Dreamland: A Novel by Nicholas Sparks Page B

there’s a big show-and-tell.”
    Beverly dimly remembered such days when she’d been in elementary school: There were races and games and prizes, and the fire department brought a truck, and parent volunteers brought cookies and cupcakes and other snacks. She recalled that her mom had shown up for one of them, but for whatever reason she’d been asked to leave, and Beverly could remember how she’d stomped off, shouting at everyone.
    “When is field day?”
    “I’m not sure exactly. But it’s this week for sure.”
    “You’ll have fun. I used to love field day, because it meant Icould play with my friends all day long. But as for bringing the tadpoles, I suppose we could put them in a jar, but I don’t know how long they can live that way, especially if they’re in the sun for hours. I’d hate for something bad to happen to them.”
    For a long moment, he was quiet. He let the tadpole go and scratched at his cheek with a dirty finger. “I miss my old room.”
    Whoever had slept in his current bedroom obviously wasn’t a child. The closet and chest of drawers were still full of clothing for an adult, and the bed was oversized. There were paintings, not posters, on the walls.
    “I know you do,” she said. “It’s hard moving to a new place.”
    “Why couldn’t I bring more of my toys?”
    Because I couldn’t carry them. Because people at the bus station would have remembered. Because running meant we had to travel light.
    “We just couldn’t.”
    “When can I see Brady and Derek again?”
    They were his best friends, also left behind. She smiled at the irony. When she was little, there were kids in her class with exactly the same names.
    “We’ll see,” she said. “Probably not for a while, though.”
    He nodded, then bent lower, looking for tadpoles again. Barefoot, with his pants rolled, he struck her as a throwback to a different generation. She prayed he wouldn’t ask about his father, but he seemed to know that it wouldn’t be a good idea. There were, after all, still bruises on his arm from the last time Gary had grabbed him.
    “It’s different here,” he finally said. “I can see the moon through my window at night.”
    Because it was more than he generally volunteered, she couldn’t help but smile again.
    “I used to read you Goodnight Moon. When you were little.”
    He knitted his small brow. “Is that the one with the cow jumping over the moon?”
    “That’s it.”
    He nodded again, then went back to searching. Caught one, let it go. Caught another and then let it go, as well. Watching him, Beverly was suffused with love, glad she had risked everything in order to keep him safe.
    After all, Tommie’s father was, on average days, a very angry, dangerous man.
    But now, with his wife and child gone, he was likely even worse.

The rest of the afternoon was quiet. Tommie watched cartoons, and Beverly examined the paint cans stacked near the washer and dryer before locating not only a can of primer but at least half a can of yellow paint called Summer Daisy, which might not be the exact tint she would have chosen but was a thousand times better than god-awful orange. There was a beige she might be able to use in the living room, even if it was a bit bland, and an almost full can of glossy white for the kitchen cupboards. Kind of mind-boggling to find so much paint, but in a good way, like the house had been waiting all along for her and Tommie to claim it.
    She took a closer look, too, at the paintbrushes and rollers. On closer inspection, they were obviously used but looked clean enough to suffice. And unless she wanted to make a trip to the hardware store and spend money she didn’t have, they would have to do.
    She brought everything she thought she’d need to the kitchen before starting dinner. Tonight would be chicken, boiled carrots,beans. She added extra carrots to Tommie’s plate, but when he didn’t finish them, she reached over, eating them one by one. Though Tommie