“Would a plan help?”
She nodded.
They agreed on a call after dinner.
Miriam would be with her.
Helena was nearby.
Cassian would speak to Poppy before leaving in the morning.
No surprise departure.
No promise that nothing could ever change.
A plan they could explain.
The call came four minutes late.
Cassian had stepped out of a meeting but found a corridor full of people waiting to speak to him.
He looked at the clock.
He almost decided four minutes was too small to mention.
Then Poppy answered.
Her face was pale.
“You said seven.”
“I did. I’m sorry. I was delayed getting out of the room.”
She stared at him.
He continued.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know.”
But she did not sound as though she knew.
He stayed on the call.
They talked about dinner.
A spelling test.
A pigeon that had entered the covered school walkway and refused to leave.
After a while, she asked to see the hotel room.
He turned the camera.
She inspected the bed.
“Too many pillows.”
“I agree.”
“Where’s the phone going?”
“Beside me.”
She nodded.
The next morning, he called before breakfast.
When he came home, she ran to him.
Then complained that he had brought the wrong flavor of the sweet she requested.
He had rarely been happier to hear an ordinary complaint.
The spring concert arrived six weeks after the dinner.
Poppy’s drawing appeared on the program.
Cassian saw it when Helena handed him a copy at the entrance.
The enormous shoes remained.
He loved that they had not been corrected.
Poppy stood with her classmates beneath paper stars that looked almost exactly like the ones she drew.
Before the performance, she searched the audience.
Cassian raised his hand.
She found him.
Her shoulders lowered.
Then the music began.
