“Hi… sorry to bother you,” came a small, uncertain voice—a child’s voice. “Are you Eleanor?” the caller asked. Eleanor frowned. “Yes. Who is this?”
“I’m your grandson. My name is Joey. Please—please come get me out of this children’s home.” Eleanor went pale and gripped the edge of the table. “What did you say? Who are you?”
“My name is Joey. I really am your grandson,” the boy said quickly, as if afraid she might hang up. “The home is in the next county over.” He rattled off the address. Then, rushing to explain, he added, “I’m not making it up. I only found out recently from some papers. We’re not supposed to use this phone, but I snuck in here to call you.”
And then the line went dead. The dial tone buzzed on while Eleanor stood frozen, still holding the receiver.
Mike saw her face and hurried over. “Ellie, what happened? Who was that?” She slowly turned toward him, tears already running down her cheeks. “Mike,” she whispered, “that was our grandson.” Mike recoiled as if he had misheard her. “What? Ellie, that can’t be right.”
He tried to steady the moment. “We don’t have a grandson. Somebody’s playing a cruel joke.” But Eleanor grabbed his sleeve. “Mike, listen to me. That voice—he sounded so much like Katie did when she was little.” After that she could barely speak. Her breathing turned ragged and she broke down sobbing.
Mike brought her water, helped her lie down, covered her with a blanket, and sat beside her until she finally drifted into an uneasy sleep. Only then did he step into the hallway and call their closest friends, Albert and Victoria Bell, asking them to come over that evening. He said they needed to talk.
Later that night, the four of them sat around the kitchen table under the yellow light over the sink, trying to make sense of it. Mike and practical-minded Victoria were convinced it had to be some ugly prank. Eleanor and Albert argued that the boy had known too much for that, and that they needed to find out what was going on.
“What city did he say? And what address?” Albert asked, pulling out his phone and looking it up. A moment later he nodded. “There is a state-run children’s home at that address.” Mike spread his hands helplessly. “But how could Katie’s son end up there—if he even is Katie’s son? None of this makes any sense.”
