This is appropriate, I tell myself. Fundraisers aren’t formal events. Children should have independence within reason. Hovering would be unnecessary.
Still, I track him without conscious effort—bounce house, ring toss, dunk tank staffed by teachers who look resigned to their fate. Entry points. Exits. Sightlines.
Henry stops at the bake sale.
I don’t move closer.
Other parents cluster naturally—leaning against railings, laughing, trading updates about carpools and weekend plans. I stand near the edge of the blacktop, hands loosely folded, aware that I don’t quite know where to put myself.
Henry laughs at something a boy says. A girl steps closer—braids, pink jacket. She digs into her pocket, pulls out a dollar, buys a cookie, and hands it to him.
I tense, inexplicably.
I can’t tell if she’s Jenny.
I don’t know what Jenny looks like.
Henry bows dramatically in thanks. The girl rolls her eyes and shoves his shoulder. Familiar. Comfortable.
I look away.
The teacher from Henry’s conference passes nearby carrying a tray of cupcakes. She recognizes me, offers a polite smile, and keeps moving.
She doesn’t ask where Lindsay is.
No one does.
Henry returns eventually, cookie half gone, cheeks flushed. “Did you see the cake walk?” he asks. “Mrs. Halvorsen tripped. On purpose, I think.”
“I missed it,” I say.
He nods, unconcerned. “Lindsay would’ve loved it.”
The statement is casual. Unweighted. He doesn’t look at me to gauge my reaction.
I don’t respond quickly enough.
Henry takes another bite of his cookie and gestures toward the game booths. “Can I try the dart thing?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll be right here.”
He pauses. “You can come with me if you want.”
“Go ahead,” I say instead. “I’m fine.”
He shrugs and jogs off.
I remain where I am.
As the afternoon wears on, I notice details I hadn’t planned to. Uneven frosting. Glitter glue bleeding through poster board signs. The way Henry lights up when he wins a plastic prize that will be forgotten by morning.
Lindsay would have opinions.
She would be laughing. Asking questions. Holding Henry’s jacket when he got too warm. Taking pictures she wouldn’t post.
When the crowd thins, Henry comes back holding a small stuffed dinosaur.
“Won it,” he says. “It’s dumb, but I like it.”
