A Growing Bond

By the time they left the restaurant, Andrew knew the rest.

He had asked questions Samuel had expected, several he hadn’t, and made him promise to save every message. Most importantly, Andrew had agreed not to confront anyone or try to solve the problem on his own.

In the end, Andrew had also agreed to attend the Patron Reception as Samantha’s guest and do nothing more unless Samuel asked him to. He knew he would have to dress formally—probably a suit and tie—but that had been the least surprising part of the conversation.

Strangely, Samuel felt as though someone had lifted a weight from his shoulders.

Maybe he should have told Andrew sooner. Maybe things would not have gone this far if he had not tried to handle everything alone.

Or maybe nothing would have changed.

Either way, someone else finally knew.

And for the first time since the messages began, Samuel did not feel as though he were standing entirely by himself.

Days passed, and Samuel stopped fighting every step of the transformation.

He could do it quickly now, almost without complaint. His hands followed the necessary sequence automatically, bringing Samantha into existence without requiring him to think about each individual decision.

In the mornings, he kept his bedroom quiet and dark, allowing Lily to assume he was still asleep so she would not knock or try the door before leaving. Fortunately, they each had private bathrooms connected to their bedrooms. It allowed Samuel to shave, shower, apply his makeup, and arrange the wig without risking an unexpected encounter in the hallway.

Even so, he had learned to move carefully.

A moment later, Lily’s bedroom door opened.

Her footsteps crossed the hall, continued downstairs, and faded toward the kitchen.

Samuel had become good at estimating how long his sister needed before leaving for her internship. Coffee added seven minutes. Looking for her keys added three. Returning because she had forgotten her phone could add anywhere from thirty seconds to five minutes.

That morning, she left on the first attempt.

The front door closed.

Samantha waited another minute before stepping into the hallway.

No matter how routine Willow House had become, leaving the house still felt like crossing a border.

Samantha arrived at Willow House as she had nearly every morning that week. She greeted the security guard at the main entrance, then Helen at the reception desk before making her way to the staff room for coffee.

Several volunteers were already there, discussing the day’s activities while gathering supplies. Samantha greeted them with the same casual familiarity they offered her.

That, more than anything, made the routine feel real.

She had also made peace with leaving home already dressed in her volunteer uniform. Being seen through the window of a passing car seemed like a smaller risk than repeating the incident with the locked changing room—or discovering at the end of another shift that some essential part of Samuel’s clothing had been left somewhere inaccessible.

The white blouse and pale-blue striped pinafore no longer felt quite as conspicuous as they had the first time she wore them. The badge had also stopped demanding her attention every few minutes.

There was one new addition to her appearance.

Her hair had been arranged into a neat, braided bun at the back of her head.

The style took longer in the morning, but it had already proven worth the extra effort.

A few days after the children’s summer program began, Samantha’s wig had suffered a particularly chaotic end to the afternoon. Several loose strands had escaped from her ponytail, one child had decided that pulling on one of them was an excellent way to get her attention, and glitter had somehow worked its way through nearly every section of hair.

Jenna had found her in front of the staff restroom mirror, attempting to remove it.

“You definitely need a braided bun.”

“I need shorter hair.”

“No. You need a braided bun,” Jenna repeated.

She had then shown Samantha how to divide the hair, braid it tightly enough to remain secure, and twist it into a low bun. A few carefully placed pins kept everything in position.

It was the kind of advice that quietly changed a person’s life.

Or, at the very least, saved that person from spending an hour brushing glitter out of a wig after every shift.

Since then, Samantha had worn the style whenever she worked with the children.

Jenna noticed it the moment she entered the activity room.

“You’re getting better.”

Samantha touched the bun automatically.

“It stayed in place yesterday.”

“That doesn’t mean it looked good.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Jenna smiled and handed her a box of art supplies.

The children would spend the day creating pieces that would later be sold at the organization’s annual gala. Some were painting small canvases, while others worked with colored paper, clay, wooden shapes, or anything else the staff believed could survive several hours in a room full of children.

Samantha had heard the upcoming gala discussed during the afternoon staff meetings, although she still did not fully understand what her own role would be.

Jenna, who had become the coworker she spent the most time with, explained the event while they moved between tables, opened paint containers, and helped children with their projects.

“Every year, they present everything Willow House has accomplished,” Jenna said. “There’s a video, a few speeches, the auction, and then the parade.”

Samantha glanced at her.

“The parade?”

“It changes every year. Different theme, different costumes.”

“Costumes.”

Jenna smiled at the suspicion in her voice.

“The theme is chosen democratically. Everyone votes, then we keep narrowing down the options until one wins.”

“And there are rules?”

“Only one. We can’t repeat a theme until at least three years have passed.”

Samantha looked around the room.

Several children were painting crowns, castles, shields, and stars. At another table, two boys were debating whether a prince was allowed to carry both a sword and a bow.

“I think I can guess what won.”

“Princes and Princesses.”

“Of course.”

The girls outnumbered the boys that year, which had apparently helped determine the final result. Against Samantha’s expectations, the boys were almost as enthusiastic about becoming princes as the girls were about becoming princesses.

Almost every child seemed excited about the theme.

Almost.

A little girl at the far end of the room sat apart from the others, cutting narrow strips from a sheet of silver paper.

Samantha had noticed her during earlier shifts.

Dark curls. Watchful brown eyes. A serious expression that made her appear older than the other children, even though she was probably seven.

Maya.

She spoke when necessary and never raised her hand.

When volunteers offered help, she usually said no before they finished asking.

That morning, she had been assigned to make flags for the castle towers. The table in front of her held paper, scissors, glue, and three wooden sticks.

It did not hold any finished flags.

Samantha approached slowly.

“Do you need another color?”

“No.”

“Different scissors?”

“No.”

Samantha looked at the uneven strips of silver paper.

“Help?”

“I can do it.”

The answer came quickly. Not angry. Certain.

Samantha nodded.

“I know.”

Maya looked up.

Something in her expression shifted. Most adults responded to those words by explaining why she needed help anyway. Samantha did not.

She picked up an empty chair and sat on the opposite side of the table.

Without another word, she chose one of the unused wooden sticks, a sheet of blue paper, and a pair of scissors.

Maya watched her.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a flag.”

“That’s my job.”

“There are three towers.”

Maya glanced toward the cardboard castle near the center of the room.

“Four.”

Samantha followed her gaze. Someone had added another tower since she last looked.

“Then I’ll make one of four flags.”

Maya returned to her silver paper.

For a while, they worked without speaking.

Samantha cut a triangle from the blue sheet. It leaned slightly to one side, but she decided it was close enough. Maya studied it from across the table.

“That’s crooked.”

Samantha examined it.

“I was hoping no one would notice.”

“Everyone will notice.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Maya reached across the table, took the triangle, and trimmed one edge with two careful cuts.

“There.”

Samantha held it up.

“Much better.”

“You cut too fast.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Maya returned the flag to her.

They continued working together. Maya never asked for assistance, but she gradually began pushing materials toward Samantha whenever she wanted something done—a marker, a ribbon, a fresh sheet of paper.

After several minutes, she looked up again.

“What’s your name?”

“Samantha.”

Maya’s eyes moved briefly toward her badge, as though confirming that she had answered correctly.

“You’re Maya,” Samantha said.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been paying attention.”

Maya appeared to consider that answer.

Then, little by little, she began to talk.

The questions came slowly at first. What colors Samantha liked. What her favorite food was. Whether she had any pets. Samantha answered each one and occasionally asked something in return.

Maya’s replies were usually short, but they came more easily as the morning passed.

Their flags dried beside one another while the conversation moved from food to animals, then to which activities at Willow House were worth attending and which ones Maya considered boring.

By lunchtime, Samantha had learned that Maya had strong opinions about almost everything.

She simply did not share them with many people.

The rest of the day passed quickly.

Samantha helped clean brushes, carried finished artwork to a drying rack, opened bottles of glue, and settled several disagreements over materials. The braided bun remained in place despite paint, glitter, and the hands of children who still seemed to regard personal space as an adult invention.

By the time the last activity ended, parents had begun arriving.

Maya remained near Samantha while her mother spoke with Marianne by the reception desk. The woman wore medical scrubs and looked as though she had come directly from work.

Maya watched her mother for a moment, then turned back toward Samantha.

“Are you coming tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Maya smiled.

It was small and quickly hidden, but unmistakable.

Then her mother called her name.

Maya hurried toward the entrance without saying goodbye.

Samantha watched the doors close behind them.

“She likes you.”

Daphne stood near the corridor, holding a folder against her chest.

Samantha glanced toward the closed doors.

“I’m not sure she does.”

“I’m serious. She asked if you’d be here tomorrow.”

Daphne looked toward the activity room, where the volunteers were beginning to clean the remaining tables.

“Good work, Samantha.”

Samantha did not know what to say.

She only smiled.

The house was quiet when Samuel returned.

Lily’s car was gone, which gave him enough time to enter through the garage, reach his room, and close the door without rushing.

He removed the badge first.

Then the uniform.

The wig took longer.

He carefully removed the pins from the braided bun before loosening the braid from the bottom upward, making sure he did not pull too hard on the fibers. The brown elastic eventually came free around his fingers.

He placed it on the dresser while he brushed the wig and returned it to its stand.

Ten minutes later, Samantha had disappeared.

Samuel changed into a T-shirt and shorts, packed the uniform into its bag, and carried everything back to its hiding place.

By the time Lily came home, he was in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of water.

“Hey,” she said, dropping her keys beside the door.

“Hey.”

“How was your day?”

Samuel’s hand paused around the glass.

The question was ordinary. Lily asked it often enough that she probably did not expect an answer longer than one word.

“Fine.”

“Productive?”

“Something like that.”

She opened the refrigerator.

Samuel took his water upstairs before she could ask anything else.

Just as he was about to sit on the bed, Lily knocked on his bedroom door.

“Yeah?”

Lily stepped inside.

She was holding something between two fingers.

A plain brown hair elastic.

Samuel’s attention fixed on it immediately.

“Is this yours?” she asked.

He forced himself not to answer too quickly.

“No.”

“I found it on the floor beside your door.”

Samuel glanced toward his dresser.

He remembered placing the elastic there.

He did not remember what had happened to it afterward.

“Then it’s probably yours.”

Lily turned it between her fingers.

“I don’t use these.”

“Maybe Mom left it.”

“She’s been gone for weeks.”

“It could have been there.”

“In the middle of the floor?”

Samuel shrugged.

Lily’s gaze remained on him for one second longer than necessary.

Then she crossed the room and placed the elastic on the corner of his desk.

Samuel waited until she reached the door.

“Lily?”

She looked back.

“What?”

“Why did you bring it to me?”

Her expression did not change.

“It was outside your room.”

Then she left.

Samuel stared at the open doorway.

A moment later, he picked up the elastic.

It was identical to every other one in the package Jenna had given him. Finding it outside his room did not prove anything. There was no reason for Lily to think it meant more than that.

There was also no reason she should have carried it upstairs.

Samuel closed his bedroom door.

Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he locked it.