belonged. She couldn’t imagine another life for herself.
Glancing at the clock, she went to the door and opened it. Her nameplate read “Ms. Robinson—Room 105” and was surrounded by each child’s name, neatly printed with a photo on a yellow tagboard star.
Lily adored children—other people’s children. For one special year of their lives, they were hers to care for and nurture, and she put all of her heart into it. Thanks to her job, she was able to tell people she did have children, twenty-four of them. And in the fall, she would get twenty-four different ones. They gave her everything she could ever want from a family of her own—joy and laughter, pathos and tears, triumph and pride. Sometimes they broke her heart, but most of the time, they gave her a reason for living.
She loved her students from September to June, and when school ended, she sent them out the door, giving them back to their families, pounds heavier, inches taller, drilled in their multiplication and division tables, reading at grade level or better. In the fall, she shifted her attention to the next crop of students. And so it went, year after year. It was the most satisfying feeling in the world, and best of all, it was safe.
Having children of your own—now, that was not so safe. Kids were part of you forever, subjecting you to crazed heights of joy and bitter depths of sorrow. Some people were cut out for that, others weren’t. A good number weren’t cut out for it but fell in love and had kids, anyway. Then they usually fell out of love and everyone within shouting distance got hurt. Charlie Holloway’s parents were a case in point, Lily reflected.
“My Favorite Things” had been today’s creative writing lesson. The children had three minutes to write down as many of their favorite things as possible. Lily always did the exercises right alongside her students, and she always took them seriously. The kids stayed more interested and involved that way. Her list, written hastily but neatly on a large flip chart, included:
Japanese satsumas
snow days
science projects
the sound of kids singing
TV miniseries
mystery novels
first day of school
take-out restaurants
sightseeing
stories that end happily ever after
She ripped down the chart and crumpled it into a ball. It was a little too revealing. Not that her list would surprise Crystal Holloway. They’d known each other since Lily was Charlie’s age, maybe younger, and Crystal had been a gum-popping preteen babysitter.
What a long way we’ve come together, thought Lily. This was a new one for them both, though. Telling parents their child was failing third grade was hard enough. The fact that Lily and Crystal were best friends only made it worse. In doing what was best for Charlie, Lily was going to have to say some difficult things to her dearest friend. And on top of that, the divorced Holloways couldn’t stand each other.
Ordinarily, the idea of teaching Crystal’s kids was uniquely gratifying. Lily was like their special aunt, and when each one was born—first Cameron, then Charlie and finally Ashley—Lily had wept for joy right alongside Crystal.
Cameron was bright, eager to please and as quick to grasp academics as he was to pick up tips on his golf swing from his pro-golfer father. Now fifteen, Cameron was the best player on the high school golf team.
Charlie, however, was a different story. From the first day of school, she’d struggled and balked at basic concepts. Lily had met with Derek and Crystal separately throughout the year. They’d engaged a tutor and claimed to be working hard on Charlie’s reading outside of school. Despite everyone’s efforts, though, Charlie had shown no improvement. She seemed caught in a mysterious block that could not be attributed to learning disabilities or detectable disorders. She was simply…stuck.
Lily looked again at the clock and smoothed her lilac cotton sweater over her hips. The Holloways were due any minute.
“How about some bottled water for your conference?” asked Edna, poking her head inside Lily’s classroom.
“Thanks. I think they might be delayed because of this weather.”
Edna glanced at the windows, gave an exaggerated little shudder and pulled her hand-knit Cowichan shawl tighter around her. She set a six-pack of bottled water on the table.
“To tell you the truth,” Lily said, “I’m not looking forward to this one.”
Edna studied Charlie’s school photograph at the center of her yellow star. She looked like Pippi Longstocking, complete with strawberry-blond pigtails, freckles and a missing front tooth. “I take it she’s not handling the