PROLOGUE
Becca, age 5
“You’re gonna be in trou-bbble,” my foster sister, Anna, sneers as she draws out the two-syllable word. “Mrs. Talbot says you’re too old to still be wetting the bed.”
“I’m cleaning up my mess,” I mutter.
It’s not like I do it on purpose! I can’t help it; the kid doctor that my case worker took me to see said my bladder was hyper or something. I didn’t really understand what he meant, but he told my case worker that sometimes, because of it, I might wet the bed. I know Mrs. Talbot knows, too, because she told me when I first came to live here that as long as I stripped my bed when it happened and washed the sheets, it would be okay.
So, to hear Anna tell me that Mrs. Talbot thinks I’m too old for it to still be happening has me scared that I’ll be moved someplace else. I don’t want to leave. I’ve got my first ever friend, and she says that she’s going to ask her mommy if I can spend the night at her house and meet her chicken, Bonnie! I really want to do that, and if I have to move, I won’t be able to go.
Carrying everything downstairs, I pass through the kitchen to the laundry room, not missing Mrs. Talbot’s sigh as she follows behind me to add the soap into the washer. I can put the sheets inside, but she doesn’t want me to use the chemicals since I’m just a kid.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to hold back my tears. “I know I’m too old for this to keep happening.”
“Child, this isn’t something you can help,” she gently chides. “We do everything that the doctor said to do, but even doing that, it’s still going to occasionally happen. Now, go on up and take a quick bath so you can get ready for school.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Now I’m even more confused because why would Anna tell me Mrs. Talbot was upset when she was just so nice to me? She’s nicer than my Aunt Alice was, which is why I’m in foster care. Once upon a time, I had a mommy and a daddy, but they went to Heaven, and I went to live with my aunt. But she wasn’t always nice to me, she would leave for a date and forget I was there, sometimes for days at a time. The last time she did that, the lady in the office of the apartment we lived at, came in and saw me there without anything to eat, and she called the police. I mean, there was food, but I couldn’t cook it, and I had eaten what was left of the cereal two days before the lady came.
I think Anna’s just being mean to me because she’s older and doesn’t like it that I live here now. Before I came, she had the bedroom all to herself, but now that I’m here, she has to share. Shrugging, I gather my school clothes then head into the bathroom to get cleaned up. I probably won’t have time for breakfast this morning, but when this happens, Mrs. Talbotalways gives me some toast at least to ‘tide me over until lunch’ as she says.
“Today, boys and girls, we’re going to talk about what the month of November means,” Miss Anne, our teacher, says. “Does anyone know what holiday comes this month?”
My friend, Mina, raises her hand. When Miss Anne nods at her to answer, she says, “Thanksgiving! My grammy and my mommy will cook lots of yummy food, while me and Ruby help by setting the table. Then all of my Papa Rebel’s brothers will come over and eat with us.”
“Very good, Mina. Thanksgiving is on the fourth Thursday of November every single year, and it became a national holiday back in 1863 due to a proclamation from President Abraham Lincoln,” Miss Anne states.
“What’s a proclamation?” Benjy asks.
“It’s a public or official announcement,” Miss Anne replies. “Now, does your family have any traditions, which are things you’ve done as long as you can remember, for Thanksgiving? Like, maybe you go visit your grandparents in another state? Or you watch the parade on television while everything is cooking?”
I ponder what Miss Anne is asking. I came to Mrs. Talbot’s house over the summer, and before that, my aunt didn't do anything special for holidays. And I was too young to remember if my parents did anything to celebrate Thanksgiving. The only reason I’m in kindergarten this year is because Mrs. Talbot worked with me to make sure I knew my letters, numbers, andcolors. Apparently, I was ‘way behind’ or something, but since I’ve started school, I’ve found I really like it a lot. Plus, I have a friend now, something I never had before. Mina often shares her cookies with me during snack time, while I share the vegetables and dip that Mrs. Talbot sends with me.
It’s not that she doesn’t give me cookies sometimes, too, but I was so skinny when I first went to live with her that she and the kid doctor came up with a way for me to safely gain weight. When I get home from school, I have a small snack, then we eat dinner, then I have another one that usually involves cookies and milk before I go to bed at night. At least my tummy doesn’t hurt when I go to sleep now.
Mina raises her hand again. “Yes, Mina?” Miss Anne questions.
“Papa Rebel is in a motorcycle club and he and his brothers make boxes with stuff for other people to fix their dinner,” she says, grinning. “Me and Ruby get to help, too! We put in the potatoes, and the yams, and cans of stuff.”
“That sounds like a wonderful project and I’m sure the people who receive those boxes are grateful,” Miss Anne replies. “Anyone else?”
Benjy calls out, “I help my mommy make her cimmonin rolls.”
Everyone giggles because he said it wrong, while Miss Anne responds, “That’s wonderful, Benjy, and I bet thosecinnamonrolls taste wonderful.”
“That’s what I said, Miss Anne. Cimmonin.”
“Alright, class,” Miss Anne states as she claps her hands, which lets us know to quiet down so she can talk. “What we’re going to do today is start putting feathers on our turkeys that I’ve drawnfor each one of you. I’m going to have everyone give me a word that means Thanksgiving to you, write it on the board, then you can copy them onto your feathers. We’ll do one feather a day, until your turkey is fully dressed.”
Shrugging, I wait for her to pass out the turkeys, not knowing what I can put on a feather. About the only thing I’m thankful for is that I don’t go to bed hungry anymore. Oh, and I’m not dirty. That’s important too. I smile thinking of the good smelling bubbles that Mrs. Talbot adds to my bath water.
“How was school, Becca?’ Mrs. Talbot asks as I get into her van. She picks all of us up after school, so we don’t have to ride the bus.
“Okay,” I reply just as Anna pinches my side.
Mrs. Talbot must have seen her because her voice changes as she says, “Anna! That was uncalled for.”
