Mom is gone at night, and Alan just watches TV and sleeps." She gave a slight shrug, then added, barely above a whisper, "I wish Mom called me sweetheart like you do."

Karen had to swallow hard, fighting back the gasp that threatened to escape. Instead, she forced a small, reassuring smile. There was no immediate sign of physical harm—just two kids who looked a little too thin, their clothes rumpled, and their hair in need of a wash. It was always tricky deciding when to make a CPS referral. Too many children were raised in homes that weren’t ideal, where a parent could benefit from counseling or parenting classes, but not every case required intervention.

“Well, I think you’re an absolute sweetheart,” she said, her voice tender as she smiled at both children. Their faces lit up with matching grins, and Karen felt a brief flicker of warmth in the pit of her stomach. Standing, she added, “Keep my phone number close, okay? And make sure you check in on Mr. Roscoe often. He can always call me if he needs to let me know how you’re doing.”

Marty met her gaze with an intensity that belied his young age, and Karen felt his careful assessment. After a moment, hislips curved into a small smile, and he nodded. Zannie, always the more expressive, was already nodding enthusiastically.

Walking back to Roscoe, Karen leaned in and whispered, "Don’t hesitate to call me if you think there’s ever any trouble. Anything at all."

“I won’t, Ms. Karen,” Roscoe replied, his voice firmer than it had been in weeks. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”

At that moment, Karen noticed a quiet strength in Roscoe that had been missing since his health had declined. It made her wonder if the responsibility of watching over the children gave him a renewed sense of purpose, even if the reason for it weighed heavily on his heart. She gave his hand a gentle pat, exchanged goodbyes, and made her way to her vehicle.

As Karen drove away, she glanced back at the kids’ trailer, her stomach twisting with unease. The yard was empty, the trailer quiet, but the nagging feeling of dread lingered, clawing at her gut long after the trailer disappeared in her rearview mirror.

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