A Wish for the Season
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Linda Goodnight
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Prologue
The worst was happening again. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Collin Grace was only ten years old but he’d seen it all and then some. One thing he’d seen too much of was social workers. He hated them. The sweet-talking women with their briefcases and straight skirts and fancy fingernails. They always meant trouble.
Arms stiff, he stood in front of the school counselor’s desk and stared at the office wall. His insides shook so hard he thought he might puke. But he wouldn’t ask to be excused. No way he’d let them know how scared he was. Wouldn’t do no good anyhow.
Betrayal, painful as a stick in the eye, settled low in his belly. He had thought Mr. James liked him, but the counselor had called the social worker.
Didn’t matter. Collin wasn’t going to cry. Not like his brother Drew. Stupid kid was fighting and kicking and screaming like he could stop what was happening.
“Now, Drew.” The social worker tried to soothe the wild brother. Tried to brush his too-long, dark hair out of his furious blue eyes. Drew snarled like a wounded wolf. “Settle down. Everything will be all right.”
That was a lie. And all three of the brothers knew it. Nothing was ever all right. They’d leave this school and go into foster care again. New people to live with, new school, new town, all of them strange and unfriendly. They’d be cleaned up and fattened up, but after a few months Mama would get them back. Then they’d be living under bridges or with some drugged-out old guy who liked to party with Mama. Then she’d disappear. Collin would take charge. Things would be better for a while. The whole mess would start all over again.
People should just leave them alone. He could take care of his brothers.
Drew howled again and slammed his seven-year-old fist into the social worker. “I hate you. Leave me alone!”
He broke for the door.
Collin bit the inside of his lip. Drew hadn’t figured out yet that he couldn’t escape.
A ruckus broke out. The athletic counselor grabbed Drew and held him down in a chair even though he bucked and spat and growled like a mad tomcat. Drew was a wiry little twerp; Collin gave him credit for that. And he had guts. For what good it would do him, he might as well save his energy. Grown-ups would win. They always did.
People passed the partially open office door and peered around the edge, curious about all the commotion. Collin tried to pretend he couldn’t see them, couldn’t hear them. But he could.
“Poor little things,” one of the teachers murmured. “Living in a burned-out trailer all by themselves. No wonder they’re filthy.”
Collin swallowed the cry of humiliation rising up in his stomach like the bad oranges he’d eaten from the convenience-store trash. He did the best he could to keep Drew and Ian clean and fed. It wasn’t easy without water or electricity. He’d tried washing them off in the restroom before school, but he guessed he hadn’t done too good a job.
“Collin.” The fancy-looking social worker had a hand on her stomach where Drew had punched her. “You’ve been through this before. You know it’s for the best. Why don’t you help me get your brothers in the car?”
Collin didn’t look at her. Instead he focused on his brothers, sick that he couldn’t help them. Sick with dread. Who knew what would happen this time? Somehow he had to find a way to keep them all together. That was the important thing. Together, they could survive.
Ian, only four, looked so little sitting in a big brown plastic chair against the wall. His scrawny legs stuck straight out and the oversize tennis shoes threatened to fall off. No shoestrings. They stunk, too. Collin could smell them clean over here.
Like Collin, baby Ian didn’t say a word; he didn’t fight. He just cried. Silent, broken tears streamed down his cheeks and left tracks like a bicycle through mud. Clad in a plaid flannel shirt with only two buttons and a pair of Drew’s tattered jeans pulled together at the belt loops with a piece of electrical cord, his skinny body trembled. Collin could hardly stand that.
They shouldn’t have come to school today; then none of this would have happened. But they were hungry and he was fresh out of places to look. School lunch was free, all you could eat.
Seething against an injustice he couldn’t name or defend against, he crossed the room to his brother. He didn’t say a word; just put his hand on Ian’s head. The little one, quivering like a scared puppy, relaxed the tiniest bit. He looked up, eyes saying he trusted his big brother to take care of everything the way he always did.
Collin hoped he could.
The social worker knelt in front of Ian and took his hand. “I know you’re scared, honey, but you’re going to be fine. You’ll have plenty to eat and a nice, safe place to sleep.” She tapped his tennis shoes. “And a new pair of shoes, just your size. Things will be better, I promise.”
Ian sniffed and dragged a buttonless sleeve across his nose. When he looked at her, he had hope in his eyes. Poor little kid.
Collin ignored the hype. He’d heard it all before and it was a lie. Things were never better. Different, but not better.
The tall counselor, still holding Drew in the chair, slid to his knees just like the social worker and said, “Boys, sometimes life throws us a curveball. But no matter what happens, I want you to remember one thing. Jesus cares about you. If you let him, He’ll take care of you. No matter where you go from here, God will never walk off and leave you.”
A funny thing happened then. Drew sort of quieted down and looked as if he was listening. Ian was still sniffin’ and snubbin’, but watching Mr. James, too. None of them could imagine anybody who wouldn’t leave them at some point.
“Collin?” The counselor, who Collin used to like a lot, twisted around and stretched an open palm toward him. Collin wanted to take hold. But he couldn’t.
After a minute, Mr. James dropped his hand, laid it on Collin’s shoe. Something about that big, strong hand on his old tennis shoe bothered Collin. He didn’t know if he liked it or hated it.
The room got real quiet then. Too quiet. Mr. James bowed his bald head and whispered something. A prayer, Collin thought, though he didn’t know much about such things. He stared at the wall, trying hard not to listen. He didn’t dare hope, but the counselor’s words made him want to.
Then Mr. James reached into his pocket. Drew and Ian watched him, silent. Collin watched his brothers.
“I want you to have one of these,” the counselor said as he placed something in each of the younger boys’ hands. It looked like a fish on a tiny chain. “It’s a reminder of what I said, that God will watch over you.”
Collin’s curiosity made his palm itch to reach out, but he didn’t. Instead, Mr. James had to pry his fingers apart and slide the fish-shaped piece of metal into the hollow of his hand.
Much as he wanted to, Collin refused to look at it. Better to cut to the chase and quit all this hype. “Where are we going this time?”
His stupid voice shook. He clenched his fists to still the trembling. The metal fish, warm from Mr. James’s skin, bit into his flesh.
The pretty social worker looked up, startled that he’d spoken. Collin wondered if she could see the fury, red and hot, that pushed against the back of his eyes.
“We already have foster placements for Drew and Ian.”
But not for him. The anger turned to fear. “Together?”
As long as they were together, they’d be okay.
“No. I’m sorry. Not this time.”
He knew what she meant. He knew the system probably better than she did. Only certain people would take boys like Drew who expressed their anger. And nobody would take him. He was too old. People liked little and cute like Ian, not fighters, not runaways, not big boys with an attitude.
Panic shot through him, made his heart pound wildly. “They have to stay with me. Ian gets scared.”
The social worker rose and touched his shoulder. “He’ll be fine, Collin.”
Collin shrugged away to glare at the brown paneled wall behind the counselor’s desk. Helpless fury seethed inside him.
The worst had finally happened.
He and Drew and Ian were about to be separated.
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