Firefly Island (19 page)

Nick pulled away from me, his fingers slipping through mine, sweaty and sticky, so small. I wanted to hold on, to keep him close, to keep him away. He was gone in an instant, tucking himself into the space beside the little girl. She patted him gently on the back, smiling. If he noticed the bedraggled ponytails or ragged sundress, it didn't show. He smiled back. To him, every person he crossed paths with was a potential friend. I wished I could be as open as he was.

He didn't even look back when the kids hopped to their feet and lined up to follow Keren through the iron gates into a wide courtyard between the antique mall and the little
bookstore. I walked through the gate behind the kids, already forgotten. Where a few minutes ago I'd been worrying about Nick's social skills, now his fluid friend-making hurt my feelings. He'd already left me for another girl. One closer to his own size.

Tears prickled, and I blinked hard. On some level, I knew I was having more of a reaction than made sense. Of course little kids liked other little kids. Getting all weepy about it was completely irrational. This morning's conversation with Trudy came to mind, though I'd been trying to block it out. Could all of this be some sort of hormonal insanity?

It was way too much to think about, and anyway, I was sure everything was okay . . . I was . . . pretty sure . . . wasn't I? Of course. Of course I was. My stomach had been solid as a rock—no sign of anything like morning sickness. In my family, morning sickness was legendary, so common that anytime one of my sisters mentioned stomach upset, my mother practically started knitting booties.

Once inside the garden, the kids took their plastic baskets and began carefully measuring and picking green beans, just as Keren had shown them. A bean-based disagreement erupted not far from me, and since Keren and her teenage helpers were otherwise occupied, I felt compelled to referee. Before I knew it, I'd been drawn completely into the wonder of watching kids harvest something they'd grown from seed. Keren's gardening program wasn't just a teaching tool, it was a tiny miracle.

In the sunlight and shadows of what could have just as easily been a forgotten space, I discovered something about those kids I'd earlier been judging based on their clothes, their hair, their grooming. They were beautiful—as beautiful as Nick, as much fun to spend time with, as filled with curiosity and a desire to see the wonder in everything around them.
Unlike Nick, so many of them were desperate for attention, hungry for hugs, anxious to hold hands, thrilled to have an adult to spend time with. It was, I realized, impossible not to feel good in the presence of these kids, not to feel good
about
them, not to want good for them.

A little boy named Sergio and I were soon fast friends. Sergio wasn't one of the kids in the name-brand clothes and expensive shoes. He wore jeans that were an inch too short, suede cowboy boots scuffed clean through on the toes, and a Vacation Bible School T-shirt he must have inherited from someone else, because according to the date, it was three years older than he was. He wanted me to come to his house and meet his grandma, who I gathered was raising him.

“Her's comin' pretty soon sometime,” he said, after he'd asked whose mom I was, and I'd pointed out Nick. “My mama. The police gotted her. Sissy goed to her daddy house. She comin' for my birt-day, maybe tomorrow.”

A lump rose in my throat. I pretended to be busy looking for beans on the climbers up high. I could feel the questions in those brown eyes as they watched me. I didn't have any answers. I didn't know what to say. “When is your birthday, Sergio?” I asked to shift the subject a bit. I picked a bean up high and dropped it into Sergio's little red basket. He smiled at it, and then at me.

“I dunno.”

“Are you five?” I was guessing. Sergio seemed a bit older than Nick.

Sergio set down the basket and held up six fingers.

“Oh . . .” All I could think was that someone who's still counting on stubby little fingers shouldn't know about jail, sisters who have to go live with their fathers, and birthdays that come and go with promises unfulfilled. “That's really big.” But in reality, he was so small. So very, very small.

“You come to my house!” he offered again, his sweet little mouth lifting into a smile. “You come . . . and you boy.” He pointed at Nick, who was busy washing beans with Birdie, the two of them squatted down by the water pail, carefully scrubbing off the dirt. Birdie showed Nick how to open the pod. Clearly Nick had never seen the inside of a bean before.

Keren passed by and leaned over to explain the contents to them, then took Nick to a table by the wall, where bean plants were growing in Dixie cups all lined up in a row, names written on in magic marker.

“Sergio, did you grow a bean plant in one of those cups over there?” I asked, and Sergio couldn't wait to show me what he'd created all by himself.

With a little help from God.

Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a kindness.

—Seneca
(Left by a busload of ministry students taking rice and beans to Mexico)

T
hroughout the morning in the garden, Sergio held fast to my hand, looking expectantly up at me. After a while, I had inherited another little fan. Sierra, a sandy-haired fourth-grader who was one of the older kids in the group. She let me know that she was writing a book, and I would now be in it. I told her I'd just discovered the joy of keeping a blog, so the two of us had something in common.

Somewhere in the conversation, I also concluded that, like Sergio, Sierra came from a family with issues. She had always lived in the country, but right now she was staying in town with someone she called “the foster lady.” I gathered that this was not the first time Sierra had experienced a foster stay. She wanted to make sure I knew that none of that was her mother's fault. “Them stupid deputies come and got us,” she informed me flatly. “My mama tried to get us away. We got in the car and drove off down to the river bottom, but they found us anyhow. Jerks.” But she didn't say
jerks
. She used an off-color anatomy term that shouldn't be in any kid's vocabulary.

“I really don't like that word,” I choked out, mimicking my sister Carol, who could discipline her brood without ever raising her voice. “It's not a good word, especially for a
smart
girl to use. Smart girls don't need to say things like that.”

“'Kay.” Sierra shrugged as if she'd heard it all before. “You gonna go to the church with us after this and have green beans? The lady gives us sheets to color, and we see how to cook the food.” She stood on her toes, motioning for me to lean over so she could whisper in my ear. “They tell the little kids it's all stuff from the garden, but it ain't. There's too many of us for it all to come outta here.” Sierra rolled a surreptitious glance at Sergio, then smiled a private smile, as in,
These kids are so dumb, but I've got it all figured out.

I pretended to be surprised. “You're a smart cookie.”

Sierra quirked a brow at me. “You talk funny. Where you from?”

“Washington, DC. We moved here a little over a month and a half ago.”

Sergio grabbed my hand and tugged me sideways, trying to search under yet another bean plant that had already been plucked clean. “That your boy?” Sierra asked, giving Sergio a doubtful look. Sergio was dark eyed and dark skinned, probably Native American or Hispanic.

“No, that one over there.” I pointed to Nick, who was on the other side of the courtyard, happily planting his very own seeds in a cup with the Binding Through Books sisters, who'd apparently shown up to volunteer for the day. Nick had been carefully avoiding me all morning, afraid that I might say something objectionable, like,
It's time to go home.

Sierra smacked her lips apart, then motioned to Sergio again. “Oh . . . I thought maybe you took in kids, or somethin'. But that one over there looks like you.”

“Nick is my stepson.” I wasn't sure when I'd stop feeling
the need to explain that to people I'd just met. Mentions of family resemblance between Nick and me always brought an unwanted awkward feeling.

“Huh.” Sierra shrugged. “I had a stepdad one time, but he was a jerk. My mama had to get her a restrainin' order to keep him off us, but then we moved in with Lenny. Lenny keeps lotsa guns and stuff. But Lenny got us in trouble with the CPS, so there you go.” Flipping a hand in the air, she laughed a little.

I felt sick. I looked at Sierra, with her bright hazel eyes and long spindly legs that seemed to be already pressing into adulthood, and my throat burned. I thought about the things I knew at nine years old, about the world I lived in, about the words I understood.
What good are plants in a Dixie cup to her?
I thought.
What good is anything going to do?

Keren called for the kids to line up, and I was glad.

“Come up to the church with us.” Keren tapped my arm as she passed by. Watching her lead the crew through the gate and up the sidewalk, her voice a happy sing-song as she called out gardening vocabulary words, I couldn't help wondering how she could do this every day. Didn't these kids' stories, their words, their faces, their needs overwhelm her?

We arrived at Lakeshore Community Church sweaty, sticky, and tired. The cool air inside the meeting hall beside the old chapel felt like heaven. I held my hair off my neck and stood under a vent as the kids jostled for seats at folding tables. My Binding Through Books friends, Alice, Paula, and Cindy, and several grandmotherly-looking church volunteers helped the kids settle in. Then an elderly woman everyone called
Mama B
stood in the church kitchen behind the pass-through counter and began introducing the art of snapping beans.

Keren wandered back and forth behind the children, keeping them quiet and directing them as they began snapping
their little bean piles. I wondered again at her thoughts. One thing I had learned in DC was that passions—good and bad—came from somewhere. Where did the passions of this enigmatic young woman come from? What brought her here every day to work with kids who had such an uphill battle ahead of them? She couldn't have been more than a year or two out of college. The slight uptilt in her voice when she finished sentences made her seem more like one of the teenage helpers than a teacher in charge of a class.

She stopped beside me after lunch was finished and the kids were busy coloring the recipe sheet. A wink and a smile made me feel like we were old friends. “Well, I think the day was a success for Nick,” she observed.

“He had such a good time. Thanks for letting him come. We both enjoyed it, actually. Now I'll know what to do with the beans I bought at Walmart yesterday. I've never actually seen a green bean in the wild before.”

Keren chuckled. “Well, one thing girls do learn in my family is how to cook. I can't remember one single day growing up that wasn't full of pots, pans, and dirty plates.” Bracing her hands on her back, she stretched, for the first time seeming fatigued by all the morning's activities. “I used to dream about things like corn dogs and frozen pizza.”

“Now, that I can do. You need to know how to cook frozen pizza or whip up a box of macaroni and cheese, I'm your girl. I did do all right on the peach pies, though, thanks to you. They're a little lopsided, but they look pretty good. There are more peaches on the tree, if you can use some.”

She nodded, pausing as one of the kids brought a coloring project for her to see. After admiring the work and making a few suggestions, she grabbed chairs for the two of us, and we sat down by the wall. “I might have to take you up on that. James gets pretty burned out on eating the leftovers
his mama sends home from lunch. He works for his folks in the dairy barns, so his mama takes care of the midday meal. There's usually something in the fridge when I get home at night. James has lost ten pounds in the two years since we got married, though.” She paused again to admire student artwork. “I think my mother-in-law is afraid I'm trying to starve her boy to death, but really, James wants to drop some weight. It'll all be easier once we've got our own place.” With a self-conscious glance at me, she added, “Not that James's parents aren't great and everything. They've been so good to us.”

“That's all right, I get it.” I nudged her with my elbow, which wasn't the sort of thing I normally would do. It was easy to be comfortable with Keren. “When things were looking a little iffy with the job here, my mother said we could move into her rumpus room. But as you can see, we're still in Texas.”

Keren's wide smile dotted her cheeks with dimples. We chatted until it was time to take the kids outside to play in the park behind the church. After that, they would be loaded onto the bus, which would take them back to the school. From there, some would go home with parents, some would walk to a couple of foster homes nearby, and some would be ferried home on a summer school bus route.

Keren and I sat on a picnic table in the shade while the kids enjoyed the last few minutes of their day. Al pulled into the parking lot and honked, then came down the hill wagging a small paper bag in my direction. “There you are. Feedstore got your fox urine in.”

“Well, there's a sentence you don't hear every day.” I laughed. I'd been blogging about the squirrels in the attic for a while now. Al had suggested the fox-based brew as a guaranteed deterrent. Despite the inherent gross-out factor,
I was willing to try almost anything. The happy sound of squirrels partying in the attic at all hours gets old eventually.

Keren cast a quizzical look as Al took the bottle from the sack and tried to hand it to me. “Here's your Foxy Moxy.”

I pulled my hands away. “I'm not touching that stuff. Seriously. Yuck. I'll make Daniel do it.”

“Don't be such a
girl
.” Al set the sack by my feet.

“I have my limits. They go right up to fox urine, and then stop.”

Al scoffed, and the fox urine languished in the shade while the three of us watched the kids play. I couldn't wait to blog about Foxy Moxy and see what Josh, Kaylyn, and my sisters had to say about it. None of them would believe this one. Just a few months ago, I was working on The Hill, contributing in my small way to legislation that would affect millions of people, and now . . . fox urine. I'd have to take a photo of the bottle before Daniel opened it. I'd be happy to go my whole life and not know what the contents actually smelled like.

For the first time that day, Nick sought me out. His face gleamed with anticipation as he ran across the playground. He arrived at the picnic table out of breath, and presented me with a dandelion.

“It's a wing!” Nick pointed to the stem, which had been woven into a circle to form a ring. “Miss Alice and me maked it.” He pointed to Alice Steele, who'd been stationed by the lakeshore along with Paula and Cindy to keep kids away from the water. “It's for my mommy!”

An unexpected burst of emotions pushed tears into my eyes. “It's beautiful. Thanks, Nick.” Holding the tiny, fragile token in the palm of my hand, I touched the flower petals and felt everything else fall away. It didn't matter that there were squirrels in the attic, or that I'd lost Nick for almost
three hours the day before, or that Daniel and I were still in a fight. For an instant, there was only Nick and me and that ring—a wild, growing thing that had sprouted in glorious color all on its own, developing unseen and almost unnoticed as the world passed by. Like the love I felt for Nick. For this boy. This son of mine.

“Put it on you finger. It's for my
mommy
,” Nick said again, as if he wanted to make sure I knew.

Slipping the ring into place, I leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “I love it. I love it so much, Nick. More than anything,” I whispered the words into the sweaty scents of dirt and green things, leftover shampoo and childhood.
I love you more than anything
was on the tip of my tongue, but before I could get it out, Nick was already gone, off to join the other kids again. Watching him skitter away, I felt the process of loving and parting and holding on and letting go that would be our future together, his and mine. In that moment, I understood so much about my mother that I never had before. I knew why she'd had such a hard time releasing me into the world. Allowing the last little bird to fly the nest. No wonder I had to travel to the other side of the globe to finally break free.

I felt the hot-cold moisture of a tear on my cheek, saw it fall past the dandelion ring and land on my knee.

“Geez, if it's that big a deal to you, I'll climb up in your attic and put the Foxy Moxy out myself. Don't cry about it,” Al joked. Both she and Keren laughed, and I sniffle-laughed along.

“Wow, I wasn't ready for that,” I admitted, swallowing hard and wiping my eyes. “That's the first time he's called me
mommy
, just on his own like that.”

“Smart kid,” Al assessed flatly.

Keren laid a hand on my back and rubbed gently, and
suddenly I felt as if there were no better place in the world to be than here. The conversation between us stilled, but the silence felt comfortable, relaxed. We sat side by side on the picnic table, enjoying the view and the kids' antics. My little friend, Sierra, had elected herself director of a freeze tag game. Confidently standing on one of the cement picnic benches, she barked out instructions, while Cindy, Alice, and Paula lined up the kids.

“She'll be president of the United States one of these days,” Keren commented, then drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, her shoulders rising and then falling. “If she can just get past where she comes from.”

“Well, this summer program is a start.” Al's gaze scanned the group. “The more you can get these kids out of Chinquapin Peaks and show them a bigger world, the better. If they don't ever see a normal life, they'll never know how to make one. But it's got to be long-term and consistent—that's what the school board needs to understand. Spending a bunch of money to bring in some pro athlete to speak or some actor in to talk to them is great, but there has to be regular follow-up. The research conclusively proves that fact every time. It might look to the school board like we're just growing beans here, but the truth is that we're growing kids.”