Christmas makes you feel like a child again, but not always in a good way. No matter what is happening in your life at that moment, that week, that year, how much progress or growth has been made or ground lost in your journey, you can easily find yourself thrust into your own personal time machine, where it can be difficult for your heart, mind, or spirit to tell exactly what time it actually is. “Who says you can’t go home again.” Charlotte sighed deeply. Her house wasn’t far but was a world away from the other side of town. The side where Petula, Scarlet, Damen, The Wendys, and most of the other kids at Hawthorne lived. The simple wood-sided Cape Cod house was pleasant enough, if in need of a renovation. It was designated a group home, which she never understood, since she was the only kid living there, along with Gladys, her foster mom. The neighborhood was run-down and had been for years. It sat inconspicuously behind a strip mall, the smell of the Dumpsters from the few shops that remained open wafting through the neighborhood and making it a must to avoid.
