note?”
“What note?” her mother asked.
“About the trip,” she said. “You were supposed to do a note.”
“Honey, you never said anything about any note for any trip,” Cynthia said. “You can’t spring these things on us at the last minute.”
“What’s it for?” I asked.
“We’re supposed to visit the fire station today, and we can’t go if we don’t have a note giving us permission.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about this soon—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll bang off a note.”
I ran upstairs to what would be our third bedroom, but was a combined sewing room and office. Tucked into the corner was a desk where Cynthia and I shared a computer and I did my marking and lesson planning. Also sitting on the desk was my old Royal typewriter from university days, which I still used for short notes since my handwriting is terrible, and I find it easier to roll a piece of paper into a typewriter than turn on the computer, open up Word, create and write a document, print it out, etc.
So I typed a short note to Grace’s teacher giving our daughter permission to leave school grounds to tour the fire station. I only hoped the fact that the “e” key looked more like a “c” didn’t create any confusion, especially when my daughter’s name came out looking like “Gracc.”
I came back downstairs and handed Grace the note, folded, and told her to tuck it into her backpack so she wouldn’t lose it.
At the door, Cynthia said to me, “Make sure you see her go into the building.” Grace, out of earshot, was in the driveway, twirling around like a ballerina on crack.
“What if they play outside for a while first?” I said. “They see some guy like me loitering around the schoolyard, aren’t they going to call the cops?”
“If I saw you out there, I’d arrest you in a minute,” Cynthia said. “Just get her to the schoolyard then. That’s all.” She pulled me closer to her. “So when exactly do you have to be to school?”
“Not till start of second period.”
“So you’ve got almost an hour,” she said, and she gave me a look that I did not get to see quite as often as I like.
“Yes,” I said very evenly. “You are correct, Mrs. Archer. Did you have something in mind?”
“Perhaps I do, Mr. Archer.” Cynthia gave me a smile and kissed me very lightly on the lips.
“Won’t Grace seem suspicious when I tell her we have to run the whole way to school?”
“Just go,” she said, and ushered me out the door.
“So what’s the plan?” Grace asked as we started off down the sidewalk, next to each other.
“Plan?” I said. “There’s no plan.”
“I mean, how far are you going to walk me?”
“I thought I’d go right in with you, maybe sit in class with you for an hour or so.”
“Dad, don’t joke.”
“Who says I’m joking? I’d like to sit in class with you. See if you’re doing your work properly.”
“You wouldn’t even fit in the desk,” Grace pointed out.
“I could sit on top of it,” I said. “I’m not particular.”
“Mom seemed kind of happy today,” Grace said.
“Of course she did,” I said. “Mom’s happy lots of times.” Grace gave me a look to suggest that I was not being totally honest here. “Your mom has a lot on her mind these days. This hasn’t been an easy time for her.”
“Because it’s been twenty-five years,” Grace said. Just like that.
“Yeah,” I said.
“And because of the TV show,” she said. “I don’t see why you guys won’t let me see it. You taped it, right?”
“Your mother doesn’t want to upset you,” I said. “About the things that happened to her.”
“One of my friends taped it,” Grace said quietly. “I’ve sort of already seen it, you know.” A kind of “so there” tone in her voice.
“How did you see it?” I asked. Cynthia kept Grace on such a short leash, taking her to and from school, supervising playdates. Had Grace smuggled home a tape, watched
“What note?” her mother asked.
“About the trip,” she said. “You were supposed to do a note.”
“Honey, you never said anything about any note for any trip,” Cynthia said. “You can’t spring these things on us at the last minute.”
“What’s it for?” I asked.
“We’re supposed to visit the fire station today, and we can’t go if we don’t have a note giving us permission.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about this soon—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll bang off a note.”
I ran upstairs to what would be our third bedroom, but was a combined sewing room and office. Tucked into the corner was a desk where Cynthia and I shared a computer and I did my marking and lesson planning. Also sitting on the desk was my old Royal typewriter from university days, which I still used for short notes since my handwriting is terrible, and I find it easier to roll a piece of paper into a typewriter than turn on the computer, open up Word, create and write a document, print it out, etc.
So I typed a short note to Grace’s teacher giving our daughter permission to leave school grounds to tour the fire station. I only hoped the fact that the “e” key looked more like a “c” didn’t create any confusion, especially when my daughter’s name came out looking like “Gracc.”
I came back downstairs and handed Grace the note, folded, and told her to tuck it into her backpack so she wouldn’t lose it.
At the door, Cynthia said to me, “Make sure you see her go into the building.” Grace, out of earshot, was in the driveway, twirling around like a ballerina on crack.
“What if they play outside for a while first?” I said. “They see some guy like me loitering around the schoolyard, aren’t they going to call the cops?”
“If I saw you out there, I’d arrest you in a minute,” Cynthia said. “Just get her to the schoolyard then. That’s all.” She pulled me closer to her. “So when exactly do you have to be to school?”
“Not till start of second period.”
“So you’ve got almost an hour,” she said, and she gave me a look that I did not get to see quite as often as I like.
“Yes,” I said very evenly. “You are correct, Mrs. Archer. Did you have something in mind?”
“Perhaps I do, Mr. Archer.” Cynthia gave me a smile and kissed me very lightly on the lips.
“Won’t Grace seem suspicious when I tell her we have to run the whole way to school?”
“Just go,” she said, and ushered me out the door.
“So what’s the plan?” Grace asked as we started off down the sidewalk, next to each other.
“Plan?” I said. “There’s no plan.”
“I mean, how far are you going to walk me?”
“I thought I’d go right in with you, maybe sit in class with you for an hour or so.”
“Dad, don’t joke.”
“Who says I’m joking? I’d like to sit in class with you. See if you’re doing your work properly.”
“You wouldn’t even fit in the desk,” Grace pointed out.
“I could sit on top of it,” I said. “I’m not particular.”
“Mom seemed kind of happy today,” Grace said.
“Of course she did,” I said. “Mom’s happy lots of times.” Grace gave me a look to suggest that I was not being totally honest here. “Your mom has a lot on her mind these days. This hasn’t been an easy time for her.”
“Because it’s been twenty-five years,” Grace said. Just like that.
“Yeah,” I said.
“And because of the TV show,” she said. “I don’t see why you guys won’t let me see it. You taped it, right?”
“Your mother doesn’t want to upset you,” I said. “About the things that happened to her.”
“One of my friends taped it,” Grace said quietly. “I’ve sort of already seen it, you know.” A kind of “so there” tone in her voice.
“How did you see it?” I asked. Cynthia kept Grace on such a short leash, taking her to and from school, supervising playdates. Had Grace smuggled home a tape, watched
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