He looks down at his hand, which I’m still grabbing, and then up at my face. I realize I’ve said the quiet part out loud, in the same angry, creepy, grieving animal growl that came out in Vermont at Sari’s—and that I’ve scared him. Before I can explain, or apologize, the dog starts barking. The cashier reaches for the bell above his head with his free hand. Before the ringing stops and the manager arrives to see what the problem is, I’ve dropped the basket and run back to my car while everyone in the store and everyone in the parking lot is looking at me. Finally I have their full attention.

Family-Style

We’re having dinner the night before the big night—the Spotlight performance—and I’ve made a big pot of chili, all meat, no beans, to try to make up for unwittingly forcing the People Puppets to eat vegan the weekend when we went to Vermont. Sitting around the table, passing salad and chips and small bowls of sour cream and shredded cheese and guacamole, talking about school—the kids and the teachers—and the news—I marvel at the scene in front of me. It’s like we’re a big noisy weird family, the kind I always wished for but didn’t come from. Teddy is sitting next to Nick, talking and laughing. Even the dog, who is roaming free under the table and around all our legs, sniffing for scraps, seems unusually relaxed. Of course, I need to ruin it all.

“So tell us about the Spotlight!” I ask the People Puppets. We haven’t been together in weeks: I need details.

“What about it?” Nick says.

“Anything!” I say.

Phoebe laughs nervously and so does Nick. “It’s a surprise!” they both blurt at the exact same time.

“Really? Is this a new thing? Embargoing news about the performance program?”

“I’m not sure,” Nick says. “It’s our first year doing this, but Grace says it’s traditional to keep the parents in the dark until the big night. The collaborative work the kids do with the visiting artists is supposed to be kind of a sacred surprise.”

Grace. “A sacred surprise. That sure sounds ominous!”

“Does it?” Nick asks.

“It’s always this way, Mom,” Teddy says, nodding at Nick. “We prepare in secret for the big reveal when the parents come.”

Gary nods, too. “Didn’t they do this for Zirkus Schmirkus, our first Inhabitancy at Morningside, Judy? Teddy wouldn’t tell us if he would be swinging from a trapeze or getting shot out of a cannon. It was all hush-hush. As it turned out it was neither: just some somersaults and minor acrobatics on colored mats.”

“I was only eight!” Teddy says defensively, but he is smiling, beaming actually, in the center of the big table of food and people. He’s already helped himself to seconds and elbowing Nick to see if he wants more, too.

“I know!” I say. “Which is why we were trying to find out if we should be terrified before the show or not!”