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Camp Hope

By Sara L. Foust

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The long awaited call came in the pre-dawn hours. When the farmhouse sagged and dared not breathe. Amy Dawson dug herself out a deep sleep to answer. “Hello?”
“This is Diane with Child Protective Services. Would you like to take a placement?”
She bolted upright. This was it. After all the terrifying training classes, the long weeknights worrying about her decision, the moment was finally here. What was she supposed to ask? Amy took a breath to calm her shaking hands. “Can you tell me about the child, please?”
“Mattie is a nonverbal four-year-old. She’ll be coming from another foster placement. They’ve decided they can no longer keep her.”
“In the middle of the night?”
Diane clicked her tongue. “It’s complicated. Would you like to take her?”
Amy took another deep breath. “Why doesn’t she talk?”
“Doctors believe she can speak, but chooses not to. Oh, and one more thing. She’s a type I diabetic, so she needs a strict diet and insulin. Are you familiar with the disease?”
Was she ever. Memories like dark photographs flashed in her mind. Injections twice a day, every day, whether her mother was conscious or not. “I’m familiar with it. Anything else I should know?” Could she handle caring for a child with diabetes? The memories that would barrage her?
“There isn’t much information to go on.”
Amy expected that. They’d taught her as much in classes. Especially with a middle-of-the-night placement. What if she couldn’t keep Mattie safe once the summer campers arrived? What if she couldn’t adhere to a strict schedule with the medicine?
“Ms. Dawson?”
None of it mattered really. Not if she listened to what her flying heart was telling her. “How soon can you get here?”
“Great. Give me an hour.” A long pause and Diane shuffled papers. “Maybe longer considering where you live.”
Amy chuckled. “That’s what everyone says. I’ll be ready.”
How her life was about to change. The solitude she’d been fighting to build all these years was about to be penetrated by a sweet child in need of help. Though she was the same age as most of the other people in the Parents as Tender Healers classes, they were mostly young couples with experience raising children of their own. She knew how to be Camp Counselor well. She’d been doing that half her life. What if she failed miserably as Actual Parent?
Amy slipped on her fuzzy blue socks and padded downstairs. The silence so oppressive it nearly scalded her ears. She wanted to shout down the hill and tell Sam the news. But it was too early. A smile slipped onto her face. Wouldn’t her best friend be surprised when she checked in before morning chores?
Amy brewed a pot of coffee and took her mug and journal to the front porch. With the sounds of the quiet summer night filling the air, she curled up on the swing and poised her pen to write.

May 22, 2016
You’re finally coming! I never thought I’d get through all the scary classes to become a foster mom, but then I did and had to wait seven whole weeks. But, it doesn’t matter, because you’re headed this way, and I’m so excited. I only hope I can be a good foster mother for you and help you heal. Maybe you’ll get to stay a while.

Amy put down the pencil and sipped her coffee. Moths flitted around the porch light and fireflies blinked on the lawn. Stars glimmered in the vast black sky, a million of them visible from her farm without any city light interference. Somewhere in the distance a coyote yipped.
Why was Mattie nonverbal? Training taught Amy ninety percent of all children in foster care had received some form of abuse. And she’d certainly seen kids at the camp over the years she suspected had past traumas. Could that be what held the poor little girl mute?
Amy shivered. It would make sense. All her own years of trauma taught her a few things. Screaming, begging, and whining didn’t help. She squeezed her eyes shut. No. Those memories weren’t going to cloud this happy moment. She was about to be a stand-in mom for a little one who desperately needed to feel safe and loved. Who knows how long Mattie would stay, but Amy would make the best out of it. Maybe she could even get the girl to start talking.
An hour and a half later, headlights dotted the road into Camp Hope. A silver Camry pulled up beside Amy’s SUV. A tall, thin brunette exited the driver’s seat, waved once, and opened the rear door.
Amy waited on the top step, her breath paused in her chest.
Diane helped a skinny girl in a My Little Pony nightgown climb from the back seat. The graceful woman scooped Mattie up, brushed her dark hair from her face, and carried her to the stairs.
“Amy, this is Mattie. Mattie, this nice lady is Amy.”
Mattie raised her head from Diane’s shoulder and peeked at Amy.
“Oh! I have something for you. Hang on just a second.” Amy raced into the house, grabbed the stuffed animal from the dining room table, and returned to the porch. She held out the purple dragon and smiled. “Here ya go.”
Mattie reached out and gently grabbed the dragon’s glittery wing. She tucked the animal under her right arm and stretched her left toward Amy.
A lump formed in Amy’s throat. Such beautiful, big, scared eyes. Amy took Mattie in her arms and ran her fingers through the child’s long hair. She weighed almost nothing. Certainly not what a four-year-old should, anyway.
“Here’s her medicine.” Diane handed over a black cooler with a shoulder strap. “And I’ll get the papers for you to sign.”
Amy settled onto the porch swing once more and wrapped a blanket around Mattie’s back. It would take some getting used to having such a quiet child around. The kids at Camp Hope were rarely silent. Excited shouts, loud laughter, and mile-a-minute jabbering usually filled Amy’s summertime days.
But not her farmhouse. Maybe the quietness wouldn’t change as much as she’d expected.
Diane retrieved a manila file and a bag from her car. She set the bag at Amy’s feet. “Mattie’s belongings.”
“That’s it?”
“More than what most kids come with. Probably all stuff the previous foster family bought for her.”
“How long was she with them?”
Mattie nuzzled deeper into the crook of Amy’s neck.
“About five weeks.”
“Why can’t they keep her?”
“Decided they are getting divorced.”
“Just now?”
“Yep. Can’t give many more details, but there was apparently a pretty big fight. Clothes on the lawn and everything.” Diane sighed. “Just like on TV. The husband left. Wife called us. And here we are.” Diane pursed her lips but held in whatever words may have come next. “Sign here.” Diane laid the thin blue folder on the swing next to Amy.
“Can you sit on the swing next to me?” Amy tried to lift Mattie from her lap, but the little girl’s arms tightened around Amy’s neck. She took the pen and held the papers in front of her around Mattie’s torso. Her signature was messy, but it was legible.
“We’ll check on you in a few days. If you need anything, feel free to call your Resource Parent Support worker. There’s a list of Mattie’s doctor’s appointments in the folder here.”
Amy nodded. A few days? That seemed like an awfully long time to entrust a child to a brand-new foster parent without checking in. She had her support worker’s number on the fridge, but barely knew the woman. She’d only met her twice, and briefly then.
“Mattie’s biological mother has already signed her custody over to the state, and she wishes to remain anonymous for now. We are working to track down Mattie’s father, but he has been MIA for months.”
How could a mother sign over her rights, just like that? Amy didn’t have biological children, but she couldn’t imagine letting them go to anyone without a fight. But, who was she kidding? Jewel probably would’ve let Amy go in a heartbeat, if the price had been right. She didn’t exactly remember her mother fighting much when Great-Aunt Zena had taken over custody.
Diane pulled out of the parking space and disappeared down the long driveway into the night.
Mattie trembled, so Amy pulled the blanket tighter. The child’s slight frame relaxed and her breathing slowed. She must’ve been exhausted.
Amy swung slowly until dawn. Excitement and nervousness filled her. What would the coming months bring?

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