Chapter 8 - What the Aunt Hid
The apartment building was three blocks off the storefront, close enough I could still see the awning of the store if I leaned past the railing. It was brick gone dark with rain, mailboxes broken open in the lobby, and an eviction notice taped to the glass door with the tape curling. A sheriff's deputy held the door for us.
I hadn't been asked to come. The caseworker, Dana, had called that morning and said they found her. The aunt. She said I could wait at the office. I said I couldn't.
"You don't have to go up," Dana said in the parking lot. She was younger than me, clipboard already damp. "Officer Reyes just wants an ID on the story. If this is the woman the boy stayed with."
"I want to see," I said.
The officer nodded once and we went up to the third floor. The hallway smelled like old cooking oil and wet carpet. A door at the end was open six inches with a chain on. A woman's voice came through it, sharp.
"I already told you people I got no money for no fines."
Reyes knocked again. "Ms. Tillman? It's Officer Reyes. This is Dana with county services. We just need five minutes about Leo."
That was the first time I'd heard his name said like it belonged to somebody. Leo.
The chain rattled and the door opened. She was maybe forty, thin in a way that looked tired, not sick. Dyed blonde roots grown out dark, a gray sweatshirt with bleach spots, jeans with the knees worn. The apartment behind her was half-packed. Boxes taped and stacked, a mattress bare on the floor, kitchen cabinets open and empty. A pink eviction paper was stuck to the fridge with a magnet.
Her eyes cut to me. "Who's she?"
"I'm—" I started, but Dana stepped in smooth.
"She's a witness who found Leo yesterday morning. She'll just listen, if that's okay."
Tillman snorted. "He tell you I dumped him? That what this is?"
"No one said that," Reyes said. "We need to know why he was on the sidewalk with a box."
She looked past us down the hall, then pulled the door wider. "Fine. Come in. Landlord's coming at noon anyway."
Inside, the air was stale and cold. The heat was off. I counted two trash bags of clothes by the door, a box of cereal open on the counter, nothing in the fridge but ketchup and a gallon of water. On the windowsill there was a school photo, curled at the edge. A boy with messy brown hair, cleaner than yesterday, wearing a too-big collar.
My chest tightened. It was Ethan's face and not Ethan's face.
Dana sat at the small table and set her folder down. "When did Leo last live here with you?"
Tillman crossed her arms. "He lived here. Since spring. Since my sister—" She stopped. "Since April."
"Your sister's name?" Reyes asked, pen ready.
"Carla Tillman. She took off. Said she needed to get clean, needed a week. That was four months ago. Left him with me and a duffel bag and that damn locket. Said don't lose it."
I kept my hands in my jacket pockets so she wouldn't see them shake. "Carla never came back?"
Tillman glanced at me. "No. Called twice in May. Then nothing. Her phone's off."
Dana wrote something down. "And yesterday morning? Walk us through that."
A long pause. The radiator ticked. Downstairs somebody slammed a door.
"I got the notice," Tillman said finally. Her voice dropped. "Thirty days was up last week. I got no job since the diner cut hours. I called Carla's old boyfriend, I called the county number, I sat on hold for an hour. Nobody—" She rubbed her face hard. "I didn't have food for last night. I mean, I had cereal. He needed more than that."
"So you took him to the storefront?" Reyes said, even.
"I didn't dump him," she snapped. "I sat with him till seven. I told him stay by the box, stay where people can see. The store lady knows me, she gives day-old rolls. I told him I'd be back after I talked to the landlord. I—" She looked at the stacked boxes. "I went to my cousin's to ask for couch space. For both of us. She said no kids."
My throat burned. That boy sitting quiet on cardboard, hands folded like he'd been told not to be trouble. Stay where people can see.
Dana leaned forward. "Ms. Tillman, Leo told a witness yesterday that his aunt said his real mom didn't want him. Did you say that to him?"
Tillman went still. For a second I thought she would lie. Her mouth worked.
"I said it," she said. "Yeah. I said it."
I felt the words hit low in my stomach. That is not true, I'd told him. I'd said it without knowing anything.
"Why would you tell a six-year-old that?" I asked before I could stop myself. My voice came out thinner than I wanted.
"Because that's what I was told to say." She looked up fast. "Carla told me. When she left him, she said if he asks about his mom, tell him she didn't want him. Her exact words. I thought she meant herself. She was messed up, you know? I figured she signed something, gave him up, changed her mind. I didn't ask. I just— I repeated it when he kept asking."
Reyes and Dana exchanged a look.
"Who else told you to say anything about his mother?" Reyes asked.
Tillman hesitated. She pulled out a chair and sat hard. "There was a lady. Older. Came here in June. Said she was from the hospital, checking on a birth record. Gray hair, white coat even though it was hot. She asked about Carla, about the boy. She said if anyone from services or family asks, stick to the story that the mother gave him up and doesn't want contact. Said it would keep him from being bounced around. Gave me two hundred cash for groceries."
My hands went cold. Gray hair pulled back. White coat. The face in the sedan window at 8:47.
"Did she give you a name?" Dana asked.
Tillman shook her head. "She left a card, I think. Might be in that junk drawer. I didn't call it."
Reyes stood and checked the drawer by the sink. Rubber bands, takeout menus, a dead battery. He lifted a bent business card and bagged it without showing us.
Dana closed her folder halfway. "Ms. Tillman, Leo is in emergency state care right now. He's safe. He's being looked at by a doctor. Given the eviction and leaving him unsupervised downtown, we can't place him back with you today."
"I know," Tillman whispered. "I know that. I'm not— I'm not saying I'm good for him. I'm saying I tried till I couldn't." Her eyes filled. "Will you tell him I didn't leave him for good?"
No one answered for a beat. The radiator ticked again.
"I'll need you to come downtown for a formal statement," Reyes said. "And bring anything Carla left. Papers, the duffel, photos. Anything with that locket."
She nodded, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "Yeah. Okay. I'll cooperate. I don't want trouble. I just want—" She looked at the school photo on the sill. "Just don't let that lady take him. The hospital lady. She scared me."
Dana stood and touched my elbow, a signal to leave. In the doorway, Tillman called after me.
"Hey. You the one he asked? If you were his real mom?"
I stopped with my back to her. The hallway air felt colder.
"Yeah," I said.
May you like
"I told him not to ask strangers that," she said quietly. "Carla told me to shut that down fast."
I didn't turn around. I couldn't.
