I’m sure Brian’s two-month estimate was generous before. A hip replacement at seventy will mean a long road to recovery.
“What’s your name?” I ask her. She sucks in a little drool that escapes her mouth when she pulls her fingers from it.
“Etta.”
“Hi, Etta. You’re right. She got a big ouchie. There’s a chance we might have to do this play without her.”
“Does that mean we still have to doThe Rainbow Fish?” asks a boy in a wheelchair wearing a basketball jersey. He’s parked at enough of an angle for me to read the name across his upper back—Isaac.
I’ve come to a few of Mrs. Farris’s performances to support Brian. She does a good job. Always picks a story with a morallesson and a few songs to go with it. But I can tell from theI don’t want to do that onegroans followed by aYeah, me neitherandIt’s boringthat these kids would rather do anything else.
“Well, what do you all want to do instead?” The room gets eerily quiet. So much so that I wonder if they’ve ever been asked that before.
It would come as no surprise to me if they haven’t. Be the Brave is prided for its academic success and religious beliefs. Their moto isBelieve, become, be the brave, notGet creative, think outside the box, and have fun.
I repeat my question. Everyone’s still staring until one brave little hand goes up in the front. It’s an Asian boy wearing a lime-green jump rope T-shirt.
“What’s your name?”
“Noah. Can it have magic and Pokémon?”
A collective breath is held waiting for my response. I look at the exit—the place where the only person who can stop us is out of view. A giant smile spreads across my face before I feed him the answer that my own heart needs to hear.
“I don’t see why not. How about we include everyone’s favorite things. Let’s do a talent show!”
16
EVERETT
I’m questioning all of my life decisions when I leave that gym. Agreeing to step foot in that school again? To sing in a talent show with Quinn? To let myself get wrapped up in Summer’s world? It’s all too much.
I was riding a high last night. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I got to focus on somebody else’s problems other than my own. And her face…her facewhen she held that cat? It was like I gave her everything she’d ever needed. I was in freefall watching her run to my car. Unafraid and unaware of what she was doing to me.
Then her ex pulled her into the hallway this afternoon. A web of discomfort spidered through my chest, and all I could think waswhy.
He didn’t even acknowledge her existence before that. I barely kept up a conversation with the kids about music after she was gone because I was bloody stuck on what he wanted from her.
I have no claim over Summer other than she’s my daughter’s nanny. She can do whatever she wants. And I don’t know whattheir relationship was like other than the few things she told me. Am I to take “it was for the best” to mean she’ll never want him again?
The most frustrating part is that I can’t ask her about it today because we’re heading to Quinn’s speech evaluation.
Her teacher wasn’t kidding when she said this place was across town. As a kid, a drive to the mall would have taken ten minutes. But since 2020, this place has exploded with people. Road infrastructure is only one of the ways it hasn’t kept up with the growth.
I navigate a single lane with stoplights spread out a mile apart until I’m finally pulling into the parking lot. Sandwiched in a complex of office buildings is Words Matter. I park in the back next to one of ten Heating and Cooling vehicles dominating the spots. I don’t want to risk my Bronco being seen here. It takes careful effort to get Quinn out of her car seat without bashing the door next to me.
“Are you ready?” I set her feet on the pavement and take her hand.
“Mm-hmm,” she says back.
I don’t know why I asked her that when she doesn’t have any idea what we’re about to do. Even for me, it’s been decades since I stepped foot in a place like this one. I’m sure a lot has changed.
We follow a wall of chipped stone to the front of the building. A woman gets to the door first, and a chime rings out when she opens it. She smiles at her child as he hops on one foot through the entrance. It drops when she spots us. She does a double take to be sure her eyes aren’t playing a trick on her. Dread coils in my stomach fast and tight, already proving my worst fear. It’s going to be difficult to make this appointmentdiscreet.
I silently plead for her to hurry inside. That’s not what happens. She waits. While we’re still halfway down the sidewalk. Forces me to hustle Quinn along so I don’t have to make her hold the door longer than she has to. Then she stops us when we finally get to her.
“Would you sign my shirt?”
Does this woman think I carry a Sharpie in my pocket? “Uh… I don’t have anything on me. I’m sorry.”
