Gossamer by Lois Lowry

happened less and less often. And not that night, the night he broke John's arm, the night she called the cops, the night she said "no more."
    "Coming for coffee?" The school nurse leaned through the door and pointed to her watch. Break time.
    She smiled and nodded. "Just typing in my boy's records. He's starting third grade. Look!" She pointed proudly to the computer screen, to the name "JOHN."
    The woman came closer and bent down to look. "I didn't know you had a son. Is this his picture?" She picked up a small framed photograph from the desk and smiled at the little boy in a baseball uniform.
    "Yes. He's eight."

    "Was he here last year?"
    She shook her head. "No. We moved over the summer."
    "He your only one?"
    She nodded.
    "Hard," the nurse said, "with you working. What's he been doing all summer? Camp?"
    "No. He's been visiting someone." She darkened the computer screen and they started down the hall toward the teachers' lounge where they all had coffee together on the midmorning break.
    "A grandma? My kids go to their grandmother's."
    "John doesn't have a real grandmother. They're both dead. But this woman's like a grandmother—a fake one, I guess..."
    "A surrogate grandmother," the nurse said, smiling. "Lucky kid."
    "Yes. And he's going to keep staying with her for a while. She'll bring him to school each day."
    The guidance counselor held the door to the teachers' lounge open for them.
    "I still have to get my act together. I had a whole lot of problems. I've had sort of a tough time since I got divorced."
    The guidance counselor, overhearing the comment, said with a grin, "Haven't we all!"
    Tears, suddenly, came to the young woman's eyes. Embarrassed, she brought her hand to her face, but it didn't help; she couldn't hold the tears back. "Oh!" she said. "I'm sorry!"

    The fifth grade teacher, looking up from the table where he was going through a stack of papers, noticed her, stood, and came forward. "What's wrong?" he asked.
    Stupid broad. Crying.
    She cringed. Apologized. Hid her face.
    One by one, though, they hugged her.
    John's mother took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. "Sorry!" she said. "I don't know what came over me!" She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and reached for the coffee mug that had her name magic-markered onto it. Each time she entered this room, she felt as if she had found a home.
    ***
    "And my mom will be there? You're sure?"
    "Right there in the office, at her desk. We'll stop in to see her before we go to the classroom. Remember the office where I took you to visit last week?"
    He nodded and adjusted the belt that held up his jeans. "You think my mom is pretty?" he asked.

    "I do."
    "She's like a movie star."
    "Yes, I could see how beautiful she is. And I could see how much she loves you."
    "My dad really loves her a lot. The only reason he went to California was because he got a really good job there. He's like a millionaire almost. He's going to buy us a really good car, not junky like yours. He's maybe buying a Ferrari."
    "That would be exciting. Is everything stowed in your backpack?"
    He nodded. "Yeah. Where's my jacket?"
    "Right here." She handed it to him. "What's this in the pocket?"
    "My lucky shell."
    He showed her, and the woman turned it over in her hands. She recognized the small pink seashell that had been on the table beside his bed. It curved into itself, with a deep coral color at its center. "It's so lovely," she said.
    "Yeah. Me and my mom were at the beach. We picked up shells. She kept one but hers was kind of broken. This one was the best. This is my favorite. It's a lucky one."
    "It's very fragile, John. Breakable. You've done a great job of taking care of it so far. But I'd hate for it to get broken. Do you think it's a good idea, taking it to school?" She gave it back to him.

    "I need it for luck."
    She nodded. "Would you trust me to take care of it during the day? I could keep it safe for you here. You know you'll be coming back here to sleep for a