were scouting a potential child to make a permanent part of their family.
The couple chuckled and exchanged uncertain glances.
“Well, we don’t really know,” the woman said.
“We just know that there’s something missing in our lives.” The man shrugged. “I guess we’ll know when we find it.”
The woman cocked her head at Brielle. “You seem young to be working here. Are you a volunteer?”
“Not exactly. I’m...one of the orphans,” Brielle confessed, her cheeks burning. “But I’m about to age out of the system, and I like helping, so I offered to help the nuns with the event.”
After that, the couple introduced themselves as Frank and Beatrice Pierce and talked to Brielle for the duration of the gathering. It was only an hour, but they...clicked. Mr. Pierce had a very corny sense of humor, and Mrs. Pierce seemed indulgent and affectionate. Brielle felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Hope.
And the more days that pass, the more desperately she hopes things go well at their next meeting. This afternoon.
She’d been in this orphanage her entire life. She’d never known family. After watching the fellow babies she’d arrived with each find their forever home, she’d stopped making friends with the other residents. It was just too painful. Sister Agatha was the closest thing to family she’d ever had. Not quite like a mother, but maybe a very strict aunt, which is about as lame as it gets.
Brielle wants a family more than anything in the world. And she’s not going to screw things up.
Not this time.
“I’ll do my best to make you proud,” Brielle says, forcing her lips into a flat smile.
Sister Agatha scoffs. “If you want to do that, stay on as a nun.” She laughs, her belly bouncing with each rolling breath.
Brielle sucks in air through her teeth. “Not even as a last resort.”
Sister Agatha laughs even harder, so hard even the tight gray bun perched on her head wobbles. When her laughter subsides, she wipes her eyes and regains her composure. “Alright, now off to school with you. Don’t want to be late.”
“Yes, Sister.” Brielle stands, nods, then leaves the office, striding down the hall striped with the morning light coming through the vaulted windows. The orphanage is old, converted from a convent that’s been here since the eighteen hundreds. All brick and mortar on the outside, and polished dark wood on the inside. It made for a very cold and dark childhood.
The instant she rounds the corner, she nearly crashes right into Marie, who’s been waiting in the hall for her with arms crossed and hip swayed to one side.
“For your information, I don’t snore,” Marie says, eyes narrowed at her.
“I’m confused. Did you want me to cover for you or not?” Brielle never can keep the sarcasm from slipping out. It’s her defense mechanism against always telling the truth. “Because I’m pretty sure that without that comment, you’d be in massive trouble right now.”
Marie steps closer and lowers her voice. “What I don’t understand is how you always know these things. You shouldn’t have to cover for me. I know that no one told you about the wine because I didn’t even tell anyone, and I highly doubt a goody-two-shoes like you was out of bed after hours. So how do you always know?”
Brielle avoids the question. That’s her specialty. “So you want me not to cover for you from now on? Got it.” She walks around Marie, hoping to escape any further conversation.
But Marie’s hand shoots out and grips tightly around Brielle’s upper arm, locking her in place. “You’re a freak,” she hisses. “And if Sister Agatha accuses me again, of anything, I’ll make your life here a living hell.”
Brielle jerks her arm free of Marie’s clutches. She knows she needs to get back to her room and get ready for school...but that itch in the pit of her stomach is demanding to be scratched. She may have covered for Marie, but she can’t stand keeping this guilt completely to herself. Maybe if Marie confesses, the guilt will dissolve.
Lowering her own voice as well, Brielle whispers, “You’ll feel better if you tell Sister Agatha yourself.”
Marie looks at Brielle as if she thinks she’s insane.
“Seriously, I know you feel bad about it,” Brielle continues. “Tell her it was an accident. Tell her your boyfriend pressured you into it.” The more Brielle speaks, the less the guilt nags at her.
Marie gasps. “You really are stupid. Trying to steal a few sips of wine from Communion is one thing,