Page 42 of Lay Down the Law

“It’s okay for you not to like it, Steph. I’ll take it back and get you something else—”

“But I do like it,” she insisted. “I just…when you first gave it to me, I started thinking that I won’t ever be able to walk again, and it made me feel sad. But after I thought about it awhile, I started thinking maybe I could take some lessons or something.”

“You want to take wheelchair basketball lessons?” Erin asked cautiously.

“Maybe. I mean, you said kids in wheelchairs could take lessons. Didn’t you say that, Erin?”

She thought of Nick and wondered how she should handle this. “How did your dad feel about lessons?”

“He worries too much, but he’s always like that. Mom used to call him a worrywart. But he promised he’d think about it.”

Erin blinked, surprised that Nick had told Stephanie he would consider letting her take lessons. He’d seemed dead set against it. The thought that he might have softened his stance sent a ribbon of warmth through her heart. “So…you had a pretty good birthday, after all?”

“Pretty good.” Sighing, Stephanie looked out the window. “My dad’s pretty cool. He let me stay up past my bedtime for once. He even got me a green parakeet. I named her Bertha. And Mrs. Thornsberry made that really yummy cake. She’s like my grandmother, or something. I just wish…” The little girl’s voice trailed off.

Erin gave her a moment, then pressed. “You wish what, honey?”

“I wish my mom could have been there. I mean, she’d probably be sad that I’m in a wheelchair, but she always made me feel better. She was pretty, and she laughed a lot. She made my dad laugh, too. He hardly ever laughs anymore.”

The words sent a pang through Erin. The mention of Nick’s wife sent another, more complex, pang right through her. “Your dad told me about your mom. I’m sorry.” Remembering her own childhood, and the death of her mother, she ached for the little girl.

“I miss her sometimes.”

“I know what you mean,” Erin said easily.

“You do?”

“I lost my mom when I was six.”

Stephanie turned wide blue eyes on her. “You mean your mom died, too?”

Erin nodded. “She had cancer.”

“That must have been really hard, since you were only six. Did you cry?”

“I cried a bunch. I missed her so much.”

“I used to cry all the time, but I don’t anymore. I even saw my dad cry once. He thought I didn’t see him, but I did. It was kind of weird. I told Mrs. T. about it, and she said everyone cries when they’re sad. I never told my dad I saw him, though. I figured he’d be embarrassed or something.”

Erin smiled despite the fact that she felt the warmth of tears in her eyes. She wondered how a nine-year-old could be so perceptive.

“Is that why you skip school, honey? Because you’re sad?”

“I don’t know.” Steph’s eyes skittered toward the window, then down to her sneakers. “Sometimes I get mad. I mean, not at my dad or Mrs. T. or anything. I just get mad because I miss my mom and I can’t do stuff, like play basketball and ride Bandito.”

Erin wasn’t sure how to tell an innocent nine-year-old child that life wasn’t always fair. “It’s okay to be mad, Steph, but skipping school isn’t such a good idea.”

“I know.”

“But you know what?”

The little girl looked over at her. “What?”

“It helps to talk about it. And I think your dad and Mrs. T. are pretty good listeners.”

“So are you.”

Feeling her own emotions rise, Erin glanced in the rearview mirror and swallowed hard.