“Thank you,” I manage to get past the lump forming in my throat. “That’s very thoughtful.”
Emily’s expression softens. “It’s a pleasure.”
Quinn beams up at us both, clutching her yarn selections. “Can we get hot chocolate now?”
“Excellent idea,” Emily agrees, guiding Quinn toward the register. “Hot chocolate is perfect after book shopping.”
They move ahead of me, Quinn chattering about marshmallows and whipped cream, while I trail behind, my mind racing.
For the first time since fleeing Westbrook, I find myself planning for more than escape, fully aware of what it might cost me.
Chapter Thirteen
Leif
At the start of week two, Quinn fills the car with excited chatter, her words tumbling out faster than I can track them.
“Jamie has a gecko,” she says, bouncing in her seat. “A real one. Her mom said I can come over to see it and meet Bagel the cat.”
I catch her eye in the rearview mirror. She’s smiling. Not the careful kind from last week, filled with nervous tension. This one is easy.
“That would be fun,” I say. “We can ask your Uncle Blake about it tonight.”
“She lets it sit on her shoulder.”
“That’s brave,” I reply, keeping my focus on the road.
The school comes into view ahead of us, the parking lot already filling with cars.
I wait in line to turn and park in the visitor section rather than joining the drop-off line. Quinn unbuckles herself, eager to get into the classroom.
“Sprinkles needs his vest,” she reminds me, reaching for the blue service vest that sits folded on the seat beside her.
I turn to help her secure it on the Newfoundland, whose tail thumps against the car seat. “All set for another day, buddy?”
The dog regards me with canine patience, and Quinn runs her hand along his glossy coat. “He likes school now. The other kids know not to pet him when he’s working.”
We walk together up the broad stone steps, Quinn keeping pace with me rather than racing ahead or dragging behind. Her purple backpack bounces between her shoulder blades, its weight fuller than last week with completed homework and the frog book we read together over the weekend.
“Uncle Holden put an extra cookie in my lunch,” she confides in a stage whisper as we reach the doors. “He said it’s for Jamie, but I can eat it if I want.”
I hold the door open for her and Sprinkles. “That was thoughtful of him.”
The school hallway hums with morning activity. Teachers stand outside classroom doors, greeting students by name, while children line up at lockers, comparing weekend adventures and trading stickers.
Quinn waves to a girl with strawberry-blond hair who waits near the water fountain. “That’s Bethany. She showed me how to mix colors to get purple.” Quinn leans closer to whisper, “I didn’t tell her that Aunt Chloe already taught me.”
“Morning, Quinn,” calls a fourth-grade teacher whose name I can’t recall. “Sprinkles looks very handsome today.”
Quiet satisfaction fills me at the normalcy of it all. Last week, heads turned when Quinn walked through these halls with her service dog. This week, they’ve become part of the school landscape.
We turn down the corridor toward the rooms for the second graders, and Quinn’s pace quickens with anticipation. The door stands open, revealing walls now adorned with student artwork alongside the educational posters that were there before. Leafprints in autumn colors form a border around the reading corner, and a chart tracking the frog eggs dominates the science area.
Ms. Peterson spots us from her desk and rises to greet us. “Good morning, Quinn. And Mr. Hollis.”
The warmth in her voice couldn’t be more different from the wary caution of our first meeting. Her green eyes no longer flick to Sprinkles with concern but include him in her greeting with a small nod.
“We’re ready for another great day,” I tell her, placing Quinn’s completed reading log on the designated tray by the door.