I was lying beside him in the top bunk, scratching his bony back as I tucked him in on a warm summer night. The school year was looming just ahead, but we weren’t talking about that yet. For now, we were still savoring the lavish gift of summer. Soon we’d trade flip flops for tennis shoes and swimsuits for school bags. We’d embrace reading minutes and math homework and lunch packing, but in that quiet moment on the top bunk, I longed to know if the school-free months we’d shared had been all my seven-year-old had hoped they would be. It had …
