The next morning, I carried a bulging kitchen sack outside. My heart wrenched as I lifted the lid of the trash can and saw Susan's carpet lying among the other discarded items. Hesitating only a moment, I reached in and plucked it from amid the debris. After giving it a light brushing, I brought it into the house and tucked it away in the hall closet. Overshadowed by the business of daily living, the carpet was soon forgotten.
Prior to Holly's birthday, Susan had been a regular visitor in our home. On several occasions, she rode the bus home with Holly and was one of the few friends ever permitted to stay over on a school night. The girls did their homework together and went to bed at a reasonable hour.
Now as I slid the evening meal into the oven, I realized it had been nearly three weeks since we'd even heard mention of Susan's name. I missed her warm smile and eager-to-please ways.
A rustle at the front door told me Holly had arrived home from school. "Susan invited me to come over to her house after school tomorrow," she announced as she plunked her books down on the kitchen table. Although her voice carried a so-what attitude, I sensed she was pleased by the invitation.
In spite of the number of times Susan had visited with us, our invitations were never returned. "She wants you to come, too, so you can meet her foster mom." The words "foster mom" dangled in the air like a spent birthday balloon. Susan never talked about her home life, and we didn't find it necessary to pry.
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