Free Three Little Words by Ashley Rhodes-Courter

Tampa, which is only a short drive from many Gulf of Mexico beaches, I had not been to the shore since the trip with Aunt Leanne in South Carolina.
    At the beach Mrs. Moss gave Toby and Mitchell, another of the foster boys, an inflatable shark. Almost immediately, Mitchell pulled it out from under Toby and a fight ensued. Mrs. Moss made the boys sit on their towels. I had a turn with the shark, but when everyone quarreled over who was next, Mrs. Moss stowed it away.
    Mandy and I headed for the wet sand closer to the water. I began filling a bucket and packing it, then turning it over to make towers of a castle. I showed her how to take a thin stream of sand and make squiggles to decorate the turrets. Just as I was scooping out the moat, Luke rushed past, kicking clouds of sand in his wake. I knew him well enough to anticipate what he was about to do. “Don’t you dare!” I shouted. With one long jump, my brother flattened our castle.
    A swell of anger rose from a black, dark space inside me. Luke was the problem all along! If it had not been for him, I would be with my mother! I clenched his arms tightly and shook him. “Don’t you ever touch anything of mine again!”
    One of the other foster parents broke us apart. “You’re with Marjorie Moss, right?” The woman marched us back to face her wrath.
    Instead of reprimanding us, Mrs. Moss acted concerned. “Look at you two! Why, your faces are red as beets. Let’s get you some cold drinks.” She handed us sodas from her cooler.
    “I don’t know where you get your patience,” the other parent said.
    “They’ve been separated and …” As she gestured, all her rings glinted in the sun. Then she whispered, “Grandfather … shot …”
    The other woman glanced at us as if we were interesting specimens. “I don’t know how you do it.”
    “All they need is love and attention,” Mrs. Moss said, “and I have plenty of both to go around.”
     

     
    My mother’s face followed me like a shadow. I mentally cataloged all the injustices in the Moss household—the vomiting episode, going hungry, the hot-sauce treatments—so I could inform her on my next visit. At the end of June, Mrs. Moss handed Luke and me two of our best outfits from the shed and told us that we were going downtown. I suspected that we would see our mother but that we weren’t being told in case she did not show. As we entered Miles Ferris’s office, Mrs. Moss promised, “If you’re good, we’ll get ice cream afterward.”
    During the meeting Luke kept kicking a desk, but I mouthed, Ice cream.
    “Can you bring them for a visit on July fifth?” Mr. Ferris asked. “Or do you need someone to transport?”
    “It’s no trouble for me,” Mrs. Moss said deferentially. “And don’t you think it would be wise if I stayed with them?”
    “That would be helpful,” the caseworker replied. “How are they adjusting?”
    “We’ve had our struggles, but they are settling down.” She lowered her voice. “I just hope this visit from M-O-M doesn’t rile them up.”
    “Your concern is a big plus for these children and the department,” he replied.
    Mom! Did Mrs. Moss really think I didn’t know such a simple word? I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be seeing Mama that day, but at least she was coming. I even forgot about the ice cream, which Mrs. Moss had only offered in front of the worker to make it seem like she was a good foster parent.
    There is one awful day with the Mosses that is most vivid in my mind. That afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Moss took several children to an appointment, leaving the rest of us with Melissa, who was either the wife or girlfriend of Ricky, one of Mrs. Moss’s sons. They lived in one of the trailers on the property. Melissa made us sandwiches. After lunch Mandy and I played one of my favorite games—tea party princesses—on the patio.
    “Would you care for an icing cake?” I handed Mandy the top of a Tupperware container laden with little stones and leaves