“Yeah,” I say. “I noticed.”
That gets a huff out of him. Not quite a laugh, but close enough to count. I’m sure he’s reading between the lines here. That I want to help. Things are on a much better path with Delaney now, but I want Sadie to be happy too.
Unless we’realldoing well, none of us are.
Sadie comes flying back into the kitchen, sneakers on the wrong feet. Boone fixes them without comment, fingers efficient, practiced. He always does everything for her as muscle memory.
She grabs her backpack and slings it on, bouncing again. “Okay! Ready!”
Boone glances at me. “My truck or yours?”
“Yours,” I say. “She’ll want to sit in the middle and narrate the entire drive.”
Sadie gasps. “Uncle Caleb knows me.”
The morning is cool when we step outside, that sharp kind of quiet before the town really wakes up. Sadie hops into the backseat before Boone can even open his door, climbing between the seats and leaning forward, part of the navigation system.
“Did you know,” she starts, already breathless, “that today we’re supposed to work on family trees, but Mrs. Hanover said you can put whoever you want, even pets…”
Boone’s shoulders tense almost imperceptibly.
I clock it.
I slide into the passenger seat and glance back at her. “Family trees can have all kinds of branches.”
She nods solemnly. “Mine’s very big.”
Boone starts the engine without comment.
The drive into town is quiet under Sadie’s chatter. She talks about Micah’s new shoes and the turtle that might get fed today and the spelling word she thinks is stupid. Boone listens, responding when needed, but there’s an edge to him that hasn’t softened yet.
Mountain Ridge Elementary comes into view, and Boone’s hands tighten on the wheel.
The school always looks too cheerful to me.
Bright paint. Smiling signs. Cartoon animals on the fence, daring you to believe nothing bad ever slips through the cracks.
Sadie unbuckles, but instead of launching herself forward, she hesitates, looking between Boone and me.
“You’re both coming?”
“Yeah,” Boone says, already reaching for the door. “We’ll walk you in.”
Her grin snaps back into place, fast and bright. “Okay!”
We all get out together. Boone locks the truck. I fall into step on Sadie’s other side, and she slips her hands into ours without even thinking about it, swinging them because she’s six and the world is safe.
For a few seconds, it feels that way.
The closer we get to the school, the more Boone’s grip tightens, but not enough for Sadie to notice.
The playground comes into view on the right, kids already scattered across it, jackets half on, backpacks dumped near the fence. Recess before class, voices loud and sharp in the cold morning air.
Sadie spots Micah immediately and frees her hand to wave at him. “Micah!”
He waves back, already moving toward her.
We stop near the edge of the blacktop. Boone crouches in front of her, straightening her backpack straps as he’s done a thousand times.
