“Yes.”
“Do you enjoy understanding how things work?”
“Yes.”
“Then congratulations,” I said. “You enjoy playing.”
She stared at me. Children so often believed joy only counted if it was loudly visible. But Bianca’s joy came from pattern recognition and answers clicking into place, and that was just as valid as any other.
A slow smile appeared before she became aware of it. “I never thought about it that way.”
“Most people don’t,” I admitted.
I took that moment to step back and check on the other two. CJ had somehow gathered three children into an improvised storytelling competition involving pirate dentists and dragons.
Meanwhile, Billie emerged from the digestive system exhibit screaming, “The large intestine is a tunnel of betrayal!”
The museum employee keeping watch looked exhausted beyond belief.
I sympathized with him.
We stayed until closing, taking our time to wander through the gift shop, where we bought a notebook that looked like a copy ofThe Hobbitfor CJ, a build-your-own mechanical puzzle kit for Bianca, and a glow-in-the-dark rubber cockroach for Billie, which she named Senator Crunch.
By the time we returned to the house, twilight had deepened into night, and Conrad’s car was parked in the driveway.
I noticed him the moment we stepped inside.
He stood in the kitchen with one hand braced against the counter and the other loosening his tie. His hair looked slightly disheveled, his sleeves rolled unevenly, and there were deep shadows beneath his eyes that even human perception could easily catch.
Exhaustion rolled off him.
The children immediately swarmed him anyway.
“Daddy!” Billie shouted, sprinting forward with Senator Crunch held overhead.
Conrad caught her with one arm before she collided into his ribs. “Should I ask what that is?”
“He’s part of the government.”
CJ handed him hisThe Hobbitnotebook proudly. “I’ve evolved creatively.”
“There was a kinetic mechanics exhibit,” Bianca said as she showed him her puzzle kit.
Conrad grinned at all three of them, but I saw the fatigue beneath it. His shoulders remained tense. His eyes were slightly unfocused in that way overworked people often became when their bodies arrived home before the rest of them did.
“How was the bake sale?” he asked me.
“Traumatic, yet ultimately successful,” I said.
Billie beamed. “I kicked a woman.”
Conrad closed his eyes briefly. “I see.”
“In fairness,” CJ added, “she deserved mild violence.”
Conrad held up a hand. “Mild violence is not a legal defense.”
“It should be.”
