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Chapter 3
“I don’t want to tell you, and you can’t make me.”
Hope stroked her daughter’s shoulder over the blue pineapples T-shirt. “Hannah, sweetie,” she said softly, “I won’t make you. I want you to feel like you can tell me. I’m not mad at you, because I don’t really know what happened. And I won’t believe anything until I hear it from you first.”
“I didn’t mean to kick her.” Hannah’s voice was muffled by the unicorns bedcover she was burying her face in. She had thrown herself on it and hidden her face the moment Hope had arrived. “It was just a little kick. And I said sorry.”
“I know you didn’t mean to hurt her, and it’s good that you apologized.” Hope smoothed a hand over Hannah’s more strawberry than blonde curls—a combination of hers and Eric’s hair colors—that splayed around her, further concealing her face from view. They were somewhat knotted at the back because she refused to brush them or let Hope brush them for her more than twice a week.
“I didn’t even know why I did it, but now I do. Ainsley is annoying. She thinks she’s so smart just because she’s older and gets to watch over us. And she said I talked too much.”
Hope’s heart clenched in her chest. She could imagine Hannah, her bright and clever-beyond-her-nine-years daughter rambling on and on about something she read, or watched, or thought, or dreamed, and Ainsley, just sixteen and busy also with seven-year-old Naomi, losing patience. It wouldn’t be the first time. Whenever Hannah had a friend over, Hope would hint to her in advance, or while the friend was there to watch, for the signals of the other person regarding their level of interest in the topic. Not everybody was interested in history, the environment, and current global affairs like Hannah, who loved watching the news and read everything she could get her hands on.
It stung extra especially today because she, herself, had failed in it miserably, so how could she expect a socially awkward nine-year-old to avoid it?
She had failed Hannah.
Any social anxiety must have come from her and not Eric. If anything, society was made anxious by him and not the other way around. And though she would take social awkwardness over his puffed-up confidence any given day, today wasn’t a great day for such comparisons.
Hope controlled the constriction in her throat so her voice wouldn’t sound choked. “It’s very mature of you, Hannah, to say this—that you didn’t know what was happening to you then but that you now understand yourself. I won’t ask Ainsley back. We have other options.” The options were limited, but she didn’t say that, and she also made sure not to use the word “babysit,” because Hannah had said she wasn’t a baby. “Now, come here, sweetie, let me hug you.”
She tried pulling Hannah up, tickling her, all the while feeling the rock of guilt in her chest. Feeling shackled by routine, she had jumped at Libby’s offer to join her at the wedding instead of being satisfied with the pottery classes that she was taking and the almost-weekly Monday night outings she, Libby, and Roni had. Why did she have to go to that wedding, too? Nothing good came out of it.
Hannah giggled and squirmed into the blanket. She was somewhat tall for her age, probably got it from her father, because Hope wasn’t on the taller end of the scale. Hannah’s long limbs still had that childish roundness, and Hope feared the day all this would be replaced by a grumpy teenager who she could already discern glimpses of.
“You look pretty, Mom,” Hannah said when she finally raised her face, creases from the cover adorning her sweet, freckled cheeks. “You should always wear dresses like that and do your hair like this.” She raised a hand and played with Hope’s copper hair.
While Naomi was still at an age where she thought her mommy was the most beautiful woman, Hannah had reached the age where she began criticizing her fashion choices and comparing her to other moms, real or TV ones.
“Thanks, baby. Sorry! Not baby. You’re a big girl.” Hope chuckled. “Now, let me tell you about the plans I made for us now that summer school is over.” She wrapped her arm around Hannah.
“Naomi, sweetie, come here please, I want to tell you something,” she called out to her sever-year-old from the next room.
When the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Naomi sauntered into the room with her latest rainbow unicorn in tow, Hope cuddled with them on Hannah’s bed and told them about the fun they would have before the school year started.
Later, when she poured herself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, she thought of Avery and the conversation they’d had on the last day of the previous school year.
“I filled in for Hannah’s homeroom teacher for a week, and I think you should get her diagnosed,” Avery said. “Maybe it’s your divorce. She’s very intelligent, uses vocabulary that leaves her friends wondering what she’s talking about, but she answers back without thinking, her handwriting is barely legible, and she gets herself into corners she can’t back out of, both with staff and peers. I could be wrong, but I’m thinking ADHD or some sort of emotional regulation disorder.”
She had simply thanked Avery back then, biting back a comment about Avery’s completion of a one-week counseling course that was part of her promotion from administrator to vice-principal, with minimum teaching experience over the years. Though she didn’t exactly like Avery and could never pin down why—except that Avery had a way of making things sound unnerving—she had touched a sensitive point, something that Hope had noticed, too.
She didn’t know why, but hearing earlier that Avery might have gone out with Jordan Delaney coiled her stomach inexplicably.
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“After that, she was fine. She doesn’t have a high threshold for frustration, but we’re working on it.” Hope sighed. It helped to talk to Libby about it. As a social worker, she was familiar with these things. That was how they had met six years ago, when Hope had thought one of her student’s family should be looked into and had consulted with Social Services. She and Libby had hit it off, and she had found her first best friend in Riviera View. The second was Libby’s childhood friend, Roni, who she had met shortly after.
“How was the rest of the wedding?” Hope asked, shifting the phone to her other ear. The girls were asleep in their rooms, and she was folding laundry on the couch with the TV on.
“I wish you didn’t have to leave early, but you didn’t miss much after,” Libby replied.
“Did Josh or Luke’s brother say anything?”
“Nothing. I think you’re making more of it than either one of them noticed. And about Hannah, you and the school counselor are aligned. You spoke to a therapist. They both said it’s normal for gifted children, so I wouldn’t worry. She’s an amazing kid, and with a mom like you, she’ll be fine!”
Hope couldn’t answer immediately, her throat choked.
“And I can ask Aunt Sarah if she could sometimes help with babysitting,” Libby continued.
