“I have talked to the district about our issue here at Knoll, and they agree,” he continues. “We need someone who can take on this issue full-time. Support our staff, keep parents in line. And most importantly, develop an after-school program that is inclusive and equitable—that reflects the needs and interests of all students at Knoll, not just the ones with the most, uh…involved parents. I’ve seen the great work that you and Dyvia have done with the PTA’s DEI program and the wonderful changes it’s brought to our school. I’d love to see what you could do for Knoll as the official Director of After-School Programming.”
I don’t know what to say. Isthisa hallucination? Because how is this man just offering me everything I’ve been looking for, but not finding, in my frustrating weeks of job-hunting? A schedule that allows me to be present with Pearl, a chance to be creative and innovative instead of following someone else’s orders. Instead of just doing the admin, converting Word docs to PDFs while someone else makes the decisions, I could be making a real difference myself.
“I’ve heard from your daughter that you’re unemployed.” Lord, why does this child keep telling the whole world my business? “And we can offer you a competitive salary, great health benefits. We’re anxious to have someone start soon, but I can email you the terms, let you think it over.”
“Yes…I’d need to think it over.” I wonder if those benefits include therapy.
“The position is set to go out internally next week…” And massages—Jasmine told me she gets fuckingmassagescovered with her insurance. That’s one self-care thing I haven’t tried yet. “…but I told the district I’d like to hold it for you if you’re interested—”
“I’m interested.” I know I shouldn’t look so eager. I know I should leave room for negotiation. I’ve read all the articles on LinkedIn. But my brain is already spinning with ideas. A sliding pay scale to make sure every kid gets to participate. And I could bring in more people from the Beachwood community to be teachers—maybe Dom wants to start a kids’ capture the flag league? And, oh, we could do a musical with more flavor next time,The Wizinstead ofAnnie…
“Wonderful.” Principal Smith flashes a smug smile, like this was the outcome he expected, and the excited whir of ideas in my head stops. I’ve seen that smile before—Iknowwho this man is. Do I really want to work with him? Just because he’s offering me exactly what I want, what Ineed, as my savings quickly dwindle…
As if conjured by my own guilty conscience, right behind him I see that signal flare of red hair in the crowd of families again. My chest tightens.
“I think things will run much more smoothly with you keeping an eye on things, Ms. Miller,” Principal Smith says, reaching out for my hand, a done deal. I shake his hand and smile like I’m supposed to, but as he walks away, my eyes are chasing that hair. So, I didn’t imagine it before…
And itisthat same red hair. Not Corinne, but her son—River. I haven’t seen him or his brother, Mason, since their dad, Ben, pulled them out to be homeschooled for the rest of the year. They still live down the street, but they keep their distancefrom Knoll and Principal Smith—of coursethey do. I’m surprised they made an exception forAnnie, of all things. Maybe one of their friends is in it? And does this mean Ben is here? Would it be strange if I said hello? I feel another wave of guilt. Oh god, did he just see me talking to Principal Smith?
River runs into the auditorium, and I realize it’s clearing up out here. The show is going to start any minute. I can’t think about the Ackermans—or this job, or what it says about me as a person if I take it—in this moment. I’m here to see my baby girl perform in her first musical, and that’s it. Be present, be calm. And save all the rest of that for Charlotte Green, LMFT, next week. That lady better be good.
I walk through the double doors and quickly find Ms. Joyce waving for me. She managed to score the second row, just behind Trisha, and I scoot past Dad on the aisle with all of his equipment and sit in the open seat between Ms. Joyce and Corey. Corey’s hand is twitching again at his thigh, and he’s staring intensely at the burgundy curtains, biting his bottom lip.
“You good?” I ask.
“I’m fine.” Sothat’swhat it looks like to everyone else when I try that lie. I arch my eyebrow.
“It’s just…” he starts with a sheepish smile. “You know, before that last long note, how she sometimes forgets to take a breath? Do you think they’ll let me back there for a sec, to remind her?” He starts to stand up.
“Oh my god, you cannot,” I say, swatting him down with a laugh. “When did you become such a stage parent, Corey Harding?”
It started with them just playing around on the keyboard he got Pearl for her birthday, but soon Corey memorized all of her lines from running them with her and signed her up for biweekly vocal and piano lessons at his friend’s studio. But theyboth love it—this new routine, how much time they’re spending together. And Corey’s actually going to start teaching drum lessons for kids at his friend’s studio, too, on Monday and Wednesday evenings, which means he’s putting down even more roots. Something I know is good…even if so much is still unresolved between us.
“Okay.IguessI won’t force my way backstage,” he says, laughing with me. His hands settle, and he sighs. “I just want her to feel good—proud, and like she belongs up there, you know? I want her to really believe, to know in her heart, that she belongs.”
I know exactly what he means. And whatever is happening between us, it’s nice to have someone here at a school event, worrying even more than me, after all the ones I did alone. It’s nice to not carry it all by myself.
“Your little boo is trying to get your attention.” Ms. Joyce pats my arm and then nods to the side of the stage, where Jack is peeking his head out. I feel Corey tense next to me. Thank you, universe, for that reminder of whatelseis unresolved.
Jack and I still haven’t talked about the big things—what’s next in our relationship, what’s going on with his mom. The past few weeks have been so full, with me trying to get better, with helping Pearl through it all…it’s been easier to just keep putting it off. He said he was willing to wait, that we could keep things right where we are, and I’ve taken him up on that. But I know this grace is not going to last forever.
Jack holds up a finger and disappears behind the curtain. Seconds later, he’s back with Pearl in her orphan costume, a patchwork dress and dirt smudged on her cheeks. She squints around the big room until Jack gently turns her and points in our direction. We make eye contact, and her whole face brightens, like a shining spotlight. I feel lit up inside, too. Jack is smiling andCorey is smiling, all of us just happy that this little girl is happy. And as the lights dim and the show begins, I try to push down all the unresolved things in my life—my relationships and my job and why the hell I keep finding myself in the middle of crimes I need to investigate—and focus on all that happy.
Pearl is a star. She delivers all of her lines and hits all of her choreography and basically carries “It’s the Hard-Knock Life” when Anabella starts doing that whispery cursive singing again and the other orphans get confused.
But her big moment comes during “N.Y.C.,” when she steps into the middle of the stage with a new costume: a blue trench coat with a matching hat and a suitcase clutched in her hand. I hear Corey take a sharp breath next to me in anticipation. This is what the two of them have been practicing over and over; this is what has his hands clutched tightly in his lap right now, like he can will everything to go perfectly. The Star-To-Be solo—originally Axel’s, then Anabella’s, and then finally reassigned to Pearl by Mr. Forest when he saw how hard she’d been working (and those kids’ messy parents meant they couldn’t have it).
She holds her head up high, but right before she opens her mouth, I see a flicker of uncertainty in her eye. My whole body braces, and my heart starts racing again—god, did it ever stop? It feels like the thing is going to jump out of my chest and into my throat.You’re okay, baby girl.I try to send the message from my brain to hers.You’ve got this.But my brain is already speeding ahead to the worst-case scenarios: She runs off the stage in tears, she never sings again…she grows up into a sad, lonely old woman who hisses anytime she hears theAnniesoundtrack. I don’t even make the decision to grab Corey’s hand. It just feels like the only thing Icando to keep me tethered right here in the present, to the only person feeling as nervous as me. He squeezes my hand back, then keeps holding it tight.
But sheisokay. She’s more than okay; she’s remarkable. Her voice is bright and clear. She remembers to take a breath and hits that last long note better than she ever has before. And she has a presence up there on the stage—not just taking up space, but commanding it. She knows she belongs.
When she sings her last line, I pull my hand back to applaud, even though the song keeps going and Tricia turns to give me a dirty look. My eyes are teary as they follow Pearl’s proud strut to the side of the stage, so it takes me an extra moment to blink the blurriness away and see Jack there, a sad smile on his face, his gaze locked on me and Corey.
Which…okay. We were holding hands. But it was just two parents watching their kid go through a big moment, helping each other through those feelings. I need to talk to him and explain, so he understands. Hehasto understand.
At intermission, I jump up out of my seat to find him—scooting past Ms. Joyce and Dad, calling over my shoulder for them to tell Pearl I’ll be right back if she comes looking for me. And then I’m rushing over to the side of the curtains—this will be a quick, easy conversation. This is nothing.
But before I can get there, someone steps in front of me, blocking my way. I don’t recognize Ben Ackerman at first. He looks…different. Greasy hair and dark bags under his eyes. His shirt is missing a button at the bottom, revealing an undershirt that’s seen better days.
“Hi Ben. Wow. I haven’t seen you in so long.” My eyes dart behind him as a fifth grader in a bald cap, Daddy Warbucks, walks out from backstage. “Listen, I really want to talk, but can I just—”
“I have something for you, Mavis.” He does a quick glance around him and then reaches into the pocket of his baggy jeans. “Here.”
Before I can even decide if Iwantanything coming out of those jeans, he’s already pressing a folded, slightly sweaty piece of paper into my hand. And by the time I look up to ask him all the questions that are starting to spin in my head, he’s gone.
I need to find Jack, but I also need to know what this is—I need toconfirmif it is what I think it is. Because I don’t feel confusion when I unfold the note. Just resignation. It’s like I knew this was coming eventually. I knew this couldn’t be done.
On the paper is a phone number, and underneath it, in tiny, careful handwriting, is a message for me:
Mavis, pleasecall.
