Our home became a place filled with crayons, stuffed animals, bedtime stories, missing socks, and little fingerprints on windows.
Ava was now seven and had recently started second grade.
She was outgoing at home but had been nervous about finding close friends at school, so when she burst through the door one afternoon announcing that a classmate had invited her over, I was almost as excited as she was.
“Mom!” she shouted, dropping her backpack near the stairs. “Josephine asked if I can come to her house!”
She practically bounced toward me.
“Her mom said today is okay. Can I go? Please?”
I smiled.
“Of course you can.”
Ava threw her arms around me.
I had briefly met Josephine’s mother, Rachel, during school pickup before. She seemed friendly and responsible—the sort of person who remembered names after hearing them once.
We exchanged phone numbers and addresses.
Nothing about the afternoon seemed unusual.
At least, not yet.
For illustrative purposes only
The Three Minutes I Didn’t Think About
I told David about the playdate.
He had come home from work earlier than usual and was resting upstairs before dinner.
Ava and I were almost ready to leave when she suddenly stopped near the front door.
“My jacket!”
I looked at her.
“What about it?”
“It’s in Daddy’s car.”
I was still gathering my purse and checking that I had Rachel’s address.
Without thinking twice, I grabbed David’s keys.
“Here. Run into the garage and get it. I’ll finish getting ready.”
