The Dallas Airport was a busy place at mid-afternoon. A lot of people going a lot of different places filled the metal and glass building. Blinking signs overhead tried to herd people where they wanted to go, but most were still extremely lost and panicked. The sound of plastic wheels rolling over marble echoed throughout the building, a steady, never-ending rhythm washing over loud conversations.
In the midst of the controlled chaos, Andrew's eyes rested on a little boy in the corner of a food court. He was no more than eight years old and bone-skinny, with a shock of white-blond hair atop his head. He looked frightened, lost, lonely. Somehow, Andrew was drawn to the child. He started walking towards the blond boy.
"Huck!" Andrew's dad called him. "Where're you going?"
Andrew pointed at the boy. "He's lost," he said plainly.
"Okay," Andrew's dad relented, following him. "We have an hour or so before your grandma picks us up. Let's help him find his parents."
They approached the boy at the food court and the boy's blue eyes widened with fear. "I don’t have no money," he said.
"Don't worry. We're here to help you," Andrew said. "My name is Andrew. What's your name?"
The boy visibly relaxed. "I'm Harris."
"Harris, where are your parents?" Andrew's father asked.
Harris's eyes fell and he stared at his feet. "My parents are dead," he muttered into his thin jacket.
Andrew placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said softly. "I lost my mom when I was five years old." That was five years ago.
"Who takes care of you now?" Andrew's dad asked, crouching to the boy's level.
A large man in red flannel sauntered towards them. "Harris! What did I say about running off like that?" he demanded.
"This is my uncle," Harris pointed.
"Hello, sir. My name is Richard," Andrew's dad greeted. "We were just trying to locate you."
"Thank you so much for finding my little rascal. I'm Tom," Harris's uncle said, shaking Andrew's dad's hand. "What are you doing in Dallas?"
"Business. And you?"
"Oh, we live in Dallas. We just came back from visiting my parents in Atlanta," Harris's uncle explained. "First time?"
"No, but it's Huck's first time," Andrew's dad said, patting him on the shoulder.
Andrew stared intently at Harris. Andrew's father noticed Andrew's unusual fixation on the boy. Andrew usually wasn't interested in other children. There was something special about the blond boy. Andrew could feel it. If only he had more time to figure out what that special thing was.
Andrew looked up at the man in flannel. Maybe there was. "Hey, it's my first night back. Want to have an early dinner?" Harris's uncle asked. Andrew smiled slightly, feeling proud of his handiwork.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Andrew's dad said. "Huck, do you want to hand out with Harris for a little bit more?"
Andrew fixed his gaze on the blond-haired boy. "Okay."
"It's a deal," Andrew's dad said. "Do you know a particular place…?" Andrew allowed the adult banter to fade into the background rhythm.
"How are you doing, Harris?"
Harris blinked at him. "I'm all right. The airplane made me sick."
Andrew reached for Harris's hand. "Here, I can fix that for you." Harris took his hand and Andrew concentrated. Harris gasped, letting go. His airsickness evaporated.
"How did you do that?"
Andrew winked. "Magic."
"Hey kids," Harris's uncle called. "If you don't catch up, we're going to leave you behind."
"Coming, Tom," Harris said. He grabbed Andrew's hand and they ran after the adults.
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