Chương 15
“Did Brooklyn want her there?”
“I don’t know. She was happy at first.”
“At first?”
“Mom got upset because Brooklyn hugged Dennis after the program. She told her Grandpa had broken the family.”
Andrew closed his eyes.
“What did you do?”
“I made her leave.”
The admission carried no triumph.
“Are the kids okay?”
“They’re confused.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I mean it.”
“I know. That’s why I said don’t.”
Andrew rubbed his forehead.
“Will Hannah be safe at the game?”
“Yes.”
“Can she see Carter and Brooklyn?”
“If she wants.”
They attended.
Brenda did not come.
Carter’s team lost by three runs. He struck out in the final inning and cried beneath the bleachers, furious when anyone tried to comfort him. Andrew sat on the dirt ten feet away until Carter came closer on his own.
“You missed a lot of games,” Carter said.
“I know.”
“Because of Grandma?”
“Because the adults made things hard.”
“Mom says Grandma did what you said.”
Andrew looked toward the field. Sabrina stood near the dugout with Brooklyn.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I think Hannah was scared.”
“Yes.”
“I think Grandma should say sorry.”
“Yes.”
“Would that fix it?”
“No.”
Carter wiped his face with his jersey.
“Then why does everybody care so much?”
“Because fixing something and telling the truth about it are different.”
Carter frowned. “That sounds stupid too.”
“A lot of true things do.”
Carter leaned against Andrew’s shoulder for half a second, then stood.
At the concession stand, Hannah and Brooklyn shared nachos. They did not discuss the months apart. They argued about whether melted cheese counted as a liquid.
Sabrina kept her distance from Jenna until the end.
In the parking lot, she said, “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for making it possible.”
Sabrina looked exhausted. Her hair had come loose from its tie.
“Mom says I’m choosing you.”
“This isn’t about choosing me.”
“I know.”
It was the first time Sabrina had said those words without contempt.
The following Fourth of July arrived with heat, flags, and the return of the Main Street parade.
For weeks, nobody mentioned it.
Then Hannah brought home a flyer from camp. Her group had been invited to walk in the children’s procession. The route was six blocks.
She placed the flyer on the table.
“I want to do it.”
Jenna’s first response rose instantly.
“No.”
Hannah’s face fell.
Andrew looked at Jenna.
She took a breath.
“I’m sorry. That was too fast.”
“I can walk six blocks.”
“I know.”
“I did the park mile.”
“I know.”
“Mina’s doing it.”
“I know.”
Hannah crossed her arms. “You’re making the face.”
Jenna realized she was.
The three of them discussed the route, supervision, shoes, water, rest points, and what would happen if Hannah wanted to stop. The camp provided adult volunteers every ten children. Parents could walk alongside the final block.
Dr. Patel asked Hannah why she wanted to participate.
“Because I didn’t finish last time.”
“You were not in the children’s procession last time.”
“I know.”
“What would finishing mean?”
Hannah looked at her shoes. “That I can.”
Dr. Patel nodded.
“What would stopping mean?”
Hannah’s eyes filled.
Dr. Patel waited.
“That Grandma was right.”
“No,” Jenna said before she could stop herself.
Dr. Patel glanced at her, then returned to Hannah.
“Is there any reason you might stop that has nothing to do with your grandmother?”
“My foot could hurt.”
“Yes.”
“I could get too hot.”
“Yes.”
“I could be tired.”
“Yes.”
“Stopping could mean one of those.”
“It could.”
Hannah wiped her eyes.
“I still want to do it.”
They agreed.
On the morning of the parade, Hannah wore broken-in white sneakers with soft heel padding. No patriotic shoes. No matching outfits. Her camp shirt was bright green and too large.
Jenna carried water, bandages, sunscreen, and a second pair of sandals. Andrew made her remove half the supplies from the backpack.
“She is walking six blocks, not crossing a desert.”
“I know.”
“You packed electrolyte tablets.”
“I like options.”
Hannah came downstairs.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“The face.”
Jenna relaxed her mouth.
They parked three blocks from Main Street. The same brick storefronts wore flags. The same vintage streetlamps held hanging baskets. Food carts lined the side streets. Folding chairs appeared in rows behind the barricades.
Jenna’s body remembered before she reached the corner.
Her hand moved toward Hannah.
Hannah took it for five steps, then released it.
“I’m okay.”
“I know.”
Near the old pharmacy, Jenna saw the place where the family chairs had been. The pavement was empty now except for chalk marks and a crushed paper cup.
Andrew stopped beside her.
“You good?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
Hannah waited several feet ahead.
“We’re going to be late.”
They continued.
At the camp meeting area, counselors checked names and divided the children into groups. Mina waved from beneath a green visor. Hannah joined her.
Dennis arrived alone and stood near the barricade. Teresa came with her sister. Sabrina brought Carter and Brooklyn but stayed across the street. She lifted one hand to Jenna. Jenna returned the gesture.
Brenda was not there.
At least, Jenna did not see her.
The procession began after a fire truck and before a line of antique cars. Children carried paper flowers and small flags. Hannah held nothing. She wanted both hands free.
Jenna and Andrew walked along the sidewalk behind the barricade, moving when the crowd allowed. At the second block, they lost sight of Hannah behind a cluster of taller children.
Jenna’s breathing changed.
Andrew touched her elbow.
“She’s with the group.”
“I know.”
At the third block, Hannah reappeared.
At the fourth, she slowed.
Mina continued several steps, then looked back. Hannah bent and pressed one hand to her heel.
Jenna moved toward the barricade opening.
Andrew stepped in front of her.
“Wait.”
“She’s hurt.”
“Wait.”
A camp counselor crouched beside Hannah. They spoke. Hannah shook her head. The counselor pointed toward a shaded rest area.
Hannah looked down the parade route. The group was moving ahead.
Jenna could see the choice in the child’s posture.
Then Hannah walked to the shade.
Jenna’s eyes filled.
Andrew opened the barricade and followed her to the rest area.
Hannah sat on a folding chair and removed her shoe. The skin was pink but unbroken.
“I’m stopping,” she said before either adult spoke.
“Okay,” Andrew said.
“I could keep going.”
“Okay.”
“But I’m stopping.”
Jenna knelt in front of her.
“Okay.”
Hannah searched her face.
“Are you disappointed?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The parade moved past them. Mina looked over her shoulder until the group turned the corner.
Hannah put on the sandals from Jenna’s backpack.
“I want to watch the rest.”
They found space near Dennis and Teresa. Andrew folded a chair open for Hannah. She sat with one foot tucked beneath her and drank water.
A brass band approached, drums echoing between the buildings.
Across the street, Sabrina stood with Carter and Brooklyn. Someone moved behind them, and for one terrible second Jenna thought she saw Brenda’s silver-blonde hair.
It was another woman.
Jenna exhaled.
Hannah noticed.
“You thought Grandma came.”
“Yes.”
“Would we leave?”
Jenna looked at Andrew.
“No,” she said. “We would decide what to do.”
The answer seemed to satisfy Hannah.
When the final floats passed, spectators began folding chairs and gathering bags. Paper flags lay crushed along the curb. The street looked suddenly smaller without the procession moving through it.
Hannah walked toward the pharmacy corner.
Jenna followed.
At the exact place where the broken flag had lain a year earlier, Hannah stopped. She looked down at the pavement, though there was nothing to mark it.
“Was it here?”
“Yes.”
Andrew stood on her other side.
Hannah removed the small silver bracelet Brenda had sent and turned the star charm between her fingers. She still wore it sometimes. The heart remained. The flag charm had never come out of the junk drawer.
“I don’t remember everything,” she said.
“That’s okay,” Jenna replied.
“I remember the chair.”
Andrew looked toward the empty curb.
“I remember thinking if I sat still enough, nobody would be mad when they came back.”
Jenna’s throat tightened.
Hannah glanced at them.
“You came back.”
“We came looking,” Jenna said.
“That’s different?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Jenna thought before answering.
“Coming back means you already knew where someone was. Looking means you admit you lost them.”
Hannah considered this, then nodded.
Behind them, workers began moving the barricades. Metal scraped against pavement. A vendor counted cash beneath a striped awning. Dennis waited near the corner without calling them to hurry.
Hannah put the bracelet back on.
“Can we get lemonade?”
“Yes,” Andrew said.
“The expensive one?”
“The parade only has expensive ones.”
They walked toward the food carts.
Hannah moved slowly because the sandals rubbed between her toes. No one went ahead. Andrew matched her pace without lifting her. Jenna stayed close but did not reach for her hand.
At the lemonade stand, Hannah counted bills from her own small wallet and complained about the price. Andrew told her she had inherited that opinion from him. Jenna said he had paid twelve dollars for coffee at an airport once and therefore had no principles.
Hannah laughed.
May you like
The three of them stood in the bright afternoon with one lemonade between them, passing the cup back and forth while the last distant drums faded beyond Main Street.
No one told Hannah to hurry.
