Jenny was late.
That alone was unusual enough to register. Jenny was many things, but late was not one of them. She was the kind of mother who showed up five minutes early and waited patiently, chatting with other parents, never rushing Lily out the door.
I checked my phone again. No messages or missed calls.
“It’s okay,” I told Lily. “We’ll wait a little longer.”
She nodded. “Mommy’s probably just talking,” she said.
That sounded like Jenny. I smiled.
Another ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. The office secretary poked her head in to remind me the building would be closing soon. I nodded, thanked her, and gathered Lily’s backpack.
I hesitated only a moment before making the decision. I was on the approved list. I had dropped her off home countless times before.
“We’re going to head home, okay?” I spoke.
Lily’s face lit up. “Can we stop and get candy?”
“We’ll see,” I said, smiling despite myself.
???
We walked out to the parking lot, the afternoon sun warm but fading, the air carrying that faint edge of early evening. Lily skipped beside me, her small hand wrapped securely around mine.
As I buckled her into her seat, my thoughts drifted to Bill. He had been feeling tired these past few days, Jenny had mentioned it in passing. Some stubborn flu he refused to rest through. I made a mental note to check in on him later.
The car rolled onto the road, familiar streets passing by.
“How’s Grandpa Bill?” I asked casually, glancing at Lily in the rearview mirror.
She scrunched her face, concentrating hard, clearly assembling her answer the way she had learned to do. Matt’s influence was obvious. He always encouraged her to explain things carefully.
“Well,” she said slowly, drawing the word out, “he’s still sick. But he says he’s okay. And Grandma says he’s not and he should listen more.”
I smiled softly. “That sounds about right.”
Then she tilted her head and added. “He coughs, but he says it’s fine.”
Something in the way she spoke, in the cadence of her voice, caught me off-guard. The shape of the face. The earnestness. It was so familiar it made my chest ache.
For just a second, I saw Ethan in her. Not her face exactly, but the expression. The way her brow furrowed when she was trying to sound responsible.
It happened sometimes. Around his family, especially. The resemblance ran strong, threaded through gestures and habits more than appearances.
As always, I shut the thought down immediately.
I focused on the road. On the turn signal. On the quiet hum of the engine.
Lying to other people when they asked if I was fine was easy. I had mastered that years ago. Lying to myself was harder, but I had gotten good at that too.
I exhaled slowly, my chest felt heavy.
Sometimes I wondered why I had stayed so close to them when it hurt like this. Why I hadn’t drawn firmer lines, protected myself better.
Then Lily waved wildly out the window as we passed one of her friends walking home, her whole face bright with happiness, and I had my answer.
This was why.
