She’s been through so much already.
Quinn tugs at my sleeve, pulling me back to the present. “Mr. Leif, are you listening?”
“Sorry.” I focus on her upturned face. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you think anyone will want to be my friend.” The question comes out smaller, stripped of her usual bravado.
I settle onto the chair beside her. “I think you’ll have to fight them off with a stick.”
She giggles, the sound loosening some of the tension in my shoulders. “That’s silly. I wouldn’t hit anyone.”
“It’s a figure of speech. I meant that you’ll have lots of friends,” I explain as I slip my hands into my pockets, and my fingers bump up against my cell phone, making me flinch.
You know how patient I am.Carson’s message sits at the back of my mind like a ghost. He hasn’t contacted me again, but the silence is worse.
The teacher summit began earlier in the week, hosted at The Mainland Hotel. Which means Carson’s been in Pinecrest since last weekend. So far, I’ve managed not to run into him, or anyone from my old school district.
I only need to make it three more days. Then all the educators from across the state, including Carson, will return home. Three more days of holding my breath every time I race from my car to the water taxi or the hotel where I’m staying until my staff cabin is ready.
“Can we pack my books next?” Quinn asks, interrupting my spiraling thoughts.
“Good idea.” I move to the bookshelf in the living area, pulling an empty box closer. “Why don’t you hand me the books, and I’ll put them in the box?”
“Okay.” She selects titles from the bottom shelf with careful consideration. I take each book she offers, arranging them in the cardboard box.
Quinn pauses in her book selection, studying me with unsettling perception. “Mr. Leif, why do you look worried?”
I school my features into a semblance of calm. “I’m thinking about everything we need to pack before the move.”
She accepts this explanation, returning to her task. “Uncle Blake says we can paint my new room any color I want. It was a rainbow before, but I think purple would be nice. Or maybe blue like the ocean.”
“Both are excellent choices.”
The silence from Carson is calculated rather than reassuring. In the three years I worked under him at the academy, I learned to recognize the pattern. Carson never acts in the heat of the moment. He waits until you relax, until you believe the danger has passed, and then he strikes for maximum effect.
Maybe I can stay on the island for the rest of the week. Would that be overstepping? With everything that needs to be done, I’m sure Quinn’s uncles and aunt would be happy for another pair of hands to unpack.
Quinn hands me a worn copy of “The Turtle Who Carried the World,” her favorite. “This one needs to go in my special box so I can read it tonight.”
“Of course.” I place it in a smaller box markedQuinn’s First Night.
I check the time on the microwave. “Once this shelf is packed, let’s do some coloring before lunchtime.”
“Coloring!” Quinn bolts for the table, leaving the books half-packed.
I should have known better than to suggest her favorite activity before the task was done, but I don’t have it in me to bring her back around.
I follow at a slower pace, using the time to draw a steadying breath. Movement helps, as does keeping my hands busy. Being still gives thoughts too much space to multiply.
She drags her art book over and flips to a clean page. “I’m going to draw my new room!”
She hunches over her paper, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration as she draws a box.
“This is my window seat,” she explains, using so much force with the purple crayon that I worry she’ll break it. “Sprinkles can sit here and watch for birds while I read books.”
I fold my arms on the table and lean forward. “Tell me more about this window seat.”
Quinn switches to a blue crayon, outlining a large rectangle. “It has cushions with stars on them, and a secret compartment underneath for my treasures.” She draws a small square beneath the seat. “Uncle Blake says he can build anything I can draw. Last time, he built me a treehouse.”