Page 73 of When Wildflowers Bloom

My hand is on the windows on the outside.

I smack it. Twice. Three times. More.

Huck’s hand presses against mine on the opposite side of the glass.

“I’ll come get you!” I shout.

I keep running; he keeps crying.

“Huck wants to live with Birdie!”

She drives faster.

I slow down.

They’re gone.

I stop.

I stare down the empty street.

Bo scoops me up and takes me home.

Twenty-eight

“Sharon gave me thecontact information for his new foster parents, they’re only on the other side of town.”

My eyes lift to where Bo is leaning against the kitchen counter writing on a piece of paper.

I nod, quietly, before looking back to my now cold scrambled eggs. My mind is stuck on one thought: Huck is gone.

Gone to people who don’t know how to make him meatballs or ask him questions. Gone to people who might not own Connect 4.

“Hey.” Bo’s voice is low; he’s next to me, lifting my chin with his knuckles until my eyes meet his. “It’s going to be okay.”

Again, I nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

He reaches across the counter and pulls the pen and piece of paper he’d been writing on closer to him.

He clicks the pen repeatedly.

“Okay, what else? I wrote down the information Sharon gave me.”

Slumped on my stool in an oversized T-shirt, sweatpants, and hair I can see sticking into my peripheral vision like I’ve been electrocuted, I shrug.

He clicks the pen again, eying me. “Okay,” he says, dragging the word out and rolling a toothpick across the length of his mouth. “If I was in your situation, what would you tell me to do?”

Elbows on the counter, I prop my chin in my hands and look at him again. “I’d tell you to make sure you have everything filled out right for the adoption paperwork.”

He smiles, nods, and writes it down. “What else?”

“I’d tell you to go to the gym and eat good food because your nervous system will handle the stress of the situation better if you take care of your body.”

He snorts a laugh, keeping his eyes glued to the paper, writing.

“What else?”

I tilt my head and look at him. Bo in my kitchen, dressed in his same clothes from last night with tousled hair, helping me manage my life. “I’d thank the man who carried me home and helped me write a list on how to keep my shit together.”

---