I gestured to the closed classroom door. “What’s with the cloak and dagger act? Is it really that contentious?”
“Yes. And the rumor mill is that the grant was funded through an anonymouslocaldonor.”
I tilted my head, not understanding. “If they’re local, why not just anonymously donate the money to the school? Why do it through a grant?”
Leah shrugged. “Who knows why rich people do the things they do? Anyway, you and Rose will get along great. She’s sweet as pie and equally obsessed with Disney, so you know she’s good people. Where’s your phone? Her number’s 555-6028.” Leah recited this rapid fire from the top of her head, not surprising to me, her ability to recall numbers and dates rivaled an internet search engine.
I patted Leah’s hand. “I’ll need that number repeated again later. It’s not a done deal. And I don’t have time. I still need to find a nanny and then with Ryla’s birthday party this weekend . . .” I sighed. “I told you she invited every kid in her summer school class last week without asking me first, right?”
“I still can’t believe you hired a petting zoo.”
I groaned. Not only could everyone attend, but in a moment of sheer brilliance, Ryla had also asked for a petting zoo. And in a moment of true stupidity, I said yes. Thank God I found a local party planning company to help.
“Do you need any help?” Leah held up her hand, stopping me before I could reply. “Wait, I’m staying over Friday night when you’re on call, so I’ll already be there bright and early on Saturday to help. Easy peasy.”
I shook my head. “You really don’t have to. I don’t have much left to do. Just a few party favors. And picking up the cake. And putting up the decorations.” I winced, feeling more overwhelmed as I recalled everything I had left on my list for Saturday. “And the treat bags. Why did I do this to myself again?”
“You wanted to make up for the fact that your kid’s daddy is a level oneprick.” You could tell Leah was happy with herself as she leaned into that last word. “And you wanted to make your kids happy.”
Leah jerked her head up at the clock. “Shoot! It’s quarter past. We need to get to the gym.” Not sparing me an explanation, Leah grabbed her iced coffee and sped out of the room.
I had to jog to catch up.
“Why are we going to the gym?” I asked, breathless. The kids didn’t get done with their day until 3 p.m.
“The puppet show started one minute ago.”
“Did you say puppet show?”
Her eyes lit. “You have to see it. A guy who helps out with theater classes at the middle and high schools performs a full-on puppet show twice a year for the kids. He lets them try it too. And I’m not talking sock puppets. I mean honest-to-goodness string puppets. He’s great with the kids and they all adore him. I think half of Belle’s class is in love with him.”
“As long as it’s puppets and not clowns. You know how I feel about clowns.” I fought off a shiver.
Leah laughed. “That might be my favorite memory of the fourth grade.”
We linked arms, continuing down the hallway until we reached the gym. In the middle of the court sat a large rectangular wooden frame at least thirty feet wide and fifteen feet tall, with red curtains and, as Leah promised, two marionettes. On the left was a monkey, and on the right was a puppet that looked like Bert from Sesame Street.
And there were at least fifty kids sitting in front of it with rapt attention, giggling at the puppets’ antics. I spotted Ryla near the front, Leah’s son, Eric, to her right and Max to her left, a happy smile on his face.
“Oh!” exclaimed the Bert puppet. “Oh, how dare you! You sneaky little monkey. That was supposed to be my lunch, and you ate it!”
“Ooo-ooo-ooo, AH! AH! AH!” replied the tiny monkey, causing the kids to erupt into laughter.
“No! You can’t have more!” the Bert puppet announced in outrage, again causing giggles throughout the crowd.
“Ooo-ooo-ooo, ah?” The monkey’s sounds were quiet, almost conversational.
“Especially not the peanut butter!” The Bert puppet hollered. I craned my neck but still couldn’t tell where the person controlling the puppets was standing.
For the next twenty minutes the kids ate up the hilarious performance, which ended in Bert and the monkey dancing the tango. I enjoyed the puppet show almost as much as I enjoyed my kid’s laughter—because there was nothing better than the sound of your child laughing.
Robust clapping and cheers erupted at the end as a teacher from the audience walked up to the puppet show frame. “How about that, everyone! Let’s give it up for our puppet master!”
The clapping continued, but all sounds faded away as a young man appeared. Dressed in all black, he was wearing a microphone headset over his mop of curly brown hair. He had the monkey puppet under his arm as he waved jovially down to the kids.
A very familiar, very handsome, young man.
A man I’d only ever seen in a black polo, driving my car.
