Second Chance - 04 - Broken Wings by Terri Blackstock

Author:Terri Blackstock [Blackstock, Terri]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780310871576
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 2011-04-17T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

The youth center was abuzz with excitement Saturday, because the mural the kids had been working on was finished and they were about to begin a new one. Twenty kids showed up, including Jason Hammon, whom Erin had persuaded to attend, and each was clamoring to make the first mark on the new wall. The new mural would be a tribute to the nearby airport. Several of the kids had suggested the idea because of the number of airline employees who had volunteered their time and support to help get Shreveport kids off the streets. Madeline and Sam, also regular volunteers, were there to help. Sam, as usual, had a cluster of boys around him. She was grateful that he gave of his time, because he was a wonderful witness to kids who needed someone to look up to.

He sang “Ba-ba-ba, Ba-ba-ber Ann,” as he shook up the cans of paint, and Madeline sang right along with him—as some of the kids did.

His silliness boosted the spirits of everyone, but Erin couldn’t pump hers to the point of the others’. She knelt on the floor, preparing drop cloths, charcoal, and paints, while the kids studied the sketches she’d done and argued over which parts they’d paint. Jason hung back quietly from the rest, still not ready to take part in the light bantering that went on among the kids. He saw them all as T.J.s, she realized, as threats to his name and his memories…as enemies to be reckoned with. What he didn’t know was that few of these kids knew who his father had been, and most of them hadn’t been around for the fight with T.J. Erin looked up at him, offered a smile, then glanced toward the glass doors, wondering when Addison would arrive.

“I get to do the 747,” Zeke shouted above the din, pointing at the largest plane in the sketches. “It’s bigger, and it’ll take a lot more talent. See, I been thinkin’ about sorta showin’ the inside, like cuttin’ it in half or somethin’…”

“That’s an L-1011,” Jason cut in, his voice toneless, standing back with his hands buried in his denim pockets.

“What is?” Zeke asked, pivoting toward the nine-year-old and squinting his eyes in a way that might seem threatening to someone who didn’t know better.

Jason’s shoulders squared. “It’s not a 747,” he repeated. “It’s a Lockheed 1011.”

“So who made you an authority?” another kid asked.

Jason lifted his shoulder with feigned indifference. “I know airplanes.”

Zeke regarded Erin, still kneeling on the floor. “Hey, Erin. Tell this kid that this is a 747.”

Erin couldn’t help smiling. “He’s right, Zeke. It’s an L-1011. And if I were you, I’d listen to this kid, because he does know airplanes.”

Zeke assessed Jason curiously. “Well, it’s still mine,” he said after a moment. “Just because you know what it is, don’t mean you get to paint it.”

Jason shrugged again, the gesture as close as he could venture to revealing his feelings. “That’s okay. I didn’t want it. I want that one there.

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