“Maybe you could ask your dad about her sometime,” she said.
“I don’t know. I don’t think he wants me to. I tried asking my grandma about her once, but she almost started crying.”
“Sometimes it’s hard for people to talk about things.”
“Why would it be hard for her to talk about that?”
Another pause. “I’m not sure.”
I continued to lay there underneath the hot sun, feeling my skin starting to crisp, despite the sunscreen. I didn’t want them to think that I was awake, that I had been able to overhear every word that had been said. There was a part of me that wanted to just tell Declan everything, and tell him all about it, but he was too young, of course. It wouldn’t make sense to him, and it would leave him with far more questions than answers. It might feel good to talk about it, but I wouldn’t let myself do it, even though a part of me longed to tell Allie; I didn’t want to keep anything from her.
We stayed at the lake for a while, only packing our stuff up when the sun was low in the sky and the mosquitos started coming out. Declan was sound asleep in his car seat before I’d even made it out of the parking lot.
“It’s amazing what a day at the beach will do to a kid,” I said. “I definitely remember being a kid and coming off the beach and just being so tired I didn’t think I’d be able to walk back up to the house. And then just falling asleep in bed, no covers, and waking up the next morning with the sheets full of sand.” As kids, my sister and I would often sleep on the screened-in front porch because it’d be cooler out there than up in our bedrooms.
“I didn’t go to the water much,” Allie said. “My mother, as I’m sure you could tell, isn’t really the outdoors-y type. We did belong to a country club and go to the pool sometimes, but it was so chlorinated it made my eyes burn. And she would never go swimming anyway.” She shook her head. “Sometimes, it feels like I was raised by the completely wrong person. Like I would’ve been much happier with the sort of mom who went barefoot and spent her days outside in the garden. But I guess we can’t choose who raises us.”
“Do you think Declan is happy?” I asked.
She looked at me. “Where’s that coming from?”
“I just...wonder sometimes. And you’re his teacher, and you’re also around other kids a lot, too, so you’ve got something to compare... Do you think he seems happy? Or do you think he feels like he’s being raised by the wrong person, too?”
I had never admitted this before, but sometimes it felt like I was failing. Despite that everyone around me was telling me what a good job I was doing, I sometimes wondered if it was just because they saw me as a guy trying to raise a kid by himself. The bar was pretty low when it came to that—I often felt that people thought I deserved a medal just because I hadn’t abandoned him.
“You’re doing a great job,” Allie said. “Raising a kid isn’t easy, and it’s especially not easy when you’re doing it by yourself. Declan is a well-adjusted, happy boy. He’s creative, thoughtful, and just such a great friend to all the kids in class.” She paused, a look of understanding crossing her face. “Did you hear us talking earlier? When he was asking me about his mother?”
“I might have overheard something.”
“Don’t think that just because he was asking about his mom means that he isn’t happy with you,” she said. “It’s natural for kids to have questions like that, especially when they start to realize that there are other kids who come from different family situations than they do. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
I think that deep down, I knew that I was doing the best I could for Declan, and that compared to some other situations, things were actually pretty good, but there was still that part of me that wondered if he felt like something was missing, if he wasn’t entirely happy. My own childhood had been so free of stress and carefree, and I hated to think that maybe Declan wasn’t having a similar experience.
“Thanks,” I said. “It helps to hear you say that.”
Chapter Seventeen
Allie
I was standing right by the door, helping one of the students put his carefully sculpted Play-Doh sculpture into his cubby when Cole came to pick Declan up.
“Hey,” he said when he saw me, his voice sounding subdued. He looked pale, even though he’d gotten a lot of sun the other day when we’d gone to the lake.
“Hi,” I said. “You feeling okay?”
He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. “Actually, not really,” he said. “It was a struggle to get through the day today.” He coughed into his elbow. “You might want to stay back; I must’ve picked up some sort of cold or something.”
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He made his way over to the clipboard to sign Declan out, fumbling twice with the pen before he was finally able to sign his name.
“You’re not looking so good,” I said, though I stopped short of actually putting my hand to his forehead to feel it. “Why don’t you just go home and get into bed? I’ll bring Declan home later. I get off in about 45 minutes, and I’ll bring him to the playground or something, that way you can get some rest.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“It’s not a problem? I can probably manage lying on the couch while he plays with LEGOs or something.”