“This is the second time this week, Clara,” Brenda said, and I could hear the rhythmic clattering of her computer keyboard in the background. “The ten o’clock reconciliation meeting is not optional.”
“I will be there by ten,” I said, though my stomach felt cold.
She hung up without saying goodbye, leaving me with the hum of the dead line.
I went back to Johnny’s room, lifted his dead-weight body from the bed, and spent twenty minutes slowly coaxing his stiff legs into his trousers. He did not make a sound, but his eyes stayed fixed on the bedroom door.
By nine o’clock, the dry maple leaves were scraping across the asphalt of the Sunshine Daycare parking lot. The lobby smelled strongly of lavender floor wax, a scent that usually made me feel safe but now just made my throat feel dry.
Margaret stood near the bulletin board in the hallway, adjusting her reading glasses on their long beaded chain. She offered her usual wide, tight smile as we walked through the door.
“Good morning, little man,” Margaret said, her voice rising to that high, singing pitch she used for the parents.
Johnny immediately hid behind my leg, his fingers anchoring deep into the denim of my jeans. I had to pry his small fingers away, one by one, to keep him from falling over.
“Margaret, I need to see the weekly staff schedule,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Specifically the weekend rotation.”
Margaret paused, her hand hovering over a stack of colored folders on the counter. She pulled a yellow sheet of paper slightly toward herself, then pushed it back under a heavy clipboard.
“Oh, the schedule is being updated right now, Clara,” Margaret said, her smile not reaching her eyes. “The licensing guidelines require us to file the new shift rotations before we post them.”
“I just want to know who is in the room with Johnny during the weekend lunch hours,” I said.
She adjusted her beaded chain again, the plastic pearls clicking against her collarbone.
