Page 40 of Stolen Dreams

No matter how busy life gets, my family gets together once a week. Although we see or speak with each other during the week, our family dinners are the one guaranteed time we have to catch up and strengthen our kinship. Most happen on Friday, but we switch them if too many conflicts pop up.

“I’ll be there,Anaana. What can I bring?”

“Just that beautiful smile.”

I pull into a parking space marked for takeout. “I’ll be there.Nalligivagit, Anaana.” I love you, Mom.

“Nalligivagit, panik.” I love you, daughter.

When the call disconnects, I cut the engine and head inside to pick up my order. Bag in hand, I’m behind the wheel a moment later and driving to the Imala estate.

Music plays in the background as my tires eat up the miles. As the second song ends, I turn onto a road bearing our family’s surname. Each of the Stone Bay founding families has a vast estate with a private road marked with their name. The only difference between the Imala estate and those of the other founders… the homes on our property.

Most of the founding families have grandiose mansions and a small home or two for guests. On the Imala estate, we havea larger house—four bedrooms and bathrooms—for the two eldest generations of the Imala and Stonewater. On the rest of the estate, we have smaller, quaint homes for the younger generations and guests. Our homes are modern, simple, and minimalistic. They provide shelter, warmth, and safety. As children, anytime my brothers or I would complain about not havingthings, an elder would tell us that beautiful trinkets will come and go, it’s the things we need most that remain.

We live by those wise words.

I park in the garage, grab my dinner and bag from the back, and head inside. Setting my food on the kitchen counter, I go to my bedroom and change into sweatpants and a loose-fitting T-shirt.

From the fridge, I grab the wine and pour myself a small glass. Take a sip, carry my dinner to the living room, and plop down on the couch. With a heavy sigh, I sink into the cushions. Let my muscles relax for the first time since early this morning. Close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and center myself.

I love my job. I love how rewarding it is to work with children and give them a safe space in a harsh world. But I also love coming home to an empty house and not having to attend to anyone other than myself.

Pulling the take-out box from the bag, I open the lid and stare down at the grilled shrimp and avocado salad. And without fail, I smile.

Because it makes me think of him—Ray—and how he’s bookmarked my favorite foods.

And after a long day, there’s no better way for it to end.

ELEVEN

RAY

“Fantastic work, everyone.”I applaud at the front of the room. Fin and André on either side of me join my praise of the kids, clapping. “Thanks for hanging in there as we mastered theboringstuff this week.”

Smiles light up several faces as laughter floats throughout the room. Their exhilaration palpable as I scan the tables.

“Next week, the real fun begins… with breakfast foods.”

A few of the younger kids wiggle in their seats while others do fist pumps and whisper-hiss, “Yes!” When their excitement tapers, I continue.

“Before we go today, I have homework for you.” I hold up a hand to cut off grumbles and comments. “You’ll like this assignment. Promise.”

André and Fin pass out homework sheets. Briefly, my gaze pauses on Kaya, a shy smile on her lips. The corner of my mouth twitches a beat before I move past her.

“Between now and the start of dessert week”—murmurs filter through the room at the mention of dessert—“I want you to think about your favorite dishes or a family meal you really love. Write them on the paper as they come to you. Put as many as you want on the page.” I hold up a copy and tap it. “The hard part ofthis homework is at the start of week six.” Somber smile on my face, I add, “You’ll have to choose the one you love most. Then we’ll put them to a vote. The most popular dish will be made by me for everyone to enjoy.”

Oohsfollowed by mumbled, animated words echo around us.

“Everyone’s dish will get made and shared for the group to enjoy. They may not taste as good as the version you love, but we’ll do our best. Any questions before lunch?”

Several hands go up and we answer each question, be it silly or serious, as lunch is brought in from the main restaurant. Once we’ve responded to everyone, André, Fin, and I take a seat at different tables with the kids and enjoy lunch.

I squeeze in a chair beside Tucker’s and give him a tight side hug. “What’d you think of week one, bud?”

Tucker slurps a fettuccine noodle between his lips, alfredo sauce coating his mouth and splattering his face. Not that he cares. “Was good. Kind of boring, but okay.”

Twirling pasta around my fork, I pierce a blistered tomato, grilled mushroom, and chunk of lobster. “Glad it was only kind of boring,” I tease and then pop the bite in my mouth.

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