The secret was too bright to keep.

What started in Eleanor Reynolds' kitchen — frozen Kool-Aid on matchsticks — spilled out into the Techwood Homes project like gospel. Joey told his friends. The friends told theirs. And suddenly children appeared on the Reynolds' front stoop, bare feet dusty, eyes wide with hope.

Watching. Wanting. Waiting.

A little girl named Sarah stood there, thumb in her mouth, staring at the dripping red ice like it was salvation. Eleanor popped an extra one from the tray. "You want one, baby?"

Sarah's eyes went impossibly wide. She took it like a holy sacrament.

That was the pebble dropped in still water.

The next day, five children came. Then ten. They brought pennies clutched in sweaty palms — coins they'd found, earned, begged from mothers who had a p ...