Boone snorts beside us. “You mean lazy.”
Ellie gasps. “School is important. We learn stuff there.”
“I stand corrected,” Boone says. “Clearly, you’re the academic leader of the family.”
Ellie beams.
Lila glares at him.
I squeeze Lila’s hand gently. “Nice try, darlin’. But you like school.”
She sighs dramatically. “I do. But I like pajamas more.”
Inside the building, the hallway noise hits us in a wave. Kids shouting hellos, lockers banging, boots squeaking on polished linoleum. Posters about reading goals and winter safety hang on the walls. A paper snowman army smiles at us from the bulletin board.
Mrs. Mildred Price, principal, gatekeeper of all childhood bedlam, and terror of every parent who ever forgot picture day, spots us immediately.
“Well, if it isn’t the McCoy men,” she says, marching over with the same brisk energy she’s had since I was a student here. Her silver hair is pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, and her glasses hang on a bright red cord around her neck. “Late on the first day back? Shameful.”
“We’re two minutes early,” Boone says.
“And yet youfeellate.” She clicks her tongue. “That means you are.”
Lila giggles. Ellie hides behind Boone’s coat.
Mildred softens, just a little, and turns to Lila. “Miss Lila McCoy. Ready for a new semester?”
Lila nods, shy but proud. “Yes, ma’am.”
“She’s been reading chapter books,” I say, unable to keep the pride out of my voice. “On her own.”
Mildred’s face lights. “I know. Her teacher wrote it in her progress notes. Says she’s ahead of the curve in literacy and comprehension. A strong student.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. I try to play it cool, but Belinda would’ve cried hearing that. She wanted so badly for Lila to love reading. She’d sit by the fireplace and read aloud for hours. Picture books, fairy tales, even ranch manuals if Lila was fussy enough.
Lila is her mother’s girl through and through.
There are days I still expect to turn and see Belinda leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, pretending she’s not listening while she soaks every moment in. Losing her didn’t just hollow me out. It rewired me. Every choice I make now carries her absence in it, like a shadow I can’t step out of.
Mildred pats my arm. “You’re doing well, Mr. McCoy. She’s doing well.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “Really.”
She nods once, brisk again. “Go! Get out of my hallway. Adults loitering make children nervous.”
Ellie gives Lila a giant hug. Boone ruffles both their hair. We watch them hurry off toward their classrooms, little backpacks bouncing.
And just like that, the hallway swallows them.
Boone lets out a low breath. “They’re getting big. Five and six now. It’s wild, isn’t it?”
“Too fast,” I murmur.
We stand there another beat, staring down the hallway.
Finally, Boone elbows me. “Coffee?”
Hell yeah. “Coffee.”
