Chapter 9: The Park

The second Saturday, Maisie announced that one hour in the apartment was not enough, and she was prepared to go on strike.

"Park," she said. "With the tall man. Now."

I looked at Conal over her head.

He had the sense not to say a word.

"Fine," I said. "The playground on the corner. Still one hour, and I'm coming."

"Of course," Conal said.

So we went, the four of us, with me walking carefully behind the girls and my cane clicking on the pavement.

It was the first warm day of the fall.

The playground was crowded with strollers, and the sand smelled like sunscreen.

Maisie ran for the slide.

Bea went straight to the sandbox, sat down and began to dig with the dappled horse.

Conal sat beside her, knees up, and dug too.

I took the bench at the edge, where I could see them both.

I watched him hold out a plastic bucket without being asked.

I watched Bea take it and not say thank you, and I watched him smile down at the bucket.

It was hard to remember why I was angry, and I made myself remember.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

A man in a gray jacket stood beside the bench.

He was in his forties, heavyset, with a cap pulled low.

He smiled at me.

"Are you Miss Linwood?"

"Who's asking?"

"I'm from the school. We're calling parents about the girls' enrollment forms. It'll take two minutes if you want to step over to the car."

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