Page 14 of No Turning Back
Without turning around, she replies, “These are special circumstances.”
I blink. “Special?”
“With your Army background, we believe the boy might feel comfortable here,” she says, peering into the guest room.
“Can you please stop?” I ask.
She finally turns to face me. “Jordan Lee.”
I frown. “The kid?”
She nods. “His mother passed away in the pileup on I-35 last week.”
“Oh.” My voice drops. “I read about that. Several people died.”
“Yes,” she says quietly. “The Lees don’t have any immediate family. His father is a Master Sergeant currently stationed at Fort Cavazos. His unit went dark during a classified operation. It was scheduled, but we have no way of contacting him safely. Until he resurfaces, Jordan needs somewhere to stay.”
“And you want him here,” I say, trying to wrap my head around it.
She softens. “He may be here a day, a week, we don’t know yet. But he just lost his mom, and his dad isn’t here. He’s going to need patience, and some kind of understanding. We think you’re the right person for that.”
“Me, right. Because I’m a therapist,” I say, trying to joke but failing miserably. My voice pitches just a little too high.
Angela, finally looking up from her clipboard must notice the panic lacing my words because she steps a little closer and says gently, “You can do this, Dr. Ortega.”
“Quinn,” I correct automatically. “Just… Quinn.”
“Quinn,” she repeats with a small smile. “You can do this.”
I nod, but it doesn’t feel convincing. “So… when is he coming here?”
“Today,” Angela says simply, like she’s just announcing rain in the forecast.
I blink. “Today?”
She gives a firm nod. “He’s on his way now.”
"Right. Okay," I say, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans and forcing a breath through my nose. “Should I… should I make him something? Like a sandwich or something?”
Angela offers a kind smile. “Let’s wait for him to get here. Feel things out.”
A few minutes later, a car pulls into the driveway.
I freeze at the sight of it.
A cop car.
Angela walks over to the window as the officer steps out. He opens the back door, and a boy maybe twelve, thirteen, climbs out, clutching a worn duffel in one hand, and with a heavy backpack slung on his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look around. He just stands there, eyes scanning the porch like he’s bracing for a blow.
The look in his eyes breaks something open in my chest.
Angela steps out first. I follow, staying a few steps behind.
“Hi, Jordan,” she says softly. “This is Quinn. She’s going to be taking care of you for now.”
He glances at me, just once then looks past me, toward the door.
“Hi,” I say, gently. “It’s really nice to meet you.”
