When a Child Stops Asking
“Come see mine, it’s in the middle!” she demanded, towing me toward the display boards.
Her painting hung front and center — a chaotic, joyful mess of color, a classroom full of kids, and in the middle a tall man in ridiculous round glasses.
“The seeing glasses,” I said.
“Obviously,” she said, with the withering patience of a seven-year-old for a slow adult, and I laughed until my eyes stung.
Chapter 31 — The New Family
As the evening wound down and the gym emptied, I stood near the exit, watching families filter out into the spring dark, and let myself feel something close to peace.
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