Chapter 1
I was pouring coffee in our little Chicago diner when a ragged little boy asked to buy a pie, and my boss shoved him onto the floor. Then he pulled out a gold locket that made her face go white.
It was just after lunch when the boy pushed open the glass door.
He looked about seven.
His sneakers were split at the toes.
His T-shirt hung off one shoulder.
But his eyes stayed locked on the pie case.
“Ma’am,” he said softly, “how much is one meat pie?”
My boss, Donna, looked him up and down.
“This isn’t a shelter.”
The whole diner got quiet.
The boy swallowed.
“I have three dollars.”
Donna laughed in his face.
“One pie is twelve.”
He held out the crumpled bills with both hands.
“Could you give me the small one?”
Donna smacked the money back at his chest.
“Get out before you scare my customers.”
A woman near the window frowned.
“He’s just hungry.”
Donna snapped, “Then you feed him.”
The boy didn’t move.
He kept staring at the pies like he was trying not to cry.
“Please,” he whispered. “My mom hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”
Donna’s expression hardened.
“So now you’re begging?”
He shook his head fast.
“No, ma’am.”
Then his stomach growled loud enough for everyone to hear.
A few customers looked away.
My hands tightened around the coffee pot.
The boy took one tiny step toward the counter.
Donna stormed around it.
“I said get out!”
She shoved him with both hands.
He fell hard against a chair, then hit the floor.
Gasps filled the room.
The boy cried out and grabbed his elbow.
“Please don’t push me.”
Donna pointed at the door.
“Trash belongs outside.”
That word lit the whole diner on fire.
A man at the counter stood up.
“Lady, that’s a kid.”
But before anyone could reach him, the boy pulled something from inside his shirt.
It was a thin gold chain.
At the end was a round locket.
His hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped it.
“I can give you this,” he said.
Donna rolled her eyes.
“I don’t want your junk.”
He opened the locket anyway.
“There’s a picture inside.”
Donna glanced down.
Then she froze.
Inside the locket was a tiny photo of the boy as a baby in a young woman’s arms.
The color drained from Donna’s face so fast I nearly dropped the pot.
Her lips parted.
May you like
She grabbed the counter to steady herself.
The boy looked up at her and said, “My mom told me to trade this only if we were starving... and she said if anyone recognized her face, I had to run.”
