I'll Stand by You by Sharon Sala

really Coach Sharp’s boy? And Buckley’s? And the Rankin twins?”
    He nodded.
    Her eyes widened, stunned that “good boys” would do something so awful.
    “Someone said they kicked him. Is that true? Is he hurt bad?”
    Johnny sighed. He hated repeating this over and over, but better the truth from him than gossip on the streets.
    “Yes, it’s true. The truth is they hurt him bad. His nose and a couple of ribs are broken. His mouth is swollen. They loosened some of his teeth, blacked his eyes, and he has deep contusions on his back and leg.”
    The horror of what he was saying shocked her to tears.
    “Oh my Lord! Why, Johnny, why?”
    A muscle jerked at the side of Johnny’s eye.
    “Because his last name is Pine. Because I cut gum out of his hair, and they decided he had ringworm. Because they’re mean, entitled little bastards who believe they are better because of who they are and where they live. I’ll be back in a little while to get the medicine.”
    He walked out with his head up, grateful for the rain that hid his tears.
    By that night, Blessings was in an uproar. There was a contingent of residents who were horrified that four decent boys from good families had been taken to the police station and booked like common criminals all because of a little fight with one of those Pines.
    And then there were the others who were horrified that one small boy was brutally beaten by a gang of boys, all older and bigger than him, regardless of his name. There hadn’t been an acrimonious division like this among the residents since the day Georgia seceded from the Union and went to war against the United States of America.
    * * *
    Unaware of the growing turmoil in town, Dori was washing dishes and listening to her little boy’s babbling as he whacked a teething biscuit into crumbs against the tray of his high chair.
    Meeker was in the living room, watching television. Every now and then he would rub his chest and burp. Something he’d eaten didn’t agree with him. He yawned and stretched and burped again.
    “Damn chili,” he muttered and got up, heading for the kitchen to get some antacid tablets.
    Dori smiled when she saw him walk in.
    “Hi, Granddaddy. Do you want something cold to drink?”
    “No, honey, I’m fine. That chili I ate is barking at me. I just need some antacid.”
    She frowned. “The chili was fine. It was all those pickled jalapeño slices you put on it that’s making your belly hurt.”
    He grinned. “You sound just like your Grandma Caroline,” he said as he dug through the cabinet for the medicine, then popped a couple of chewable tablets in his mouth.
    Luther pointed at the bottle and squealed.
    Meeker laughed. “This isn’t candy, boy! You stick to your cookie…or what’s left of it.”
    Dori eyed the crumbs, both on the tray and the floor, then rolled her eyes at the wads of crumbs between Luther’s fat little fingers.
    “You are a mess, Luther Joe. I think it’s time you get a bath and get in bed.”
    Meeker eyed his granddaughter, judging the slight slump in her shoulders and the lack of color in her face. She looked tired.
    “Five a.m. comes early, doesn’t it, girl?”
    She shrugged. “It’s early all right, but I also get home early too, which is fine by me.”
    He admired her attitude and her fortitude. Despite her fragile appearance, she was a tough little thing. He’d always felt a little guilty about Dori’s situation, thinking if there’d been a woman in her life, things might have turned out different. Then he looked at Luther. But if things had been different, then they wouldn’t have the little guy, and that would have been a tragedy indeed.
    “I believe I’ll have that cold drink after all,” he said, getting a cold Coca-Cola from the refrigerator and taking it with him as Dori got a clean wet washcloth and began cleaning up Luther and his mess.
    Rain was still hammering against the roof and blowing against the windows as she carried her baby down the