Dylan threw his line back out again while Julie watched him, opting to take a break from her own fishing. For some reason, she felt an urge to get to know this kid. There was no reason to be scared of an eight-year-old.
“So, are you looking forward to going back to school after spring break?”
He shrugged his shoulders as he stared out over the water. “I guess so. I don't really like my school.”
“Really? I remember when I was your age, I loved school. They had this thing called Super Kid at my school.”
“What is Super Kid?”
“Every week, the teacher could nominate a student to be Super Kid. You got your name on the board in the hallway and this really big pin to wear on your shirt. And then you got to go to the principal’s office for a party where you got new pencils and candy.”
“We don't have that at my school. Besides, I don’t think I’d be nominated for Super Kid.”
“Why don't you like school?”
“People make fun of me.”
Her heart sank. Julie had never experienced bullying. She’d been lucky to be one of the popular kids for most of her school years. "Why do they make fun of you, Dylan?"
“Because I don't have any parents.”
“But you have your foster parents, right?”
He looked at her. “Those aren't real parents. Everybody knows that my mom didn't want me and my daddy died. They call me the poor kid.”
“That's wrong. Those aren’t very nice people.”
“They tell me that nobody really wants me and that my foster parents have me because they get money to keep me. But I think they might be right because I still don't have real parents. Nobody ever picks me.”
“Dylan, you're an amazing kid. You're funny and smart and I know the perfect parents are going to come along.”
“There are kids in my foster home who are almost teenagers. They told me that they never got picked. What if I never get picked?”
He stared at her with those big green eyes, and she didn't have an answer for him. She didn't understand his life. Thankfully, she had never experienced anything like that. Staring into his eyes, she felt ill equipped to reassure him or answer his questions.
“You can't give up. Remember quitters never win. God has the perfect parents in mind for you.”
“But he didn't have the perfect parents for those other kids?”
She wanted to cry. She wanted to run. She felt like the world’s worst adult for not having answers for this kid. “You know what, Dylan, life isn't fair. And I would be lying to you if I said I knew the right answer. Sometimes, things just stink. But, I do know that most of the time, things work out in the end.”
“I sure hope they work out for me one day. I want a real home with my own room. I'm tired of the kids saying mean things to me.”
“I’m sorry, Dylan. I'll say extra prayers for you to find a good home, okay?” Prayers were good, but were they enough for Dylan? Was it a cop out for her to offer to pray but do nothing else to help him?
“Mr. Dawson said the same thing. I hope those prayers work.” He reeled in his line again and set his pole beside him. “Sometimes, I miss my dad.”
She rubbed his little shoulder. “I’m sure you do. I lost my dad too, and it was very hard.”
He nodded. “He did some bad things, but he was my dad. One time, he made me blueberry pancakes and we ate them in bed. That was so fun.”
“Blueberry pancakes are my favorite.” She didn't know what to say. There was absolutely nothing she could say or do to make it better.
“I wish my dad had been like Mr. Dawson. He's so fun and goofy.” Dylan looked at her, a slight smile on his face.
“Yes, he is,” she said, smiling herself. “Goofy is a good word to describe him.”
“Are you his wife?”
She chuckled. “No, I’m not. We’re just really good friends.”
“Oh. I think he likes you a lot. He told me how nice you are and that he likes spending time with you.”
“He told me the same thing about you,” she said. Dylan grinned.
“He did?”
“He sure did. Dawson really thinks a lot of you, and he’s pretty smart. Definitely smarter than those mean kids at your school.”
Dylan nodded. “I think you’re nice.”
Julie smiled. “Thank you, Dylan. I think you’re very nice too. I’m glad I got to know you today.”
“Okay, let’s get back to fishing. You can’t quit. But this time, please don’t catch me instead of a fish!” He giggled and picked up his pole once again. As Julie watched him, she couldn’t understand why no one had picked Dylan to be their son, and she couldn’t imagine Dawson not becoming his father either.
Dixie stood in front of Harry with her hands on her hips. After explaining her plan to him, he still looked confused.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Dixie cackled with laughter. “Honey, I'm never sure anything I think up is a good idea but that hasn't stopped me from doing it.”
“What if you cause a whole ruckus?”
She waved her hand at him. “I don't mind causing a ruckus. Sometimes you have to shake things up a little!”
“And you're not going to tell anyone about this?”
She shook her head. “Not a soul. If I tell somebody, they'll try to talk me out of it, and I know I'm right about this.”
“Sugar, it seems a little bit pushy. Don't you think you should let people make decisions for themselves?”
She walked over and sat down beside him on the sofa, squeezing his leg. “People don't always know what's good for them.”
“You might ruin a friendship over this.”
“I don't think so. Look, I know I'm doing the right thing. Sometimes you just have to take the bull by the horns.”
He smiled and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. “Well, I fell in love with you because you're a spitfire, so I guess I shouldn't try to stop you now.”
She laughed. “It wouldn't do you any good anyway, sweetheart. You just be there to back me up, okay?”
“Always.”
SuAnn stood behind the counter in the bakery, staring out the plate glass window at the square beyond. Today, she was alone because Darcy had to take her baby to the doctor for a check up. She didn't mind being alone as it gave her some time to think.
Traffic in the bakery had been pretty slow today, and she was enjoying the downtime. After the couple of weeks of preparing for the pie bake off, she needed a break. Of course, she would've liked to have won the contest so that all that time was worth it.
Watching Henrietta Bankston win had made her sick to her stomach. That woman didn't deserve anything, and certainly not the title of best pie. She knew hers was better, but she didn't understand the politics of whatever was going on in the town.
“Welcome to Hotcakes,” she said as a man walked in. He was well-dressed, wearing a nice suit, and he certainly didn't look like he was interested in eating poundcake. “How can I help you?”