What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
Though it was the middle of the night in Wheaton, Erin texted Lalitha about Ilam and her new team. Regarding Ben, Erin decided what was happening was happening, whether she knew about it or not. She texted:
Erin: “I’m totally fine with hearing about Ben. Whatever’s going on with him, let me have it.”
“Off to bed, Erin?” Felicity asked.
“In a few minutes.”
Felicity’s smile froze. “It’s important that you are well rested. Particularly as an athlete, you need a proper amount of sleep.”
“I’m going.” Erin scooped up her gear and bid Hamish good night. She didn’t appreciate being treated like a child. Felicity already had a daughter, so shouldn’t the whole child-management thing be out of her system? She still read stories to Pippa, who was ten. As soon as Erin could read, her au pair was off the hook for stories.
In under a year, she would be at college, telling herself when to go to bed, deciding what to eat and when. And not accepting to-do lists from her mother all the damned time, she hoped.
Erin was quick in the frigid bathroom before slipping into Pippa’s dark, quiet bedroom, which smelled faintly of intestinal gas. Pippa breathed deeply as Erin tucked her computer into its case.
Erin dove into her bed to find three fuzzy hot pillows in her sheets: hot water bottles all in a row.
Ecstatic, she absorbed their heat until she was certain she wouldn’t die of hypothermia.
She was warm. Really, truly warm. No hourlong grasshopper mating ritual required. She pushed one hot water bottle to her toes and slid the other two onto the floor.
Felicity was a saint. A somewhat bossy saint, but still.
TWENTY-ONE
Pippa wasn’t in her bed Tuesday morning. Showered, dressed, and in the kitchen for breakfast, Erin asked Felicity where she was.
“She had a rough night,” Felicity said. “She’s still asleep in my bed.”
Erin didn’t want to press. She and Felicity performed a little pas de deux around the kitchen, packing lunches and foraging for breakfast.
Mounted on the dining room wall, a heater about a yard wide and a foot tall belched warmish air into the room. At that rate, Erin would be cold forever.
Felicity leaned around Erin to grab flatware. “Pippa! Breakfast!”
“Felicity?”
She looked Erin in the eye. “Yes?”
“Thanks for the warm bed last night. It was really … nice.”
Felicity touched her arm. “I’m trying to help.”
“You did, thanks.”
A groggy Pippa joined them in the kitchen.
Felicity straightened the naked baby oil painting, which had been askew. “I’m a bit late today. It’s hosing down out there. Fine on your own this morning, girls?”
Erin and Pippa assured her they were fine. A half hour later, they bundled up, pulled on their boots, and walked to the bus stop in the pouring rain.
“I like your wellies,” Pippa said.
“They’re Hunters.”
“We call them wellies.”
“I meant the brand,” Erin said.
Pippa raised her bright rain boots decorated with emoji. “And this kind is called gumboots.”
Pippa maintained a steady line of commentary as Erin grew more irritated by the bus requirement. After ten minutes, Erin said, “Pippa, I need a little space.”
Pippa nodded and was quiet until the bus arrived and she blurted, “You’ve forgotten your cello!”
“I’m taking a break. And thank you for the space.” Erin nodded to the bus. “You first.”
Pippa climbed the steps and rubbed her purple metro card in a circular motion on a post. The beaming driver said, “G’morning!”
Pippa said, “Good morning, Ladanian!”
“G’morning!” he said to Erin.
Erin copied Pippa’s movements with her card. “Hi.”
“Have a seat!”
Pippa sat with Erin, but she talked across the aisle to Nadia, who wore an identical plaid Ilam Primary uniform. Other riders wore a veritable rainbow of uniforms. A sad rainbow: dark red, royal blue, blacks, whites, and one gaudy yellow.
Out of their neighborhood, over the bridge, and through the chaotic roundabout, Erin was the only rider in Ilam High blue.
“You’re going to miss your stop,” Pippa said, pressing a thin yellow strip next to her seat.
The driver stopped somewhat abruptly, just in front of Ilam High.
Erin walked toward the rear exit
“You have to cross at the Deborah!” Pippa yelled.
Erin furrowed her brow. “What?”
“You have to cross at the Deborah!” Pippa yelled again.
Erin could make no sense of that.
A small girl in black and yellow shouted, “The black and white stripes, just there? The zebra.” She pointed to the crosswalk.
Deborah, zebra. Zebra stripes.
“Got it!” she yelled to Pippa, and she disembarked.
TWENTY-TWO
Erin’s art teacher had been absent Monday, so Erin had doodled in a notebook as her classmates gossiped for the better part of an hour. Excited to begin creating, Erin was delighted to find Mrs. Campbell in class Tuesday morning.
As Erin was introducing herself, an air horn sounded and her classmates dove under tables. Curling into tight fetal positions, each student clung to a table leg and wrapped their other arm around their necks.
Erin froze.
“Erin?” Mrs. Campbell said. “Earthquake. Drop, cover, and hold!”
Erin crawled under a table and assumed the same position as her classmates. In the quiet that ensued, Erin decided earthquakes were uneventful. She’d expected them to feel more … quake-like.
Moments later, another air horn sounded, and a woman on an electronic megaphone said, “All clear.”
Everyone crawled out from under their tables and took their seats as Mrs. Campbell apologized for missing Monday’s class. “I was stuck in Oz for an extra day. Anyway, this term, we’ll be working on watercolors.” A true assignment would begin Thursday but, in the meantime, they’d experiment with watercolors, brushes, and different weights of paper.
Erin gathered supplies and painted a bold red line on her thinnest paper. She added more water to the red and created another line, then another, until she painted a faint pink line. The paper buckled
