She set the dishes down slowly. There, tucked behind the large decorative planter near the coat check, practically invisible to the stream of elegant guests walking past him, was a little boy.
He couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, with blonde hair stuck to his tear wet face, wearing a small navy blazer that was clearly meant for a fancy evening out.
His shoes were expensive. His eyes were devastated. Crystal knelt down immediately. Hey, hey, hey, look at me, sweetheart.
I see you. What’s your name? The boy sniffled hard. Noah. Okay, Noah. My name’s Crystal.
Are you lost, baby? He nodded so hard it was almost painful to watch. Then the words came tumbling out the way only a frightened child’s words can.
Half sentence, half sobb, all truth. We were sitting at the table, me and daddy, and daddy said tonight was special because he never takes me with him to his work dinners.
He’s always too busy, but tonight he said yes, and I was so happy. He stopped to drag in a shaky breath.
And then his phone went off. The really loud one, the one he always answers.
Crystal’s chest tightened. Then what happened, sweetheart? His face went. It went scared. Like really scared.
