Page 8 of Stolen Dreams

“At home or not?”

“Sometimes at home. Sometimes I didn’t see her for two days.”

My stomach cramps as my skin heats with anger. Quietly as possible, I inhale for a count of three and exhale just as long, trying to remain calm. It takes quite a bit to light a fire in my veins. In most cases, it’s when a child is mistreated by an adult.

“Is it better with your dad?”Please say yes.

“I guess.” He sniffles as a forlorn look consumes his expression. “He works a bunch.”

“When you’re not at school and your dad has to work, what do you do?”Please tell me you’re not home alone for several hours. The last thing Tucker needs is to go from one irresponsible parent to another.

A hint of his sadness is replaced with reverence. “I stay with Grandma Angel, Papa RJ, GG Grace, or Auntie Abi.”

“GG?”

“She’s my great-grandma.”

As part of the Seven—the Stone Bay registered founding families—I am familiar with some of the more prominent families in town. Although the Calhouns aren’t part of the Seven, they have made a name for themselves over the years. They’vealso become good at keeping tidbits about their family—Tucker and his mother—out of the limelight.

I knowofthe Calhouns, but I don’t know them.

“Well, I’m glad you have people who love you here,” I say with heartfelt honesty.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I don’t know your dad, but I bet he works hard so you can have everything you need.” I reach out and touch his shoulder again. “It’s okay to tell him what you want.” My hand falls back into my lap. “Some parents don’t realize they’re not giving you what you need. Lots of kids want toys and other fun stuff. But some kids want a day with their mom or dad. Both are okay to ask for.”

His chin wobbles. “What if he says no?”

My heart squeezes at his question. “What if he says yes?” I counter.

Tucker turns in his seat and looks up at me, his hazel eyes glassy but brighter. “I like you, Miss Kaya.”

“I like you, too, Tucker.”

His entire face scrunches to the middle. “What about Kenny and the other mean kids?”

After hearing of this group of cruel fourth graders, I plan to have a conversation with the staff. Obviously, we can’t be in all places at all times, but it is our job to make sure situations such as this don’t fester and become worse. Left unchecked, kids like Kenny eventually switch from using words to hurt others to inflicting physical harm with their fists.

I refuse to let that happen on my watch.

“Although it’s hard, you have to ignore his mean words. Especially the bad ones.” I rise from my seat and move around my desk. “Most bullies have their own sadness. To keep their hurt hidden, they pick on other people. They pass it on so no one sees their pain.” I open one of my desk drawers and sift throughthe small open box inside. “Do you have a favorite thing to do? Or a favorite color?”

“I like it when I get to help my dad cook. He got me a bright-red apron with my name on the front.”

“Red like this?” I hold up a small piece of tumbled garnet.

Tucker shakes his head.

I riffle through the box again and stop on a Matchbox fire truck with a moving ladder on top. Scooping it up, I show it to Tucker. “How about fire-truck red?”

“Whoa!” He wiggles out of his chair and pins himself to the front of my desk, his eyes the brightest I’ve seen them since he entered my office. “I love fire trucks.”

Closing the drawer, I move back to the other side of the desk. “Fire trucks are pretty cool. But this one”—I hold it between us in my open palm—“is special.”

“It is?”

“Yes. It was made just for you.”

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