I spent the afternoon processing claims, but my mind was stuck on the yellow schedule Margaret had hidden. There was no reason to hide a staff list from a parent unless something on it was wrong.
At half past five, the dusk was already settling over my driveway when I pulled in. Kenny was waiting by the front steps, tossing a small red rubber ball from hand to hand to pass the time.
“Hey, Clara,” Kenny said, cracking his knuckles as he walked down the driveway to meet my car. “Johnny is inside watching the cartoon about the trains. He was awesome today.”
“Did he have any lunch today, Kenny?” I asked, leaning against the car door. “Or any snack?”
Kenny looked down at his sneakers, his thumb rubbing the side of his palm.
“Honestly, he wouldn’t touch the macaroni,” Kenny said. “Awesome kid, but he just wanted his milk cup. I worry I am not doing this right, you know? I want to make sure I am doing a good job so I can keep earning for that Buick down the street.”
“You are doing fine, Kenny,” I said.
“He dropped his spoon and started crying when I offered him a piece of bread,” Kenny said, his voice quiet. He cracked his knuckles again. “I did not want to push him.”
I reached into my purse, pulled out my small black notebook and a blue ballpoint pen, and flipped to a clean page.
I wrote down the name Verna in large, neat block letters.
The dry maple leaves scraped on the asphalt parking lot as I pulled my old sedan into the Sunshine Daycare lot on Friday morning. The heater in my car was barely blowing warm air, and the windshield was misted with my own breath. I sat in the driver’s seat for a full minute, listening to the low, uneven hum of the engine, before I gathered Johnny into my arms. He was quiet, his small fingers tightly clutching the satin edge of his blue blanket. He did not hum his usual morning songs, and his body felt stiff against my chest.
