Mei-Mei was made of stern stuff. She marched out, lumbering in her best moose walk, and the recital once again fell into its pattern. By the time they got to Sammy the Squirrel, Wendy was relieved to see Sam’s shoulders back where they should be. He scurried out and stood right by Wendy. In a tiny whisper—which Wendy knew took all his courage—he muttered out his poem.
“Thank you Sammy,” Wendy said, as that same whooping teen said nasally, “I couldn’t hear a word that kid—”
“Go Sam!” a man’s voice rose, drowning the teen out.
Wendy glanced up startled, to see Alejo clapping hard. The rest of the parents obligingly filled in, and Sam retreated, leaving Wendy overwhelmed with gratitude.
By the end, Bonnie had found her courage. Ms. Nelson pointed at the wings on the child’s back, and made motions that Wendy easily interpreted. Wendy introduced her again, Bonnie came out, ran her poem together into one long breath that was even softer than Sam’s recitation, and earned a warm round of applause.
It was done.
The kids promptly erupted into squeals and bounces of suppressed energy, the parents descended on the refreshments, and the ring and rustle of coins and dollars dropping into the fundraiser box proclaimed a success.
Wendy made sure Sam was talking to his classroom bestie, (Jeff the Honeybee) and began lumbering as fast as she could for the door before she could drown in her own sweat. She was surprised when one or two parents waved at her, and a couple said, “That was the best chicken dance I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m guessing it was the only chicken dance you’ve ever seen?” Wendy said with a laugh as she passed by. She was soon out of the sweltering costume. And done!
She headed back into the classroom, and found Ms. Nelson. “Here’s Flossie. I sweated her up something fierce,” Wendy said. “I’ll get it dry-cleaned,” she felt obliged to offer, wondering what that would cost.
“No, no need,” Ms. Nelson said. “It always happens. I know how hot that thing is. Getting it dry cleaned is in my budget. Can I just say,thankyou, Ms. Poulet? You were a real life-saver.”
“Glad to help,” Wendy said, looking for Sam—and Alejo.
There they were, together. Sam wasn’t talking, but he stood near Alejo, and Wendy’s heart turned over inside her chest. Oh, if only—
She refused to let that thought finish, and began working her way through the crowd toward them. To her surprise, more parents stopped her to congratulate her on Flossie being the hit of the evening.
All right, then. She had taken a risk, and it had paid off. As she looked at Alejo’s tall, strong body walking next to Sam, she remembered that tomorrow would be Friday. The writers’ group. Did she dare take another risk? Except, unlike tonight’s fundraiser, Bill would be there…
She hurried her steps as if rushing away from the subject. When she caught up on Sam’s other side, Alejo said, “That was the best barnyard I’ve seen in a while. You both were awesome.”
“Thank you,” Wendy said, closing her eyes briefly. As her reward, she let herself pretend—just for a moment—that they were a family, and held that image all the way home, as fragile as a bubble, and as beautiful.
FIVE
ALEJO
It had taken all his strength not to leap across that classroom and kiss Wendy right there in front of all those parents. She was so gallant. And it seemed to come so naturally to her, the way she singlehandedly rescued the children’s program by executing that cute little dance until that poor teacher over in the corner got her ducklings back under her wing.
So to speak. He’d better stop with the animal metaphors. His serpent, usually so silent and quiet, stirred in him as if he’d just been fledged. Alejo could not lose focus now. His Wendy—oh, let that be true, and soon—his Wendy and her little boy were both skittish as colt… that is, as, skittish people.
Now he wished he remembered what Godiva had said about Wendy. Not that she’d said much. For someone who could talk as much as his mom, she was surprisingly tight-lipped about those she cared for. And Wendy was one of these. Alejo appreciated that, but he wanted to learn everything about her. Everything that made her happy, so he could do it. Everything that made her sad, so he could fix it.
However, this was not the time to be interrogating Wendy. Small Sam had ducked down into the back seat as if he’d been caught robbing Fort Knox. Alejo knew better than to push. Skittish yearli—ah, youngsters—were best left to come around on their own time.
But Wendy! He sensed a whole lot of hurt beneath that beautiful, gallant surface. Even hidden in that terrible costume, he’d seen her tension when she looked his way, which caught him by surprise. He’d exerted every nerve to demonstrate how much he was enjoying seeing her rise to the occasion so well.
They reached Godiva’s.
“The kids did great,” he said as they got out of the truck. “Though I think the chicken dance might have been the hit of the evening.”
Wendy gave a breathless-sounding laugh. “I was afraid it might be too much.”
“Not the least. You bridged a bump in the road. And if that was spontaneous, I think you’re due for extra points.”
“Extra points it is,” she said with her deep chuckle. It wasn’t the belly laugh that had so enchanted him when he first saw her, but he’d take what he could get. “I had a lot of dance classes all through middle school and high school. I never got beyond the chorus line, but it was fun. Turns out you don’t forget that stuff. Who knew?”
“Who knew indeed!” he said witlessly, trying to find a new subject before things got awkward, for she’d unaccountably tensed again.
