When Kate finally called to tell us where she was, my mom told her all the bad things that happen to people who run away. I tuned out. I was eating a Mrs. Perfect turkey pot pie, which tastes almost exactly like the Mrs. Perfect chicken pot pie, but more turkey-ish. My mom looked at me a few times, like she was wondering how I could eat pot pie at such a time, but she doesn’t understand pot pie or peas or being almost twelve. I might be having a growth spurt from all the stress. My stomach seems to be having one. It seems important to mention that the turkey pot pie had just as many peas as the chicken pot pie.

My sister asked to talk to me, but I said I was too busy eating. Which was true. I knew Kate would text me later and I planned to ignore her.

Later that night my mom’s boss called. I know because my mom came into my closet room after she talked to her and said she was going back to work the next day. She said her new boss was being very understanding about everything.

“Are you still going to teach your Pilates classes?” I asked.

“I think so,” she said. “Everyone needs more core strength.”

“What if no one comes because of…?”

“The thing with your father?” she finished. “Then I’ll do Pilates by myself.”

But I knew people would show up. People would be curious about what kind of person would marry J. Crederman. That made me sad. Back in Vegas, everyone went to my mom’s classes because she was a great teacher and very fit.

Anyway, the next morning, I told my mom I wasn’t going to school.

“Rodney, you have to,” said my mom. “It’s the rule.”

“Not for Kate.”

“It’s the rule for Kate too. She’s just breaking it.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m just not up to it.”

“I can’t let you stay home alone. I have to go to work. They already let me stay home yesterday. I can’t strain Nancy’s patience anymore.”

“Maybe we should hire someone to homeschool me. A nanny who is also a teacher.”

My mom stared at me. She looked like herself again. All shiny and neat and ready to do something with insurance. That was nice to see.

“We no longer have the budget for a nanny. Or even a babysitter. We definitely can’t afford a nanny-teacher, if there’s such a thing.”

“There is. They’re called governesses. I’ve read about them. Some kids at Circle Square had one, I think.”

“I’m the only nanny in this house and I work in insurance now.”

I like that my mom isn’t embarrassed that she used to be a nanny fitness instructor. My half sister and her mom are mean about it, but they’re mean about everything.