Carlo’s eyes were closed, his breathing soft and steady.
“Can I sleep in here with my brother tonight?” Frances asked, his eyes partially closed as well, half asleep as he spoke.
I nodded, which I doubt he saw and tucked both boys in.
”Sure. I think that’s a good idea. He needs his brother here with him.”
I started to stand up, to make my way back to my own room, but Frances was still awake. I could see that he was still fighting being dragged down into sleep. Maybe he was as scared as Carlo.
“Please, can you stay with us a while?” Frances asked.
I smiled and nodded again. “Do you want me to sing you a song? I know one that one of my house mothers used to sing to her children.”
When Frances murmured a yes and sighed sleepily. I drew in a breath and began to recall the words to the lullaby I’d heard so long ago. It took me back to the moment when I’d realized that I wasn’t one of the children, not one who mattered.
I was alone in my room next door to theirs, and the mother was in her children’s room, singing to them. I could hear the song. She couldn’t prevent that, but I got no tuck in, no sweet kiss, and carried the bitter knowledge that the song was not being sung for me. I’d often slept with tears coating my lashes, wishing I had a mother who’d come in and sing for me, but at least I had that song.
Carlo’s room had the same easy chair as mine did. There was also a fuzzy, warm plaid blanket across its top. I wrapped the blanket around me and began the lullaby. As I did, I thought about how these two sweet boys no longer had a mother who could come into their room and sing to them, but they had me. I would tuck them in, kiss them, and sing to them every night . . . at least until I was sent on my way.