A smile curls the edges of my lips. The girl’s reaction takes me by surprise, but it’s also refreshingly innocent, and sharing this moment with her is an unexpected pause in the predictability and order I usually seek. Her comfort level with me also makes me suspect I’ve interacted with her on more than a couple of occasions. “So how do we know each other, Maree?”

“I read to you at quiet activity time, but you haven’t been coming because of your dad and stuff, and Ms. Kiko says you need time to be sad.”

My hand goes to my pocket, and I pull out a note card. Dad died from a heart attack on September 21. It hurts to read, physically aches to have to stand in front of this girl and not give in to a weakness in my legs. But I make a hash mark on the card, can see that I’ve read it dozens and dozens of times, can see that it’s not new to me even if it feels that way. I breathe in, notice that the girl’s eyebrows are wriggled together in concern.

“It’s okay if you’re still sad, Ms. Claire. You don’t have to be happy just ’cause everyone says you should. I’m still sad about my mom being gone all the time, and that’s been my whole life, so.” She shrugs.

Her kindness touches me. “Thank you, Maree. That’s a very sweet thing to say.” I don’t ask about her mom, because I don’t think it’s wise of me to ask personal questions—not at the moment, anyway.

She kicks at the floor, eyes trained on her shoes. “I’ve missed you,” she says softly, and the sincerity behind her words surprises me, but before I can reply with anything, she looks up, puts her hands on her hips, and says, “So do you want to teach me how to take care of these plants?”

I smile. “I’d love to. You can follow along beside me and do what I do. Sound good?”

We set to work side by side. She’s quiet but seems to pick up on finding the dead leaves quickly. I think her favorite part is misting the plants, which she does with abandon, getting about as much water on herself as on the plants. She giggles easily and I am soothed by the sound.

When we finish, I pat her shoulder. “Great work today.”

“Thanks,” she says, and the tops of her cheeks turn a slight pink.

We wash our hands and head down the tunnel together, but when we get to the elevator, there are a few kids in the lobby, and with a wave to me, she heads in their direction.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I’m walking into my apartment, bags from the market swinging off my arms, when I hear a voice that I would know anywhere.