Page 72 of When Wildflowers Bloom

I look up at them, still clutching him against my chest. “See! Hewantsto live with me. Doesn’t that count for something?” My voice cracks like a dropped piece of pottery.

“It just doesn’t work that way,” Sharon says softly, hand on my arm.

I snatch it away, jerking to a stand. “Well, it should!” I shout, not caring how crazy I sound or how my words might come back to bite me later.

“Miss, I understand that th—”

“You understand?” I scoff, interrupting her. “Tell me, what does Huck like to talk about?” I demand.

Her eyes widen.

“What color foods does he like?”

She opens her mouth, like she wants to say something, but I don’t give her enough time.

“How do the kids treat him at school? What textures does he like? What’s his favorite board game?” I pepper her with questions she can’t answer all the while Huck’s hand is tightly squeezing in my own.

She stares at me like I have three heads, but I don’t care. She doesn’t know him; how dare she think she knows what’s best for him.

“I understand you’re upset, but unfortunately that’s not the way it works.” She’s almost sad as she says it.

Before I can argue, I hear Bo’s voice. “Birdie?” He jogs up next to us. “What’s going on—hey, Huck.”

Then everything happens like I’m watching it through a rain-covered windshield.

Miss Alice explains everything to him.

Bo’s arms are around me, so tight I can’t breathe.

Huck doesn’t stop screaming my name.

Not as they drag him down the sidewalk.

Not as they force him into the car.

Not as I shout:it’s going to be okay!

The social worker says something about the new foster parents.

I tell her to go to hell.

Bo gets an address of someone—I don’t know who, all I can hear is Huck’s screaming. My screaming.

They close the car doors.

Huck’s yells are muffled, not muted.

The social worker starts driving.

I slip out of Bo’s arms at a sprint.

“Birdie, stop!”

I don’t listen—I run.

She’s going slow.

I catch them.

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