Little Boy Lost

by J.D. Trafford

barely touched the ground. Her name was Tanisha Walker. “How old are you?” I asked. She sat up a little straighter. “Eight and a half.” “Got a daughter about that age, little older.” I leaned over and picked up the jar,

Yv

nothin’ ’cept sitting there, and so she—” I held up my hand, cutting off the nervous ramble. “Maybe.” I put the jar back down on my desk. “Guess that depends on what you plan on doing with the money.”