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“Beverly.”
“I’m Leslie Watkins,” the woman said. “I think I’ve seen you at the school. My daughter Amelia goes there, too. Fourth grade. What grade is your son in?”
“He’s in first grade,” Beverly said, knowing she’d only been to the school once, when she’d enrolled Tommie.
“With Mrs. Morris or Mrs. Campbell?” She gave Beverly a tentative smile. “I volunteer at the school a couple of times a week. I know pretty much everyone there.”
Which explained how the woman had recognized her, Beverly realized. “I’m not sure exactly,” she said. “I should know, but we just moved here, and with all the chaos…”
“I get it,” the woman said easily. “Moving is always stressful. Where are you from?”
“Pennsylvania,” Beverly lied. “Pittsburgh.”
“And what brought you to this part of the world?”
As though I can answer that question, Beverly thought. “I just wanted a fresh start,” she responded after a beat. She wished the woman would be more like the elderly woman in the station wagon or the owner of the house, who’d known enough not to ask so many questions. From behind her, Beverly heard a small voice.
“Mama…”
The woman’s eyes flashed to the rearview mirror. “Almost there, Camille. You doing okay, sweetie?”
Beverly stole a quick peek over her shoulder, amazed she hadn’t realized there was a child strapped into the car seat behind her. How could she have missed that?
“How old is she?”
“Almost two,” the woman replied, her eyes still on the rearview mirror. “And today she’s my errand buddy. Right, sweetie?”
“Bud…dy,” Camille repeated, her voice small and high-pitched.
Beverly gave a quick wave, remembering Tommie when he was that age, when every day he’d learned something new. He’d been such a pleasant toddler; she’d barely noticed the supposed terrible twos, even as they were happening.
“She’s beautiful,” Beverly commented.
“Thank you. I think so, too. Mama’s pretty lucky, isn’t she, Camille?”
“Lu…cky,” Camille echoed.
Beverly turned back around, still recalling images of Tommie when he was little, and soon enough they left the gravel road, turning onto an asphalt ribbon that stretched between farms on either side of her. In her lap she held the bagged lunch, wondering again how she’d forgotten to put it in Tommie’s backpack and hoping she would get there in time.
“Do you know when the kids eat lunch?”
“The younger grades eat at eleven-fifteen,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you there in plenty of time. How do you like our little town so far?”
“It’s quiet.”
“That it is. It took me a while to get used to it, too. We moved here five years ago to be closer to my husband’s parents. They love spending time with the grandkids….”
From there, Leslie prattled on, asking only the occasional question and speaking like a local tour guide. She told Beverly about her favorite restaurants in town, some of the shops worth visiting near the waterfront, and the rec center, where Beverly could sign Tommie up for T-ball or youth soccer or practically anything else her son might be interested in. Beverly listened with half an ear; she knew she didn’t have the money to sign Tommie up for anything.
A few minutes later they turned onto the school property, and Beverly felt a sense of déjà vu as they drew near the building. She caught a glimpse of the fields off to one side; on the other were the jungle gym and the swings. She wondered if Tommie had played on them yet; as a little girl, she loved to swing. She could remember begging her friends to push her higher and higher, so it almost felt as though she were falling.
Like in the dream, the one with the pirate, the one from a couple of nights ago…
Beverly jerked and Leslie flinched at the movement, concern in her eyes. To head off questions, Beverly quickly thanked Leslie again as the car came to a stop. She turned in the seat, throwing a wave to Camille before opening the door and jumping out. She waved one last time as Leslie drove off.
When she entered the building, the familiarity she’d previously experienced gave way to a slight feeling of disorientation. Where she thought she’d find a secretary at a desk, there was nothing but empty space; where she thought she’d find the door to the principal’s office, there was a long hallway, and the whole place struck her as more cramped and claustrophobic than she remembered. It was only after shaking her head that she realized she was picturing Tommie’s old school.
“The one he left behind,” she whispered. Hearing footsteps, she turned as a woman approached.
