Sweet memories surface of my early teaching days. It dulls my anxiety. I easily recall Sefina’s daughter, Leilani, a perfectly tiny version of her mother—dark haired and mischievous—and I was an enthusiastic and inexperienced newbie, completely in love with teaching. “She was just spirited, but I managed her okay,” I say, smiling now. “Except for that one time.”

Sefina puffs her cheeks out with air. “She’ll never forget that day. Wasn’t it your first week teaching?”

I laugh, enjoying the freedom of remembering. “I had playground duty. One minute Leilani was sitting beside me eating a sandwich. She asked me if I liked Spam and offered me a bite.”

Sefina moans. “That girl and Spam. I’ll never understand it.”

It’s as if I’m standing in the indoor playground, my boots digging into the coarse sand—Sefina fades as I let the memory become a movie I’ve watched a dozen times. Leilani was barefoot and hanging upside down on the monkey bars. Her waist-length hair fell like a waterfall over her head, shimmering in dark waves with her giggles. But even from across the playground, I saw her legs slipping, and we both screamed out. By the time I got to her, she’d fallen and landed with her arm at an unnatural angle. I knelt beside her and held her until help came, telling her jokes and stories to keep her tears at bay. I was pregnant but not really showing then, except I can remember the heartache at not protecting a child in my care. The worry that overwhelmed me at being a single mom. The guilt I felt. Would I be able to protect my own child if I couldn’t even protect little Leilani? I rub my stomach up and down, like I did when the baby was rounded out in front of me. My hand drops and I shift my weight. Sefina watches me, her eyes wet.

“Talk about a failure of a first day,” I say. “Poor girl.”

Sefina laughs. When she first moved here, Sefina was waif thin and unsmiling. Whittier gave her something good back. “Don’t give it a second thought, Claire; that broken arm was a badge of honor for Leilani.” She holds out a white paper bag. “Make sure you take these with food. Last time you mentioned that you were feeling a bit nauseous. Even a couple of crackers can make the difference.” She uncaps a black pen, writes across the bag. “It’s on the bag now too.”

My phone buzzes. Go for a walk.