Mulberry Park. Judy Duarte

seat.

      “You know,” Hilda said, “that little boy is always here.”

      The elderly woman hadn’t needed to point out a child in particular. Maria knew she was referring to Trevor, who sat alone on the down side of a teeter-totter. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”

      He was quiet and tended to keep to himself, although every once in a while, Analisa or Danny managed to draw him out.

      Hilda clucked her tongue. “And he’s never supervised.”

      Maria thought he might be a latchkey kid, left on his own each day. “Some children aren’t fortunate enough to have parents who look out for them.”

      “Well, we don’t live in the same world as we used to, and there are wicked people who prey on little ones.”

      Maria found it impossible to argue with her logic or to defend the boy’s parents.

      They sat quietly for a while, lost in their own thoughts and worries. When Maria’s tummy growled, she glanced at her wristwatch, then at Hilda. “Maybe we ought to call the children and have them eat lunch.”

      “Good idea.”

      Maria took the kids to the restroom and helped them wash up. When they returned to the table, she passed out sandwiches and apple slices, but something kept her from joining Danny and Sara and opening the baggies that held her own meal.

      Her gaze drifted to Trevor, who remained seated on the teeter-totter. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a handful of something small and bite-size.

      A snack?

      Maybe.

      The baby moved about in her womb, and her stomach grumbled again. Her blood-sugar levels had been screwy lately, so she shouldn’t skip lunch, but she suspected that whatever had been in Trevor’s pocket had been his breakfast, too. So there was no way she’d eat in front of him. She’d just have to leave the park early. And next time, she’d make an extra sandwich—just in case.

      “Trevor,” she called to the boy. “If you like peanut butter and grape jelly, you can join us for lunch. I have plenty.”

      The boy’s eyes, as leery as a stray cat, studied her for a moment. A long moment. Then he slowly got up from the sloping wooden plank on which he’d been sitting and trudged to the table.

      Maria placed the food she’d packed for herself next to Danny. “I’m glad you’re going to join us for lunch.” She nodded toward the gray cinder-block structure that housed the bathrooms. “Why don’t you wash up first?”

      The boy glanced at his dirty palms, then turned over his hands and furrowed his brow as if he’d just noticed how grimy they were.

      As he headed for the restroom, Maria wondered what his story was. Yet even though she was curious about who was looking after him and tucking him in at night, she wouldn’t ask. After all, there wasn’t much she could do, other than offer him scraps of food. She was having a tough enough time looking after her own kids and certainly couldn’t afford to take in strays.

      Especially since she’d once been—and still felt like—one herself.

      After lunch, as Trevor sat in the swing, digging the toe of his tennis shoe into the sand, a shadow settled over him. He looked up and saw Analisa standing beside him.

      “Can I talk to you?” she asked. “We’re going to be leaving soon, and I need you to do something for me again.”

      “Climb the tree?” He couldn’t believe she was still leaving notes and pictures and stuff for God.

      She nodded, then pulled out a folded envelope from her pocket. “I wrote another one last night.”

      “Why do you keep doing that? He hasn’t been answering you.”

      “He did once. You saw it. And the letters we leave are always gone the next day.”

      “Anyone could’ve taken them.”

      Analisa crossed her arms. “God took them. And He’ll answer every single one of them when He has time.”

      How was Trevor going to get it through her head that this was a waste of time? God didn’t answer prayers. Trevor knew that; he’d prayed a ton of times and nothing had happened.

      She stood there, that dumb letter in her hand.

      Trevor should have told her no, but he took the note instead. “I’ll stick it in the tree, but I hope you’re not expecting an answer.”

      “God’s just very busy, that’s all. How would you like to be in charge of the whole wide world?”

      “If He’s that busy, why bother Him?”

      “You can’t bother God, Trevor.”

      The dumb little girl had an answer for everything.

      “I’ll prove it to you,” she added. “What do you want? I’ll ask Him to give it to you.”

      Trevor, who’d learned to keep his troubles a secret, wouldn’t tell her what he really wanted. But there was something else he’d really like to have. It was a long walk to the park, and he’d asked his dad for a bike last Christmas.

      Absolutely not, his father had said. No bicycle. The way he’d said it made Trevor think no one but God could ever change his dad’s mind.

      Trevor got off the swing and took her challenge. “Okay. I’d like a bike. A red one.”

      Analisa grinned as though she and God were best friends. “Okay. Let’s pray.”

      “Here?” Trevor scanned the park. “Are you nuts? No way.”

      She reached out her hand. “It works best this way.”

      “What way?” He merely looked at her.

      “If we hold hands. A prayer works better when two or more people agree.”

      So much for the bike. Trevor wasn’t going to hold hands with a girl. And he wasn’t going to pray out loud in the park.

      “Don’t you want a bike?” she asked.

      “Not that bad.”

      Her arms were still crossed, and she shifted her weight to one foot like his mom used to do when Trevor did something to annoy her. “God doesn’t like it when people don’t believe in Him.”

      Trevor looked over his shoulder, but didn’t see anyone paying attention to him or to Analisa. “Okay, but let’s go behind the tree.”

      Analisa led him to the center of the park, and when he was sure they weren’t being watched, he let her take his hand.

      This was so dumb.

      She lowered her head and closed her eyes. “Dear God, please let Trevor have a bike. He needs to know that You love him and want him to have good things. Amen.”

      As Trevor started to pull his hand away, she held on tight. “You gotta say it, too.”

      “Say what?”

      “Amen. It’s like saying good-bye to God.”

      Oh, brother. “Amen. Okay?”

      Analisa grinned as though everything was wonderful now.

      Yeah. Right.

      As Trevor turned to walk away, he shook his head. If a new red bicycle magically appeared on his front porch, then maybe he’d have to change his mind about God.

      Of course, there were some things he needed a lot more than a bike.

      But God—if He was up there—already knew everything about that.

      And He hadn’t done anything about it.

      Chapter 5

      Even