Big eyes looked up as I bent over the huddled figures in the doorway. As a downtown cop, I was used to seeing the homeless. They were everywhere: panhandling in the subway station, gathered outside soup kitchens, on benches in the park. It was a cold night, though, and I wanted to offer to take them to a nearby shelter.
My partner was in the corner bodega getting us coffee, and
if I hadn’t gotten out to stretch my legs, I would’ve missed them. I cast my
flashlight over what looked like an adult and two children sleeping in a
doorway. Two of the figures didn’t move at all, and – like I said – the other just
looked at me with those eyes.
“Hey, you folks all right?” No response. I reached down to
the adult’s shoulder, shook it gently. I saw that it was a woman. “Ma’am? Hey,
wake up.” I spoke louder and shook her again. “Ma’am! Can you hear me?”
The child with the eyes sat up, scuttled away from me.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Is this your mom?” There was no
reply. I reached down, felt for a pulse on the woman’s neck. Finding none, I
radioed in.
“This is Unit 802 requesting a bus at the corner of 81st
and Powell. Non-responsive female with two children.”
When the paramedics came, they told me the woman and one of
the kids were DOA. I had coaxed the other kid, a little boy as it turned out,
into letting me put my coat around him, and he was sipping hot chocolate in the
backseat of our patrol car. We drove to the station while I tried to get
information from the little boy. He looked to be about four or five, plenty old
enough to tell me his name, but so far, he’d remained silent.
At the station I put the little guy in our ‘family room,’
where we had some couches and chairs. I let him choose a stuffed animal while I
turned on a cartoon DVD. He seemed to settle in then, sucking his thumb, and holding
Leo the Lion with a death grip around his neck. My next call then should’ve
been to Social Services, but it wasn’t.
I called my wife. I know nobody likes getting a call in the
middle of the night, but a cop’s wife really doesn’t want to hear the
phone ring while her husband is out there on duty. My wife answered on the
second ring, breathless, as if I’d interrupted her working out instead of
dreaming.
“Honey, it’s me.”
“Pete! What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine. It’s just…we picked up a homeless woman with two
kids tonight. The woman and one of the kids was dead.”
“Dead?! What on earth happened?”
“Well, we don’t know yet. But the other little guy is
sitting in our family room watching a movie right now.”
“And you’re telling me this because—”
“—Because we’ve been approved as foster parents. I was
thinking maybe I could just bring him home instead of letting Social Services
take him.”
She took a deep breath and I knew I needed to talk fast.
“Carolyn, I’m the only person he’s let near him tonight. He just lost his
mother, for God’s sake, or at least what I assume to be his mother. He’s dirty
and cold and all alone—”
“Pete.” My wife had such a gentle tone. That’s one of the
thousand reasons I love her. “Bring him.”
“Really?”
“Sure. But you’re going to have to tell Social Services what
you’re doing.”
“Absolutely. They’re my next call.” I hesitated. “You should
know, he hasn’t said a word since we found them. He hasn’t cried or asked for
his mom or anything.”
“Oh wow…” I could picture Carolyn chewing a thumbnail, like
she did when she was thinking through a problem. “It’s probably just the shock.
I’m sure he’s scared to death. Cold. Hungry. Oh Pete, just hurry.”
“I will. I love you Carolyn.”
“Love you. Hey, do we know his name?”
“Not yet.”
I made the call to Social Services. The social worker I
spoke with was only too happy to assign us as his emergency foster parents. As
soon as I finished the required paperwork for my shift, I collected the little
guy and headed home. In the car, I tried again.
“Hey buddy, what’s your name?”
“Jacob,” he whispered, before popping a dirty thumb back
into his mouth.
“Well, all right, Jacob. Let’s go home.”
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