His grandparents would tell him everything would be okay, but it wasn’t and it never would be okay. Ever.

His mom and dad and sisters were dead. And a policeman had killed them. He couldn’t let anyone hurt his grandparents.

Ricky didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to be scared, he wanted to be brave, but he feared those men. Here, he was safe. Here, he had a home and no one could hurt him.

When he’d hung up on his grandmother, Javier had asked, “Do you want to go home?”

He’d said no. He cried and went to bed. But today … today he was so sad and he didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly he needed air. He couldn’t breathe. Ricky dropped the tools and ran out. He sprinted to the small garden behind Javier’s house. They grew vegetables and had a chicken pen. It was Ricky’s job to feed the chickens and collect their eggs every morning. They all ran over to the edge of the pen and clucked at him, expecting more food.

Ricky sat on a stone bench and cried.

Javier’s old dog walked up and lay down at his feet with a tired sigh.

“I miss everyone, even Tori,” he said to the dog. “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing anymore.”

The dog didn’t say anything.

A good thirty minutes later Javier walked down the path, sat next to him, and handed him a bottle of water. Ricky drank it. Bottled water was precious. He’d taken it for granted at home, but here it was more valuable than anything.

“If we leave in the morning, we’ll be in San Antonio by dark.”

“N-no,” he said, his voice cracking.

“The authorities believe your parents left the country.”

“I know. I read the article.”

Javier had brought him a newspaper about how his mom stole a lot of money and disappeared. He knew it wasn’t true. Well, he didn’t know about the money. Listening to the men who took stuff from her den, maybe she did. Maybe that’s why she died. Maybe it was all her fault.

He grew hot, then immediately cold. How could he think that about his mom? She loved them. She would never want them to get hurt. It wasn’t her fault, it couldn’t be. And even if she did a bad thing, did they have to kill her?

“I’m scared,” Ricky whispered, feeling immensely guilty. He was worried about himself and not the men who killed his family.

“I know, son.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to make a decision now.”

Ricky said, “If I go back, they might hurt my grandparents.”

“You don’t know that.”

“If my mom did what they said she did, why did they kill everyone?”

“I don’t know, Ricky.”

“I want to stay.”