It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the sharp March light after a day under yellow fluorescents, but the crisp outdoor air was a quickly-welcomed change from stuffy school heat. After two steps, my heel found a rut in the parking lot, battered by February's storms. I stumbled, and Callie placed a hand on my back to guide me to her white Volvo.We cracked open the car windows as the baseball team boarded the bus for a pre-season game. Zach Stanish, the captain, called to us: “Hi, Mrs. Harris! Hey, Mrs. Maller!” I waved toward the sound, a voice like my son's. Hey, Mom! Danny would call as he'd bolt to his room after school, hitting every other step as if the stairway had too many risers. I had tried all day to keep the memory strings fastened. Now Zach's tug untied them.“We don't have to talk,” Callie said, popping a caramel into her mouth and offering me one, “but I'm here if you want to.” I nodded and looked away, aware that if I spoke, my words would yank the scab off my still-fresh wound.Truth be told, I felt guilty I'd been able to focus on anything in Meadow Brook other than the pictures in my office.
