“From what I could gather, a couple of girls were being rude to her. It started in her first hour class and went through the whole morning, I guess.”
“Where were the teachers? The adults who could’ve stopped it?”
“April didn’t tell anyone until lunchtime, when I guess she finally broke down crying. The teachers can only stop something like that if they see what’s going on or they’re told about it. I just wish I had been able to do something about it, but this was my first day in my new position and leaving work early just wasn’t a possibility.”
I don’t know what to say. I can feel the anger—irrational anger—bubbling up inside me at the thought of anyone mistreating April. She’s such a sweet kid, and just wanted to have a good day at school.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I offer. “We have an away game this week, so I’ll be out of town for the next couple of days. When I get back, though, we can?—”
“No,” she interrupts. “Thank you, but no. I don’t want you to take on my problems. April and I have made it this far on our own. We’ll still manage.”
Her refusal stings a little, but I don’t blame her. She’s had a long day, and this is one of those times when I can’t swoop in and make everything better in an instant.
“Thanks again for just listening. Sometimes that helps more than anything.”
“No problem. I’m here anytime.”
She pushes herself up out of the chair with a heavy sigh and at least offers a small smile.
“I should go check on April. Maybe bring her a sandwich or something, since she barely touched her lunch.”
“Yeah, of course.”
I watch her move around the kitchen as she prepares a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the kind of quick efficiency that comes from years of putting someone else’s needs above her own. There’s something familiar about the way she cuts off the crusts without thinking, or the way she adds a few crackers to the plate like it’s second nature.
It reminds me of the way my own parents were always right there when I needed them, driving me to the rink at five in the morning without complaining, even though I know they would’ve rather been sleeping. Or the way my mom used to pack my lunches for hockey camp, making sure I had enough food to get me through a double practice. They both sacrificed so much of their time, money, and their own comfort so I could chase my dream, because that’s what parents do. They put their kids first, even when it costs them everything.
“Time to go be a mom,” Heather says as she disappears upstairs with the plate.
Once I’m alone in the kitchen, I think back to what she said.
I don’t want you to take on my problems. April and I have made it this far on our own. We’ll still manage.
And of course she’s right. Heather has been handling everything by herself for a long time, and she’s done a damn good job of it. April is proof of that. She’s smart, funny, and strong even with today’s setback.
So no, Heather doesn’t need me to swoop in and fix her problems.
The thing is, I want to. Not because she can’t handle it, but because I’ve seen what it looks like when someone sacrifices everything for their kid. And maybe I’m being selfish. Maybe I’m even being stupid, but I want to be the person who makes her life a little easier.
Chapter 9
Heather
“Mom, do you think Grant will be able to see us from the ice?” April is bouncing on her toes as I try to get her hair into a decent ponytail. She’s wearing her lucky Aces jersey, and this is the most excited I’ve seen her in days.
Maybe weeks.
“I’m sure he’ll know we’re there cheering for him. But remember, he’s going to be focused on the game. That’s his job, and you know how seriously he takes it.”
“I know, but still. It’s so cool that we actually know him. Like, really know him. Not just ‘I’ve seen him play on TV’ know him.”
There’s no chance of her holding still while I finish with her hair, but I still have to smile at her enthusiasm. She sounds like her old self again, and I’m not going to say or do anything to dampen her spirits tonight.
Having the house to ourselves over the past few days while Grant has been on the road has given us time to settle in and find our rhythm in a way that probably wouldn’t have been possible with him still here.
Not that he’s been anything but kind and accommodating, and he obviously has a heart of gold underneath that tough, gruff exterior. I’ll never be able to repay the generosity he’s shown usin the short time we’ve been here, but there’s also something exhausting about constantly trying to be the strong, secure, stable version of myself who doesn’t need help.
Especially since I’ve barely been keeping my own head above water this week.
