She grinned and disappeared down the hall.
***
The morning the bus left, I stood in the school parking lot with a paper cup of coffee I never drank.
Kathleen hugged me hard and ran off with Brenda before I could say anything embarrassing.
Through the bus window, I watched them settle in. My daughter laughed at something Brenda said. Then her friend leaned past her toward the quiet girl in the next seat, and my daughter's smile flickered for just a second before she caught herself and waved at me.
Kathleen hugged me hard and ran off.
I waved back and whispered to no one in particular that two weeks would fly by.
I had no idea what my daughter was carrying onto that bus.
***
The first week of camp, my phone became a small altar.
I checked it between loads of laundry, between client emails, and between reheating the same cup of coffee three times.
