Still fuming, I drove over to the campus, trying to stay patient while explaining to Timmy every few minutes that no, I couldn’t turn on the siren because my car didn’t have one. I found a semi-legal parking space a couple of blocks from the college administration building, liberated Timmy from the durance vile of his car seat, and slung the heavyweight diaper bag over my shoulder.

I thought of telling Timmy that we were going to Mommy’s office, but decided maybe that was a bad idea. I’d had a home address for Karen that was two years out of date—what if my information on where Karen worked was equally obsolete? After all, she hadn’t put her work number in Timmy’s instruction manual. Did that mean she no longer worked at the college, or that she hadn’t expected to be at the college during Timmy’s stay with me, or perhaps that she didn’t want me calling the college for some reason?

I was relieved to note, as we headed up the steps toward the administration building, that Timmy seemed to recognize the place, and pulled at my hand. That had to be a good sign. Surely Timmy didn’t have enough short-term memory to recall the place unless Karen still worked there or at least had until very recently.

We strolled into the administration building. It was quieter than I’d ever seen it, but then I didn’t recall ever having a reason to go there before the school year began. I ran into the occasional staff or faculty member strolling calmly through the halls. No one I actually knew, but we all nodded pleasantly, even the ones whose faces I didn’t recall seeing around the town and campus for the last several years. After all, my presence here three weeks before the start of classes proved we were on the same team—staff, faculty, and their families. I wasn’t one of the hordes of students and parents who would come swarming in after Labor Day, briefly and predictably overwhelming all the administration offices with their forms and questions.

I headed for the office where Karen had been working when I met her. Thanks to Timmy, I didn’t have any trouble finding my way—all I had to do was keep a good grip on his hand. He knew the way. Better and better.

I knew from previous visits—like the one on which I’d first met her—that Karen sat at one of four vintage metal desks in a big room whose walls were lined with battered beige four-drawer file cabinets. And right inside the door, if they hadn’t rearranged things, two cafeteria tables, placed end to end, served as a makeshift counter piled high with stacks and boxes of forms, all printed on the pale blue copier paper the Caerphilly College administration used to distinguish its official forms from lesser documents. I wasn’t sure if I should just march in and ask for Karen or pretend to be looking for some form or other. I’d play it by ear.