Walking out of the store, she smiled, feeling really free for the first time. She had a bus ticket to Florida in her pocket. In no time at all—just seven and a half hours—she’d be on her way out of here …
A yellow smear moved in a gust of black exhaust. A school bus. Small faces peered out from the windows.
Lexi didn’t make a conscious decision to follow the bus; rather, she just kept walking. On Turnagin Way, she angled left and walked up the hill. By the time she reached the four-way stop, there were kids all around, laughing and talking and dragging ridiculously big backpacks on the sidewalk beside them. There were mothers everywhere, too, monitoring crosswalks and conversations and movement.
A line of buses was parked in front of the elementary school. The carpool lane ran through a row of parked cars, parents dropping their kids off.
A black SUV pulled past her and stopped.
Lexi’s breath caught. From her place by the tree, she saw Jude get out of the SUV and go to the back passenger door, opening it wide.
And there, sitting in a big car seat, was a miniature version of Mia, with buoyant corn-silk blond hair and a heart-shaped face.
Lexi inched sideways for a better view, making sure she was partially hidden within the crowd of schoolchildren.
Jude helped Grace out of the car and stepped back.
Grace didn’t smile, and Jude didn’t give her a kiss, and then Grace walked away alone.
Lexi frowned. She couldn’t help remembering how it had been before, when Jude had driven Mia and Lexi to school. The kisses, the hugs, the game-show contestant waves good-bye.
Maybe Jude was having a bad day. Or Grace had just said a bad word or gotten in trouble. Or maybe Grace had asked not to be kissed in public and Jude snuggled with her before they got in the car.
Lexi hardly noticed when the SUV started to move again. By the time she reached the crosswalk, it was in the line of cars exiting the school grounds, but Lexi wasn’t looking there. All of her attention was focused on the little girl in the yellow T-shirt wearing a ridiculously big Hannah Montana backpack. Her shoulders were slumped, and she moved reluctantly toward the school, dragging her feet.
No one talked to Grace as she walked into the school.
Moments later, the bell rang, and the few remaining students ran for the school doors.
Lexi stood on the patch of grass between the bus lane and the carpool lane, staring at the now-quiet brick grade school. She’s in kindergarten. Morning class.
She had walked alone into too many schools herself, with no one waving good-bye, no one coming to pick her up. She remembered how alone she’d felt at lunchtime.
Alone.
That was what Lexi remembered most about her early childhood. She had always felt alone, a stranger in someone else’s family, an outsider in some new school. Even after Eva, Lexi had never quite felt enfolded in a family … until she’d met the Farradays. From that first day of ninth grade, when she’d met Mia and come home with her, Lexi had felt welcomed into their midst.
That was why she’d given them custody of Grace, so her daughter would know how it felt to be loved.
Lexi looked down at her watch. It was not quite nine o’clock. How long did morning kindergarten last? Two hours? Three?
The bus for Florida didn’t leave until 3:30. That gave her several hours with nothing to do.
She could ride her bike around town or get something to eat or go to the library and read. But even as she ran through the list of things she could do, she knew there was only one thing she wanted to do.
Don’t do it. You made your choice. Think of Grace.
The arguments rifled through her thoughts, but she paid them no mind. She couldn’t, not this time. For every day of her daughter’s life, Lexi had pictured Grace happy and well adjusted. Loved and adored. That Grace she could make herself walk away from.
But this little girl, with her draggy feet and slumped shoulders … this little girl didn’t look happy.
“She is though,” Lexi said aloud. “Anyone can have a bad day. ”
Still, she walked around the school, up past the portables, to the big playground out back. Here, confined within a chain-link fence was the elementary school play yard: basketball hoops and paved pads and grassy areas and a baseball diamond. She found a giant evergreen shadowing a patch of grass. There, she sat down and waited.
As the minutes passed, she told herself she’d misinterpreted what she’d seen, imposed her own sad school history on Grace. Her daughter was a happy girl—she had to be—the Farradays were the Bradys for a new generation. No one lived in the Brady house and felt lonely or unloved. She’d prove it to herself and then be on her way.
Around ten-thirty, a bell rang. The big double doors banged open and a herd of small kids ran out onto the playground.