“Good morning, Declan!” I said. “How are you?”
“Good! I got up early and got to ride my bike this morning before school.”
Cole was standing behind him, still looking half-asleep. “You probably heard him whooping as he rode by, faster than the Flash.”
“I am faster than the Flash,” Declan said.
I smiled. “I didn’t hear a thing. I guess I must be a heavy sleeper. Why don’t you go hang your backpack up?”
Cole went over to the clipboard on top of the cubbies and signed Declan in. He yawned. “Nothing like a 5 a.m. bike ride to get the blood flowing,” he said.
Another of the moms had just arrived, with her daughter, a curly-haired girl named Emma. “You got up at 5 a.m. to go riding?” she asked. “My goodness, Cole, you are certainly an inspiration. I haven’t been on my bike in ages.” This mom, whose name I couldn’t remember, was tall—almost as tall as Cole—and sleek and toned and slender. She might not have been on a bike in ages, but she certainly was doing something to keep in shape. She laughed and then reached out, resting her hand on his upper arm for a second. “How are you doing?”
She turned toward him, stepping in front of me so her back was now facing me, basically creating a barrier between Cole and me. Which was fine, if not a little rude since she had barely even looked my way when she came in.
“Oh, you know, hanging in there,” Cole said. He caught my eye over her shoulder and the tiniest of smiles curved one corner of his mouth. Then his gaze went back to her. “And it wasn’t me who was up for the 5 a.m. bike ride, so don’t start singing my praises or anything—”
She laughed again, loudly this time. “Cole, you’re soooo funny!”
I tried to refrain from rolling my eyes. I went over to the sensory table, which we had filled that morning with pom poms. Several of the children were elbow-deep.
Amy came over, eyeing the doorway, where Cole was still standing talking to the woman.
“Ew,” she whispered. “Would you look at her? It is so obvious how much Lily is into Cole. She flirts with him all the time.”
Even from halfway across the room like this, I could see a huge diamond ring on Lily’s ring finger, along with another smaller band.
“She’s certainly very friendly,” I said. “At least to him.”
I had thought that the weekends might be hard, that having two whole days where I didn’t have anything to do would get boring or lonely—that my mother would be right after all—but so far, that hadn’t proven t
rue. I knew that in part, it had to do with the fact that it was June, usually one of the nicest times of year in New England, and that I might be feeling very different if it was say, the middle of January and 10 degrees outside. But on Saturday morning, I slept in, woke up to the sound of cardinals outside my window, got up slowly, and made some coffee.
I took it outside to the backyard, which was another thing I really liked about this house. There was a generous-sized deck with teak patio furniture, and then beyond that, two Adirondack chairs amidst the grass, facing a dense pine forest. It was easy to imagine those woods going on forever; during the height of the day, the sun barely dappled the ground. I sat with my coffee and a book, and I read several chapters while I thought about just what it was that I might like to do for the rest of the day.
I didn’t come up with any concrete plans, but that was all right, because when I went back inside, I made myself a fried egg and a piece of toast, had another cup of coffee, then cleaned the kitchen up. I started a list with a few things I’d need to get from the grocery store, and then I went and got dressed. I was about to go in and brush my teeth when I heard my phone ringing from the kitchen counter. I went and glanced down at the screen. It was my mother.
“Hi there,” I said.
“Good morning!” she chirped. “Just calling to see if you were bored out of your mind yet! Are you ready to come back to the city?”
“Ha ha,” I said. “Very funny.”
“It’s not a joke.”
“Nice to hear from you, too, Mom,” I said. “And I’ll have you know, that I’m actually still very much enjoying things up here, away from all the noise and the chaos. How is everything with you?”
“It’s fine,” she replied breezily. “Bill says hi.”
My stomach clenched at the sound of his name. My stepfather was movie star handsome, a successful investment banker, and very charismatic, the sort of person that most people wanted to be around; the life of the party. Up until I’d hit puberty, I really liked him, too—but once I started growing breasts, things had changed. At first, I had been flattered. He was paying more attention to me, looking at me in a way that I hadn’t remembered him looking at me before. Of course, this never happened when my mother was around, and I started to think of it as a little secret that Bill and I had between us. A little benign secret, that would never go past a look across the room, or his hand brushing my arm, his fingertips resting there for a second longer than they might have before.
The benign-ness of it all changed when I turned 15, though.
I didn’t like to think about it.
“That’s nice,” I said, my voice tight.
“I’ll tell him you said hello. We were thinking of maybe driving up there to see you at some point.”