Chance and the Butterfly Read Free

a long time. Then a family had adopted her. But she had been too sad for them. They had wanted a happy baby. And so they had given her back. After that, Angie and Doug had taken her in as a foster child. Two months later they took Chance in too.
    Louise was still sad. She cried all the time. She screamed and screamed. She screamed in the nighttime and in the daytime. She screamed in her crib and in her high chair and in Angie’s and Doug’s arms. Chance had a pretty good idea about why she was so sad. After all, he knew all about being abandoned and being given back. He was glad that Angie and Doug kept Louise. They held her tight, wrapped in her blanket. They sang to her and talked to her.
    Sometimes they seemed tired. Sometimes they even snapped at him or at Mark. But they never seemed to think of sending anybody back.

    On that first day, a Sunday, his caseworker had dropped him off in the afternoon. She had come into the house for a few minutes and had offered to stay longer, but he had brushed her away. “I’m okay,” he had mumbled.
    She had looked at him hard for a moment. “I’ll be checking in next week,” she had said. Then she had gone.
    The house was quiet that afternoon. The baby was napping for once, and Mark was at some kind of sports event. Mark had wanted to be here to meet Chance, Angie said, but his coach was strict and couldn’t spare him. Chance knew she was lying. The sons and daughters of foster parents never wanted him or any other foster kid around.
    â€œWe thought that maybe it would be easier for you to get to know us gradually, grown-ups first. And Louise,” Angie said. Her smile was so big and warm that Chance was almost taken in. Almost. “You’ll meet Mark tonight at dinner,” she went on. “We’re roasting a chicken to celebrate. I even cleared the table in the dining room, so we can have dinner together for once!”
    Angie did seem nice. So did Doug. They showed him through the house, especially his room, where they put his bags. Then they led him into the kitchen and doled out milk and cookies. But his head felt stuffy and swollen, heavy on his shoulders. And pain ran up and down his back and legs. They didn’t know him yet. This was just another in a long line of houses and apartments, of smiling grown-ups with milk and cookies. Those smiles never lasted more than a few weeks.
    â€œCould I go to my room?” Chance said, his eyes on the table.
    â€œThere are lots of puzzles and crayons and games, tons of Lego, in the front room. You could take your cookies in there if you like,” Doug said, his voice coaxing. Chance didn’t have to look up to know that he was giving Angie a worried look.
    â€œI just want to go to my room,” Chance repeated. He knew that he sounded stubborn, that he was supposed to be grateful, to smile back. His caseworker, June, was always telling him those things. But he didn’t have a smile in him.
    â€œAll right,” said Angie. “Take some of these along. You must be starving,” she added, folding his fingers around two enormous oatmeal cookies. Chance was not hungry. His throat felt as if it was full of rapidly hardening cement, but he took the cookies.
    He froze halfway up the stairs as a horrible wailing poured forth from one of the bedrooms, the room that Angie and Doug had not shown him on their tour. “That’s the baby’s room,” they had said. “She’s napping.” He had not known then what a miracle that nap was.
    Angie came up the stairs behind him. “Well, I guess she’s awake,” she said lightly as she passed him. “I hope her racket won’t bother you too much.” The wailing turned to screaming, screaming that did not die down when Angie went into the bedroom. Keeping as far from the baby’s door as he could, Chance made his way to his own bedroom.
    Closing the door behind him, he stood and looked.
    He