I smiled at her. “How was school?”
Nova shrugged and tossed me her backpack. It was light, except for the metal lunch box she insisted on carrying. Last summer, when we went school shopping, Miri and I pointed out all these cool insulated lunch bags, but Nova wouldn’t have it. She wanted to use Miri’s Wonder Woman lunch box. Miri and I had the same one in first grade, but mine was long gone. How she’d managed to keep hers all these years was beyond me.
The driver received permission to release Nova into my care, and Miri’s seven-year-old daughter launched herself into my arms when she reached the bottom step of the bus. Compared to her friends, Nova was petite, with a wiry frame. She was a carbon copy of Miri with the same light-brown hair that fell in soft waves down her back. Her hazel eyes always held a hint of mischief.
“Cute pigtails,” I told her as I set her down. I held her hand and slung her backpack over my shoulder.
“Thanks, Mama did them this morning.” Nova skipped the length of their driveway.
We walked up the stairs of the white, two-story home with black shutters to the wide farmer’s porch. At the other end, in front of the large picture window, were two white rockers. They faced the road because that was where we could see the sunset every night.
I opened the screen door and pushed down on the lever to unlatch the door. Inside, Nova hung her coat on the set of hooks in what New Englanders called the mudroom, and then we walked into the front areaof the house. I sighed heavily and glanced toward the top of the staircase while Nova groaned. Loud music blasted from upstairs.
“Cutter’s home,” Nova said with a sigh. “He’s in loooove,” she said with so much sass it reminded me of when I was younger.
“You’ll be there someday.”
“Nope. No way.” She shook her head. “Boys have cooties.”
Funny, I used to think the same thing.
“Go get a snack and start your homework. Cutter has a game tonight.”
“Toni, where’s my mama?”
And there it was, the question I hoped we’d avoid because her uber-cool aunt was there, but I knew I’d never be able to.
“Your mom had to go out of town for the night.”
“How come she didn’t tell us this morning?”
“It was a last-minute thing.” I hated how the lie came so easily.
“And you had to come here?”
“Nah, kiddo. I was already on my way for Cutter’s game.” Another lie. I rarely made it to any of his games unless they were on a Saturday or in a town closer to Boston.
Nova gave me a suspicious look. I deserved it and couldn’t handle the scrutiny, so I used the excuse to go check on her brother to get away. The staircase leading to the three bedrooms and bathrooms was painted black to contrast with the white railing. Two or three summers ago, Miri had sent the kids to Boston for a week while she sanded and repainted the stairs. According to her, she’d rather clean gutters than have to paint.
At the top of the stairs and to the immediate left was the shared bathroom. Along the wall were built-in cabinets, with an old-fashioned laundry chute leading to the basement. On the right side of the railing, Nova’s room was first, then Cutter’s, and at the end of the L-shaped hallway was Miri’s room, where she had her own bathroom.
At Cutter’s door, I rapped my knuckles against the wood, hoping it wouldn’t take much to get his attention.
The door swung open, and he stared, dumbfounded. “Why are you here?”
“Nice to see you too.” I reached out to ruffle his hair, but he leaned away from me. I tried not to let this hurt my ego, but it did. We used to be close, inseparable when he was younger, and then he became a teenager, and everything changed.
“Mom had to go out of town to see a client,” I told him. “I’ll take you to your game.”
“I can walk.”
I shook my head. “We’ll leave at five.” I turned and walked toward the stairs, where I stopped and glanced at him standing in the doorway. Every moment he and I had shared flashed in my mind, from the moment he was born, and I held him for the first time, to him learning his first word—“Mama”—to him crawling, walking, and trying to give us heart attacks when he began hanging from everything. And then there was his first day of kindergarten, with Miri and me holding back tears as he confidently walked in to meet his new friends, and the day he officially turned into a teenager and suddenly grew taller than either of us. I smiled softly before heading downstairs.
Miri had to be okay. No, she had to be more than okay. These kids depended on her. They were all she had.
Thirty minutes before we had to leave, Cutter came downstairs, dressed in khaki slacks and a red polo shirt. He only dressed up for special occasions and for game days. I knew the latter was a rule his coach had put in place. If Cutter had his way, he’d wear sweatpants, T-shirts, and sneakers everywhere.
He stepped into the living room, looked at us briefly, and then turned toward the kitchen. I got up from the couch, where Nova and I had been sitting while she practiced her reading, and went into the kitchen.
