Let’s Keep It RealFred looked out the window for a moment. “She was my wife. Well—technically my ex, though we never finalized the divorce. We’d split years earlier over the usual foolishness and lived apart, but on paper we were still married. Her name was Clara.”
Eleanor, barely able to wait, asked, “But how did a little boy end up in her apartment?” Fred gave her a look that said patience was not her strongest trait. “I’m getting there. After the funeral, I talked to the neighbors. They told me Clara had been renting out the back room to a young woman. Then one day that young woman disappeared.”
He spread his hands. “Which left the child behind with Clara and no paperwork anybody could find. Clara had always been strong, healthy enough for her age. No one expected her to die like that. But life doesn’t ask permission.”
Fred continued, “One of the neighbors—a woman who knew everybody’s business—told me the tenant had moved in while she was pregnant. Sometimes a man from the city would come by in a car, but never stay long. Sounded like he was in trouble of some kind.”
Lowering his voice, Fred added, “From what people said, he later got sent to prison. The young woman apparently went to visit him and left the boy with Clara for what was supposed to be a short time. She walked out with a small bag one morning and never came back.”
He shrugged sadly. “After that, there wasn’t much to be done. We buried Clara, and the little boy was taken to the children’s home because there was nowhere else for him to go.”
Fred gave a tired half-smile. “It’s the only state facility of its kind in the area. The boy knew his first name—Joey—and responded to it. But he was too little to explain much else. So they entered him into the system as Joey Johnson. Common name, common last name. Happens more than you’d think.”
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