Chapter 20
The book was about a rabbit who lost his hat.
I read it like a quarterly report.
Owen stopped me by page three.
“You have to do voices.”
“I do?”
“Yes. Rabbits don’t talk like bankers.”
“I’m not a banker.”
“You sound like one.”
Lily nodded solemnly. “A little.”
So I tried again.
My rabbit voice was apparently terrible.
The children laughed so hard Maya looked in through the observation window.
Their laughter stunned me.
Not because it was loud.
Because it was ordinary.
For one hour, we built a crooked block tower, drew a house with too many chimneys, argued about whether dragons needed shoes, and read the rabbit book twice more. By the end, Owen had moved close enough that his shoulder touched my arm.
When the visit ended, Lily’s smile faded.
“Do you have to go?”
The question was easier this time because I had learned to hate false comfort.
“Yes,” I said. “But I have another visit scheduled if Maya says it’s okay.”
“When?”
“Next Thursday.”
She looked at Maya.
Maya nodded. “That’s the plan.”
Owen whispered, “Plans change.”
I looked at him.
“They can,” I said. “So when they do, grown-ups should explain why.”
His eyes searched my face.
“You’ll explain?”
“Yes.”
He nodded once, as if filing that away under things that might become true.
Weeks passed.
I rearranged my life in ways that made board members nervous.
I declined flights.
Moved meetings.
Delegated negotiations I would once have controlled personally.
Learned the difference between washable and unwashable markers.
May you like
Discovered that children considered bandages with cartoon animals medically superior.
Found out Lily hated peas but liked snow peas, which made no sense until she explained that regular peas were “too round.”
