I thought of the children who had worn them. I wondered if they’d really joined the family, as the article had said. If they had happy memories of this schoolhouse, if they returned for holidays and made themselves at home here. I was so lost in thought—my palms smoothing a furry little lion costume with a giant mane of brown yarn—when the record stopped. The needle lifted and moved to the side and the quiet that followed startled me.
The room felt suddenly chilly, as though the cold and silence had been there all along, lurking under the lecture and my busy movements, briefly obscured by my sense of purpose.
A shadow streaked across a wall. I held perfectly still, bracing for a memory to take me over. Wondering what would happen this time, after it was finished.
But no memory came.
I thought of Lee’s face and his fear, that first day of lessons. And then I thought of his careful penmanship and the equations that finally made sense. Of how we moved on from it, safe in the schoolhouse.
Maybe the shadow was only my imagination.
I told myself that it was so.
I turned the record over and continued with my work until the room was neat again, with rows of clear tables and a closet that invited learning and play. I did it all without looking at the window. I did it with the record player’s volume cranked as high as it would go.
* * *
___
By the time the third album had ended, I had finished labeling the shelves. I sat in the clean room, reading an old hardcover collection of Grimm’s fairy tales, listening for the vans approaching from the road. Finally, I heard wheels on gravel, the groan of the gate.
I met them outside on the edge of the field. The children spilled out happily from one van and then the other. Lee gave me a quick, tight hug and then chased after the others to the house, where the high schoolers were going to prepare a snack. Terry and Julia greeted me with smiles. I led them to the schoolhouse and when I opened the closet, hope thrummed through me. I am good, I told myself. Here was proof on the shelves, in the three-inch spaces between each basket, in each carefully written label.
Would they see it?
I turned around. “I wanted to show you, in case you want anything arranged differently,” I said, and hoped for their praise.
“Well, now look at this,” Terry said. But Julia cocked her head, and soon Terry’s brow furrowed. He started to speak and then paused. “This is how you spent your day?” he finally asked.
I nodded.
“This is your day off, Mila,” Julia said. “Next time, go on a hike. Lie on the grass. Read a book or play the piano or stay in bed and do nothing. You don’t need to have anything to show for your Sundays. Your Sundays are your own.”
“Oh,” I said. I tried to breathe. “Okay.”
I was back at Jonathan and Amy’s, scrubbing their sink white, until Terry put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Mila, thank you. This is a huge weight off my mind, such a big help.”
“Yes,” Julia said, her voice softer, linking her arm through mine. “It’s never looked so good in here. All these costumes—I’d forgotten about so many of them.”
And then we walked across the field, Terry and me and Julia. Together, we stepped into their bright house.
* * *
___
That afternoon, I met Dr. Cole for the first time. He knocked twice at the kitchen door and stepped in with his black medical bag. “Time for checkups, everyone!” he boomed from the doorway.
Terry’s voice called out from his bedroom: “Is that my brother?”
“The very one!” Dr. Cole called back.
Terry appeared in the kitchen and the two men embraced.
“Who wants the first checkup?” Dr. Cole asked. Ever eager, Lee’s hand shot up.
They retreated to Terry and Julia’s room and closed the door behind them. The dishes from the afternoon snack were stacked in the sink, so I got to washing and Julia soon joined me.
“Dr. Cole is one of our closest friends,” she told me, dish towel over her shoulder. “He and Terry met in college, freshman year. Never let each other go.”
Carefully, I handed Julia a large, wet platter. As she toweled it dry, she asked, “When was your last physical?”
“Just a few months ago.”
She nodded. “And do you have any prescriptions you need filled? Any concerns, or matters you need checked on?”
“No.”
“Some of our kids have chronic issues, so Dr. Cole comes by every few months for them, and we do regular yearly checkups for the others. Next year you can get your annual exam from Dr. Cole if you’d like. Or, a lot of our girls have preferred a female doctor. Dr. Harris in town is good. Tell me if you ever need an appointment and I’ll set one up.”
“Okay,” I told her.
“For anything at all,” she added.
“Thank you.”
She finished stacking the clean plates and leaned against the sink, watching me. Was she waiting for me to say something? Before I could think of what, she said, “No more thank-yous. Not for things like this.”
Just then, Lee burst out of the bedroom. His feet pounded through the living room to the doorway of the kitchen, where he stopped still, grinning. Julia and I paused our washing to take in the sight of his rumpled brown hair, his uneven front teeth—one large one, one gap with a new permanent tooth coming in. So proud of himself, so happy. He strode up to us.
“Well. How did it go?” Julia asked.
“I grew three-quarters of an inch!”
I sat on a kitchen chair so that I could be eye to eye with him.
“So much!” I said. “Soon you’ll be up to the ceiling.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “And . . . I’m perfectly healthy.”
Julia widened her eyes. “No wheezing?”
“Nope.”
“I’m so glad,” she said.
* * *
___
Later, when the exams were over and Dr. Cole came out of the room, he spotted me and extended his hand. “You must be the new Samantha,” he said.
What passed over my face? I didn’t know I was so transparent, but his eyes widened and he shook his head. “What a strange thing to come out of my mouth. Tell me your name, my friend. I’m eager to know you.”
“Mila,” I said.
“Lovely name. And you’re Lee’s new teacher, correct?”