It took several attempts to set up a slide bearing a water bubble. By the time Sam was finished, Kristina’s interest had been piqued and she’d pulled free from the tall woman in the hat, stood next to the teacher. Sam focused the microscope, narrowed the eyepieces to fit the little girl’s face.

She peered. Looked up beaming. Peered some more.

The woman in the hat said something. Kristina joined her sibs. Julie gave her a pad and a green crayon.

The woman walked a few paces away, stopped, called out, “You okay, now, Boo?”

Kristina ignored her.

“Boo, I’m going to sit down over there.” Pointing to the free bench. “Go, Mommy!”

I continued reading as the woman sat down a few feet away. Out of her purse came a book. Happiest Toddler on the Block.

She read. I read. She snuck a few peeks at Blanche, now awake and serene.

I’d canted the journal cover to offer a clear view of the title.

The woman had another go at her book. Looked at Blanche, again.

I pretended to focus on the magazine. Read some of the lead article, began skimming. Nothing had changed much since I’d worked in a hospital.

Blanche stretched, jumped from the bench onto the dirt, stretched some more.

I said, “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Blanche licked my hand, rubbed her head against my fingers.

The woman said, “Are you just the cutest?”

Blanche grinned.

“Excuse me, but I have to ask. Did she just smile at me?”

“She does that with people she likes.”

“Totally adorable. With some dogs it seems like they’re smiling but they’re putting out a different energy—more of a warning? This one … she really is something.”

“Thanks.”

The brim of the hat rose, offering me a full view of the face below.

No makeup. No need. Classic, symmetrical bone structure the camera adored. Fine strands of hair escaped the confines of the hat but most remained tucked in. Mousy brown, now, blow-away fine. Filaments clouded the back of a long, graceful neck.

Impossible not to know who she was.

Today, I was playing the most clueless man in L.A. Offering her the merest of smiles, I returned to my magazine.

Footsteps caused me to lower the pages.

Kristina, running toward her mother.

“Easy, Boo, don’t trip.”

“Mommy, Mommy, it’s a smail!”

Holding out a brown, cochlear shell.

“Is there actually a snail in there, Boo, or is it empty?”

“It’s empty.”

“So the snail left its home.”

“Huh?”

“The shell is the snail’s home, Boo. Maybe this one left to find another one.”

“Huh?”

The woman kissed the child’s cheek. “It’s a beautiful shell, Boo.”

“It’s a smail—aaahh wanna see the doggy!”

“We don’t bother doggies, Boo—”

“Wanna see!”

I closed the magazine. “It’s okay.”

“You’re sure? I really don’t want to bother you.”