“Would you like more?” Ingrid said, reaching for his nearly empty plate. He glanced at her, nodded. “Thanks, Aunt Ingrid.” That sounded weird. But what else was he supposed to call her? Mom? He did remind her, in a way, of her sons. Although taller than her boys, he had their athletic build. Wide shoulders; lean, strong frame. He wore a thin black Nike sweatshirt over loose-fitting jeans, and she recognized in his face traces of her beautiful sister —the high cheekbones, the dark-blond hair, the green eyes. The look of nonchalance. Like nothing mattered —he could shrug off the world or own it with a smile. She doubted she’d see any hint of a smile soon, however. He’d arrived glum and uncaring as the social worker showed them where to sign the legal custody papers, then notarized them. “It’s just a short-term guardianship,” she’d explained. “You can transfer it when Matthew gets back from his deployment.” “Or I turn seventeen and join the military,” Romeo said as he dumped his backpack and floppy green duffel bag in the hallway.
