feeding kids.”
“What do you mean by feeding kids ?”
“Children who are on tubes to eat for a variety of different reasons. It is our job to figure out why, and to try and help them regain that ability—if they’re able.”
“I see. Sounds challenging.”
Truman laughed; it had a very rough edge.
“Yes, you have no idea. Many of the kids we get here are from terrible homes. Were never cared for, have attachment disorders. They come in unbathed. Many end up in foster care.”
Like me .
“Like your facility?”
“Yes.”
He led her out into the sun, thankful to leave the clinic.
The sun warmed his face, and the sounds of children’s laughter split his lips into a reluctant smile. His shoulders relaxed as he stared at the carnival.
The neighboring children’s home, one for girls, had brought a busload. Truman stared at the bright colors and ponytails trickling off the bus. It felt so foreign amidst his daily deluge of baseball bats, action figures and ultimate fighter re-enactments. Their house mother, Jo, led the way, as the girl’s followed in a queue, reminding him of ducklings.
Sophie, his favorite, waved vigorously from the back of the line. She charged over, breaking ranks. Jo rolled her eyes, but halted the procession.
“Where’s my booth?” she said excitedly.
“Go find Ram. It’s all set up.”
She turned to bolt, but he caught her shoulder. “Manners, Sophie.”
She gave Mrs. Simon a cursory glance. “Hello!” and took off.
Truman chuckled. “Sorry, she’s a little excitable.”
He watched Ram position her behind her booth.
A few of his little ones played tag in the mini-hay bale maze. Ram had gone all out this year, renting a proper carousel. The calliope music tinkled throughout the thoroughfare.
He led the way, walking Cruella past a massive pumpkin patch, where orange orbs of every shape and breadth littered the ground as numerous as the fall leaves.
Patrons arrived in droves now, and a man hoisted his wee girl onto a giant pumpkin, where her legs dangled in the air. Her mother snapped a perfectly-posed shot.
His gut pinched in a familiar emotion. Jealousy . Although he took joy in matching happy families, deep down, he envied them. All he’d ever wanted was normal. It was his way of coping; to heal these children by giving them what he’d never had.
“What is that contraption?” Mrs. Simon asked, pointing at a tall, wooden tower.
“That is in case of emergency, for the corn maze.”
He spoke quickly in response to her concerned look. “In three years, we haven’t had a problem yet.”
Fall chrysanthemums in shades of orange, yellow and deepest maroon sat upon hay bales throughout the yard.
They arrived at the hot and cold cider shanty. “This is David and Ethan, our high-schoolers. They only have one more year with us.”
“Good day, boys.”
“David is going on to trade school, and Ethan…isn’t sure yet. He’s considering staying on with us as a hand.”
Truman shuffled her past the row of kiosks, often reaching over to steady her as her stilettos rolled over a rock.
The next shanty had glow-sticks for sale, manned by waifish Sophie. She gave Mrs. Simon what Truman recognized as her most-winning smile. Sophie was determined to be an actress. “Good day, Mum,” she said, in a spot-on imitation of Truman’s Scottish accent.
Ms. Simon laughed delightedly, her eyes flicking to Truman’s. “Why child, that is excellent.”
“Sophie will be doing the costumed story-telling tonight in the barn, by candlelight. It’s one of our biggest sellers for the festival.”
As they turned to go, he shot her a wink. She really was his favorite. Such a corker .
Passing the pumpkin pie booth, they reached the barn which bordered the cornfield.
“Inside, we have the horses, and I’ll be doing a hay-ride later, and of course the maze-which is a huge undertaking for two of us. In the winter, we also do sleigh rides. I bought a buggy
“What do you mean by feeding kids ?”
“Children who are on tubes to eat for a variety of different reasons. It is our job to figure out why, and to try and help them regain that ability—if they’re able.”
“I see. Sounds challenging.”
Truman laughed; it had a very rough edge.
“Yes, you have no idea. Many of the kids we get here are from terrible homes. Were never cared for, have attachment disorders. They come in unbathed. Many end up in foster care.”
Like me .
“Like your facility?”
“Yes.”
He led her out into the sun, thankful to leave the clinic.
The sun warmed his face, and the sounds of children’s laughter split his lips into a reluctant smile. His shoulders relaxed as he stared at the carnival.
The neighboring children’s home, one for girls, had brought a busload. Truman stared at the bright colors and ponytails trickling off the bus. It felt so foreign amidst his daily deluge of baseball bats, action figures and ultimate fighter re-enactments. Their house mother, Jo, led the way, as the girl’s followed in a queue, reminding him of ducklings.
Sophie, his favorite, waved vigorously from the back of the line. She charged over, breaking ranks. Jo rolled her eyes, but halted the procession.
“Where’s my booth?” she said excitedly.
“Go find Ram. It’s all set up.”
She turned to bolt, but he caught her shoulder. “Manners, Sophie.”
She gave Mrs. Simon a cursory glance. “Hello!” and took off.
Truman chuckled. “Sorry, she’s a little excitable.”
He watched Ram position her behind her booth.
A few of his little ones played tag in the mini-hay bale maze. Ram had gone all out this year, renting a proper carousel. The calliope music tinkled throughout the thoroughfare.
He led the way, walking Cruella past a massive pumpkin patch, where orange orbs of every shape and breadth littered the ground as numerous as the fall leaves.
Patrons arrived in droves now, and a man hoisted his wee girl onto a giant pumpkin, where her legs dangled in the air. Her mother snapped a perfectly-posed shot.
His gut pinched in a familiar emotion. Jealousy . Although he took joy in matching happy families, deep down, he envied them. All he’d ever wanted was normal. It was his way of coping; to heal these children by giving them what he’d never had.
“What is that contraption?” Mrs. Simon asked, pointing at a tall, wooden tower.
“That is in case of emergency, for the corn maze.”
He spoke quickly in response to her concerned look. “In three years, we haven’t had a problem yet.”
Fall chrysanthemums in shades of orange, yellow and deepest maroon sat upon hay bales throughout the yard.
They arrived at the hot and cold cider shanty. “This is David and Ethan, our high-schoolers. They only have one more year with us.”
“Good day, boys.”
“David is going on to trade school, and Ethan…isn’t sure yet. He’s considering staying on with us as a hand.”
Truman shuffled her past the row of kiosks, often reaching over to steady her as her stilettos rolled over a rock.
The next shanty had glow-sticks for sale, manned by waifish Sophie. She gave Mrs. Simon what Truman recognized as her most-winning smile. Sophie was determined to be an actress. “Good day, Mum,” she said, in a spot-on imitation of Truman’s Scottish accent.
Ms. Simon laughed delightedly, her eyes flicking to Truman’s. “Why child, that is excellent.”
“Sophie will be doing the costumed story-telling tonight in the barn, by candlelight. It’s one of our biggest sellers for the festival.”
As they turned to go, he shot her a wink. She really was his favorite. Such a corker .
Passing the pumpkin pie booth, they reached the barn which bordered the cornfield.
“Inside, we have the horses, and I’ll be doing a hay-ride later, and of course the maze-which is a huge undertaking for two of us. In the winter, we also do sleigh rides. I bought a buggy
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