Chapter 8

So this is the final chapter of this story. One of the most difficult things about writing this was remembering that it was set in the 1970s-before personal computers and cell phones were the norm and before there was the internet that we know today. Given the state of government agencies back then-the paperwork and phone calls and volume of workload-it doesn't seem quite so hard to believe that two children could be separated. Anyway, it was fun to write and as always, comments/reviews are appreciated!

When the police car came to a stop, Officer Roberts got out and opened the rear door for Amy. They walked into the showroom and were met by the sales manager.

"How can I help you, officer?"

Officer Roberts' hand rested lightly on Amy's shoulder as he spoke, "We're looking for a young boy." He turned to Amy, "How old is your brother?"

"Five."

"She thought he might have come here."

The sales manager smiled at Amy and then spoke to the officer. "I recognize the young lady and I would certainly recognize her brother. He has a deep appreciation for cars, especially the yellow one," he pointed to the bright yellow sports car in the window, "but I'm afraid I haven't seen him since this morning." The officer cocked his head and the sales manager explained with a broad smile, "Oh, they walked past our showroom this morning before we had opened and took a few moments to admire the merchandise."

Officer Roberts turned to Amy, "Is that true?"

"Yes. We walk by whenever we come downtown because my brother loves cars." She looked around the showroom for the salesman that had let Grisha sit in the car, but she didn't see him. Both Officer Roberts and the sales manager noticed.

The sales manager spoke to Amy, "Are you looking for Mr. Mitchell? Our salesman that let your brother sit in the car?"

"Yes."

"He's not here today." He spoke to Officer Roberts in his best man-to-man voice, "His wife went into labor with their first child early this morning."

"Well," Officer Roberts said as he took out a business card and handed it to the sales manager, "thank you for your time. If you do see Amy's little brother, please give us a call."

"Of course," he said as he took the business card. Officer Roberts and Amy turned to go, and the sales manager called after them, "Officer." They turned. "What's the boy's name?"

Officer Roberts suddenly realized that he hadn't asked Amy for this information. He looked down at Amy who said to the sales manager, "We call him G."

"G?" the sales manager said.

She nodded and Officer Roberts smiled and shook his head. Kids.

The sales manager smiled and understood, "I'll call you if 'G.' any time today or tomorrow."

"Thank you," Officer Roberts said as he and Amy returned to the police car. But Amy knew tomorrow wouldn't be soon enough. She had to find her little brother today.

XXXXXXXXXX

As Grisha got closer to the pier, he saw that Amy and the backpacks were gone. Even his toy car was gone, so he was sure she had left to look for him. He walked up and down the beach first, just to make sure that she wasn't in the water or sitting somewhere she could get more sun, but he didn't see her anywhere. But if she didn't go looking for him at the car showroom, where did she go? He thought. Maybe she went back to the little corner shop where they bought breakfast. He would go there first and then retrace their steps as well as he could remember then. As he started back to the stairs that led to the streets of Santa Monica, he hoped he would find her soon. He was starting to get hungry.

XXXXXXXXXX

At the police station, the duty officer was getting perturbed. Officers Roberts and Yates had driven around Santa Monica for almost half an hour before they realized that Amy was lying. She didn't live on any of the streets they had driven and based on the past half hour, she wasn't about to tell either of them where she did live. So, they had driven back to the station and given her over to the duty officer. It was his job to keep her in sight until someone from Child Protective Services arrived.

He held the two backpacks behind his desk. The officers had found nothing to complete the identification of Amy or her missing little brother. They had found a small car with the letter G crudely scratched on the bottom, and she had confirmed that it belonged to her missing brother. Outside of that, they found only a few clothes, a few small, thin picture books, a few maps and leaflets of various local landmarks and sections of the city, a few stubs of bus tickets, and some money.

Amy squirmed in the wooden chair and watched the officers milling about the room. She realized that getting away would be impossible, so she waited. There wasn't anything else to do.

XXXXXXXXXX

Grisha had been to the corner shop, walked the boulevard, and now waited at a bus stop. He had watched two buses come and go, but he hesitated to get on them. He didn't believe Amy had gone back to the airport to meet their father without him. He fingered the change in his pocket from his ice cream purchase earlier that day and wondered if it would be enough for his fare back to the church because it was getting late, and he didn't want to sleep on the beach or the streets of Santa Monica alone.

XXXXXXXXXX

The social worker was sitting at the duty officer's desk. She turned to Amy, "These are all your possessions, Amy?" Amy said nothing. The social worker turned back to the duty officer, "I see what you mean. Well, that's alright."

She finished completing the paperwork and slid a form over to the duty officer who signed it. After gathering the papers and putting them into her worn briefcase, she stood and reached for Amy's hand. She waited and then the duty officer said, "I can take you or you can go with the lady, Amy."

Amy looked from the officer to the social worker and stood up without a word. The social worker motioned for Amy to come with her, and she did, but she didn't take her hand.

XXXXXXXXXX

The sun had already set when Grisha arrived at the church where he and Amy had stayed after their arrival in Los Angeles. He'd walked several blocks until a woman paid his fare, and now he stood outside. Maybe Amy was inside, waiting for him. He reached up and grasped the large handle and pulled the heavy door open slowly and went inside. There were a few people scattered throughout, sitting quietly or sleeping. Grisha stayed in the back of the church. He chose a row and walked to the middle of the section and then crawled under a pew. He was now all alone for the first time since he'd arrived in Los Angeles. He laid awake for several hours expecting Amy to find him, but eventually he fell asleep on the hard tile floor and dreamed of his father, Amy, and Romania.

It was morning when one of the women volunteers who cleaned the church sanctuary brought the monsignor. He recognized Grisha immediately and woke him with a gentle nudge.

"Where is your sister, little one?"

"I don't know."

The monsignor helped Grisha crawl out from under the pew and then took him to the kitchen for some breakfast. He watched with kindness and worry as Grisha ate everything placed in front of him and more. He was still eating when the monsignor became aware of the archbishop standing silently in the doorway. The monsignor left Grisha's side, and he and the archbishop stepped out of view.

"Is this the same boy who you let stay with us earlier?"

"Yes, your Grace."

"He seems very hungry."

"I don't think he's eaten since yesterday morning."

"Didn't he have a sister with him then?"

"He did. He says he doesn't know where she is. Somehow they were separated."

Both men watched Grisha silently, and then the archbishop put his hand gently on the monsignor's arm, "I know that you have the boy's best interests—and those of or beloved church—at heart. We cannot care for him here, and with his sister missing, it is imperative that we give him to those who can best help him find her. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would and I do."

"Then I will leave the matter in your hands," the archbishop said gravely and turned and walked away.

The monsignor stepped back into the doorway and watched Grisha eating with enthusiasm. Grisha looked up once, but quickly turned his attention back to his bowl of cereal—which he refilled—and the small glass of orange juice. The monsignor stepped out of view and quietly made a phone call.

XXXXXXXXXX

The social worker had finally convinced Amy to provide her real last name, Callen, but Amy had refused to provide any information beyond that except that her mother was dead. This was unexpected news, and the social worker had no way of knowing if Amy was being truthful or not, because she could find no information about a missing child matching Amy's description in any police report or any of the Child Protective Services files. So, she wasn't in the system, at least not in the Los Angeles system, and even though Amy didn't appear to be the victim of child abuse, the death of her mother might explain Amy's steadfast refusal to provide additional details about her father or her home. Perhaps that was the reason she didn't want to go back home? Maybe Amy had come to Los Angeles from a different county or even a different state. That would take time to investigate, and until then, she had no choice but to place Amy in a county home while she tried to sort everything out—and find her missing brother, if she even really had a missing brother. Until the department had Amy's personal information—including her name—verified, they could not place her in a foster home.

XXXXXXXXXX

Grisha was polishing the pews when the woman from the Catholic Children's Home entered from the back. "There he is," the monsignor said as he motioned to the area where Grisha was working. "He says his name is G., so that's what we call him," the monsignor said with a faint smile. "We have no idea what his actual name is."

"Alright," She said softly and the monsignor led her to Grisha.

"G," the monsignor said as he and his companion sat down next to Grisha, "this is Miss Archibald. She's a very good friend of mine."

Miss Archibald, a woman in her mid-30s with soft brown hair and green eyes, put her hand out and smiled, "Hello, G."

Grisha said nothing and didn't take her hand. After a moment, she pulled her hand back. "How old are you, G.?" He said nothing. "I think," she said with a wink, "you must be about ten years old. Would I be right?" He shook his head. "You're older?" she continued with feigned surprise. He shook his head again. "I see," she paused, "well, I have some friends who I think are about your age who would like to meet you. Would you like to meet them?" Grisha said nothing and the monsignor looked worried. But Miss Archibald persisted, "They love to make new friends, and there is a playground and lots of toys. And," she continued with emphasis, "we have chocolate chip cookies every night."

Grisha had no idea what a chocolate chip cookie was, but he remembered sitting in the kitchen at home and watching his mother make cookies and cakes. He and Amy would play piatra-foarfeca-hartie (rock-scissors-paper) to see who got to lick the spoon and who got to lick the bowl.

After a few moments, Miss Archibald stood up and smiled, "Would you like to come with me, G., for a little while at least?" She gazed at Grisha with her smiling eyes and continued, "I will help you find your sister and, if you're not happy, I'll bring both of you back to the church, and Monsignor will take care of you both until your father arrives." Helping him find Amy was true, but everything else was a lie; however, Miss Archibald had learned to lie quite convincingly and found that she got her work done much quicker and much easier with a few little lies. G looked at the monsignor, at the cavernous church, and at Miss Archibald, and then he stood up. She put placed her hand on his shoulder and the two of them walked out through the back of the church as the monsignor watched.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ten weeks later Amy was still housed at the Los Angeles Orphans Home Society in downtown Los Angeles while Child Protective Services continued its search and expanded it to other states. The Catholic Children's Home, around this same time, sent Grisha to his first foster home-that of a member of the local diocese in San Bernardino, sixty miles east of Los Angeles.

Grisha ran away from his foster home after one week and was picked up by the local police the next day, and when a county social worked examined him, she discovered fresh welts across his back and buttocks and sent him to the Children's Baptist Home in Inglewood. It would be years before Grisha would trust another adult.

On a night three months later in Inglewood, Grisha was caught in the bathroom by two teenage boys and beaten and left weeping in the showers, and his sister Amy snuck out of the Los Angeles Orphan Home and drowned in the Los Angeles River. Her body was later found and identified as that of her friend, Hannah Lawson, and the search for her missing brother ceased. That was the night Grisha learned that he would have to learn to survive alone, and he pushed his memory of Amy down until it was forgotten. It was also the last time Grisha cried for many, many years.