As per their Sunday evening ritual, Leslie lifted the dry-erase calendar from the refrigerator and set it on the table. She wiped away the previous week’s tasks and, handing the attached whiteboard marker to Cassidy, went through the schedule for the upcoming week.
“Don’t forget Parent/Teacher Conference night,” Cassidy said. “We get an extra star in English if our parents come.”
The notion of bribing kids with stars in order to get parents involved in their children’s school life was abhorrent, but Leslie knew it was also necessary. After all, just a year ago she had been one of those parents who routinely skipped school activities due to work obligations. Until she’d learned the price her absence had cost her daughters. These days she practically had her own designated parking spot at the school.
“I’ll be there,” Leslie assured Cassidy. She pointed at the whiteboard. “Make sure you have the correct times for softball practice. You don’t want to be late again. And circle the Bayou Campers meeting so we don’t forget.”
Yeah, she had all the time in the world to be lonely.
Once dinner was done and the dishes loaded into the dishwasher, they settled in for their Sunday night movie. It was Kristi’s turn to pick, which meant either Casper the Friendly Ghost or The Lion King. Leslie snuggled on the couch with her girls and watched Casper for the hundredth time. Once the movie was done, she declared bedtime, ushering the girls off the couch.
“It’s Sunday night,” Kristi reminded her. “We get a Daddy story.”
Leslie ruffled Kristi’s natural curls and smiled down at her, praying she was doing a good job of hiding her discomfort.
After going nearly a year hardly uttering her deceased husband’s name, Leslie had slowly started reintroducing Braylon’s memory into her family. It had been more difficult than she’d anticipated, but every Sunday night she shared with the girls a story about their father.
Seated on the edge of Cass’s canopy bed, Leslie cradled Kristi on her lap, rubbing her hand up and down her baby’s arms.
“Have I told you girls about the time your daddy tried to bake me a cake for my birthday?” Both girls shook their heads. “Well, your father was pretty good when it came to cooking hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill, but when it came to baking, he was horrible. He knew that I loved strawberry shortcake—”
“I love strawberry shortcake, too,” Kristi interrupted.
“I know.” Leslie tweaked her nose. “You get it from me. Your dad tried to make me a strawberry shortcake for my birthday once, but he couldn’t find fresh strawberries so he used frozen ones. However, he didn’t let them thaw out before serving me my piece of cake, so when I bit into the frozen strawberry, I hurt my tooth and had to go to the dentist to get it fixed.”
Kristi plopped a hand to her forehead and moaned. “Oh, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.”
“Did the cake at least taste good?” Cassidy asked.
“I told him it did.”
“Because you didn’t want to hurt his feelings,” Kristi guessed correctly.
“Yes,” Leslie said. “But I made sure to order birthday cakes from the bakery every year after that. Aren’t you girls happy I did?”
“Can I get a strawberry shortcake when I turn six?” Kristi asked.
“That’s a year away,” Cass pointed out.
“Wait. I meant tomorrow. Can I get a strawberry shortcake tomorrow?”
“Nice try.” Leslie playfully tugged her curl.
She gave Cassidy a kiss and then carried Kristi to her bedroom. As Leslie tucked her in, Kristi put a hand on her cheek and said, “Thank you for tonight’s story, Mommy. I like hearing stories about you and Daddy.”
Emotion thickened in her throat. “I’m happy you’re enjoying them,” she said. “I know your daddy wishes he could be here to tell you stories, too.”
She kissed Kristi’s palm and then her forehead. Even though there was a night-light, Leslie left a crack in the door.
She made her way across the hall to her bedroom, tears on the brink of falling down her cheeks. But she sucked it up, straightened her spine and demanded they remain at bay.
It had taken a year before she’d stopped crying herself to sleep every night. Once she had, Leslie had made a vow to remain strong for her girls. She’d been on the verge of breaking down more times than she could count, but she was still standing.
And she would continue to do so.
Gabriel Franklin stood before the science lab’s Formica-topped table surrounded by nearly two-dozen wide-eyed fourth graders, who all stared intently at the stack of pennies, nickels and lemon-juice-soaked paper squares in the center.
“So, how many of you think we’ve made a battery here?” Gabe asked as he held a length of copper wire just above the stack of coins. Half the students raised their hands.
He eyed the doubters with an upturned brow. “That’s all? The rest of you think I’m wrong?”
Anthony Radcliff’s freckled forehead scrunched in skepticism. “It’s just loose change and paper towels. How can that be a battery?”
Gabe tsked. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
The crease in Anthony’s forehead deepened. “Huh?”
“Never mind,” Gabe said. “Gather around closer, kids.” He touched one edge of the wire to the penny on the bottom of the stack and the other to the nickel on top. “Now, check this out.”
He connected the wire to an LED bulb and thanked the reliability of science when the bulb flickered and then shone with a soft glow.
The students erupted in cheers and excited howls.
“How’d you do that, Mr. Franklin?” Anika Reynolds asked in an awed whisper. “Is it magic?”
“It’s science,” Gabe answered. “It’s exactly what we’ve been talking about for the past week, taking the negative charge of one metal and the positive charge of another, and connecting them with an acid. The penny is made of what?”
“Copper,” the students replied in unison.
“And the nickel?”
“Silver!”
“And that lemon juice is filled with acid,” Gabe said.
“So, can I make my iPod work with pennies, nickels and lemon juice?” Cassidy Kirkland asked.
“That would take a lot of pennies, nickels and lemon juice, but at least you get the idea.” Gabe clapped his hands. “Okay, back to your seats. It’s time to write up what we all just witnessed in proper scientific-method form.”
He fully expected the grumbles and groans his statement elicited. He was only in his second semester of teaching at Gauthier Elementary and Middle School, but students were students no matter the school, and none of them enjoyed paperwork.
Using the electronic Smart Board that had replaced the green chalkboards he’d grown up with, Gabe went through the scientific method, going over the initial question he’d posed, the research the students had conducted, the hypothesis they all had agreed upon and the multitude of tests they’d run in order to investigate it.
He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at the sight of the twenty-two heads bowed over notebooks, their hands scribbling diligently. He required his students to take notes, even though the Smart