Rose asks as we step into our new home.Svetlana, our new foster mother, laughs good-naturedly as she closes the door on the social worker who had delivered us. Svetlana is a very pretty brunette I guess to be somewhere in her early thirties. She has a thick foreign accent with hair and makeup that are perfectly applied. Her bright green eyes pop out from behind the right amount of eyeliner and mascara. She wears light blue capris and a white sweater that reminds me of old housewives in the 1950s. Although her husband is not home when we arrive, I get the feeling Svetlana could have been some kind of mail order bride to some rich old guy.The spacious house our foster parents own sits high on a hill overlooking the ocean and is not far from the beach where the stolen cash remains safely locked away. From the front entrance you can see all the way across the clean and neat house to the other side, which is completely covered in glass windows overlooking the beach. The open layout reveals in one glance the best of everything; stainless steel appliances, plush leather couches, a huge flat screen television and ornate area rugs over marble floors.
