Page 45 of Bring Them Home

Amanda refused to answer her daughter’s curiosity. She’d find out soon enough. Instead, Amanda left the pancakes to cook the rest of the way and gave her daughter a good-morning hug. One day, she’d tell Amanda she was too old for the ritual, just like she had with being read to at bedtime and watching animated movies. Amanda had tried to convince her that even adults without children watch them, but Zoe wasn’t buying it. But when she’d abandoned Frozen, that was a positive sign. Zoe used to watch it with her biological mother, and seeing it was a way she kept her alive. The fact Zoe wasn’t playing it on a constant loop told Amanda that Zoe had progressed in her grief. What if the news about Paul Archer dragged her under again? Though, Amanda was taking on a fool’s errand to think she could protect her from life’s hardships. She pulled back and looked in Zoe’s eyes. “I’m sorry I had to work late again last night. I hope you had fun with Grandma.”

Zoe looked over at Jules and smiled. “Always.”

Amanda’s mother engaged with her granddaughter—coloring, playing dress-up, or whatever was Zoe’s fancy in the moment. She didn’t plop her in front of the TV and walk away. “I bet. So, sit, eat pancakes, and tell me all that I missed.” She moved the finished pancakes from the griddle to three plates.

As Zoe ate and drank apple juice, she shared the adventures she’d had with her grandmother. Every once in a while, Jules would chirp in with something. They had done some spiral art and played with Zoe’s Royale High dorm room playset.

“I’d love to see what you made,” Amanda told her.

“Sure. After?” Zoe spoke around a mouthful of pancake.

“Yes, of course.”

When Zoe finished eating, she dropped her fork onto her plate and hopped off the stool. She called over her shoulder, “I’ll clean up in a minute.” She ran down the hall and returned holding her creation.

“That’s beautiful, Zoe.” Amanda admired the broad use of bright colors—pink, green, and blue.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Amanda’s heart sank as she glanced over at her mother. Time has run out… “There’s something I need to tell you, sweetheart. How about we go talk on the couch?”

“Okay.” Zoe led the way and sat on the edge of a cushion.

Amanda dropped next to her and took her daughter’s hands in hers. “I want you to hear this from me and not at school, but I have some unfortunate news about your teacher, Mr. Archer.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Zoe’s baby blues dove into Amanda’s eyes.

“He is, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

“Was he murdered like Mom and Dad?”

Amanda’s heart cracked. Zoe’s voice was clear but small. She was trying to shield herself. “He was murdered, yes. But Trent and I are doing everything we can to find out who did this to him.”

“Okay.”

“I can only imagine how upsetting this is to hear. You can talk to me about anything you’re feeling. You know that, right, Zoe?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I can make an appointment with Dr. Tanner.” Marisol Tanner was Zoe’s therapist, recommended by a PWCPD psychiatrist, Colleen Frost.

“I need to get ready for school. When people there find out about Mr. Archer, they are going to be sad, and I can help them.” Zoe sat there, peering in Amanda’s eyes, as if seeking permission to leave.

“Sure, sweetheart.” She laid a hand over her heart as she watched her daughter walk off.

Jules came up behind Amanda and put her hands on her shoulders. “You handled that well.”

“Did I? Because I feel like I did it all wrong.”

“Is there any right way to deliver news like that?”

Amanda let her mother’s rhetorical question sit there. It would have been better if Zoe had screamed and cried, even thrown a fit. That she’d shut down, withdrew, and projected her grief onto others was far worse. While it sounded noble that she wanted to be there for her fellow students, Amanda didn’t trust that response. She feared once her daughter’s shock wore off, when the reality of what happened sank in, Zoe would be a mess. But when that happened, Amanda would be there for her.

TWENTY-TWO

Amanda dropped into her chair at Central, feeling like she’d gone through a storm in the first two and a half hours of her day. She had dropped Zoe off at school, and the mood in the car was only somewhat somber. If one didn’t know better, they might guess the girl was facing a test that morning, not that her teacher had been murdered. “I’ll make that appointment with Dr. Tanner,” was one of the last things Amanda said to her daughter before she got out of the car.

All Zoe said was, “I’m okay, Mom,” and shut the door.