Mulberry Park. Judy Duarte

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      A kid at the park once told him that he was lucky, but that wasn’t true. Trevor was probably the unluckiest kid in the whole world.

      As he approached the weeded area near Paddy’s Pub, his stomach rumbled in spite of the peanut butter sandwich he’d eaten today, so he considered taking the shortcut home.

      “If you go to the park,” Katie always told him before she left for work each day, “you can only stay for an hour. And be careful when you walk. Stay on the sidewalk and don’t cut through that vacant field.”

      Trevor didn’t always listen to Katie, though.

      As he took the path that wound through the empty lot, a noise buzzed in his ears. Some kind of insects, he suspected, but they had a scary, snakelike sound, and it was hard to tell for sure.

      The weeds had grown really high, so he couldn’t see anything to the right or left of him. For that reason, he stayed on the dirt walkway. Rattlers were deadly, but even pet snakes in an aquarium-like cage scared him.

      Once, when Trevor first moved to this side of town, he’d asked a younger kid if they ever spotted rattlesnakes in the area.

      “No,” the kid had said. “But you gotta be careful of the cobras ’cause they’ll spit in your eye.”

      Trevor knew cobras didn’t live in California, so he figured the kid was just dumb.

      Still, he watched his step and listened for a rattling sound. He was more than halfway across now, so he kept walking, scanning the field ahead and feeling like Dorothy and her friends in Oz as they chanted, “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.”

      There wasn’t much Trevor was scared of, so he didn’t like the feeling now. Didn’t like the pounding of his heart, the sweaty prickle that skittered down his spine.

      Off to the right, something red and black and shiny lay almost hidden. He stood at a crossroads, tempted to trek through the knee-high brush and check it out, yet wanting to remain where there were definitely no snakes.

      It could be junk.

      But what if it wasn’t?

      He stepped off the path and spotted more and more red. It looked like a…

      It was. A skateboard.

      How did it get way out here? Had someone thrown it away? Or maybe hidden it for some reason?

      He picked it up and turned it over, studying it carefully. The scarred wood base was kind of dirty and banged up a bit. But not that much.

      Josh Ryder, his friend from the old neighborhood, was really into skateboarding and had everything that went with it—the gear, the clothes.

      Trevor placed his hand on the wheels and made each one spin. The trucks, the part of the board that the wheels were connected to, seemed a little loose. But at least it worked.

      Cool.

      For a moment, he wondered if his dad would approve of him having a skateboard. Probably. It wasn’t as big as a bike.

      Ooh. Wow. That was weird.

      Thoughts of the brand-new bicycle he’d always wanted made him remember the prayer he and Analisa had shared earlier today.

      Well, this definitely wasn’t a bike.

      But it was red and had wheels. It was also kind of magical how it had just appeared on the very same day they’d asked for a bike.

      Maybe God didn’t like crossing parents. Maybe He wouldn’t give a kid something a kid wasn’t allowed to ride. Maybe He’d decided to give Trevor something his dad would approve of instead.

      How cool was that?

      Trevor would take the skateboard home and hide it under the bed until it was safe to bring it out. And then he’d take it to the park each day and practice until he learned how to ride it like the guys in the skateboard magazines at the grocery store.

      A grin tugged at his lips. This was the best thing that had happened to him in a long, long time.

      Maybe God was looking out for him after all.

      On Wednesday morning, after his appointment with Doc Eldridge and a stop at the drugstore to fill a new prescription to control his cholesterol, Walter drove to the park. Along the way, he passed a kid trying to ride a skateboard while keeping one foot practically tethered to the ground.

      No, not just any kid. The kid. The one who hung out at the park.

      Maybe someone had gotten him a birthday gift or something. That was nice, although Walter hoped the youngster didn’t break his neck.

      What was he doing? He shouldn’t be riding along the sidewalk on a busy street. Not until he learned how to balance on the blasted thing.

      For a moment, Walter thought about pulling over and talking to the boy, but he made it a point not to stick his nose in other folks’ business.

      Besides, what did he know about kids? His own stepsons had pretty much disowned him, and he couldn’t say as he blamed them.

      He pulled into the parking lot, next to the car Hilda and Analisa were climbing out of. His lips twisted in a crooked grin at the thought of the blond pixie writing letters to God.

      It was kind of cute, if you asked him.

      “Good morning.” His voice held a friendly tone and boomed as though he was outgoing and had a habit of greeting everyone he ran into. In reality, Walter had always been shy—except when he drank.

      Funny thing, though. The other day, after talking to Claire, who hadn’t shined him on like most people did, his confidence level had risen.

      “Good morning,” Hilda said.

      “Ought to be a nice day,” he added.

      She glanced around, as if she hadn’t realized the sky was such a pretty shade of blue and the ocean breeze would make it pleasant today.

      The sun glistened off strands of silver and platinum in her hair. She’d be an attractive woman if she smiled more. But then again, maybe—like him—she didn’t have much to be happy about these days.

      “I asked God to find you a friend,” the little girl told him. “One who knows how to play chest.”

      “You did?” The fact she’d mispronounced the name of the game didn’t faze him, and he’d be darned if he’d correct her. He supposed he ought to thank her. As far as he knew, nobody had ever prayed on his behalf before. Except maybe Margie when she’d been alive. “I appreciate that, young lady.”

      “You’re welcome.” She blessed him with a grin that turned his heart to mush, then looked at her nanny. “Can I run ahead to the playground? Please?”

      “Sure. Go ahead. But don’t you try to jump out of the swing. If something happens and you get hurt, your uncle will tell us we can’t come back to the park.”

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