That meant something.
Ariel ran toward her with both arms stretched wide.
Clara crouched to hug her, then handed over the present.
Inside was a wooden tea set decorated with tiny strawberries.
Ariel gasped. “Can we have tea now, Grandma?”
“After cake,” Clara said.
Ariel considered the unfairness before reluctantly accepting it.
For the next two hours, the party unfolded the way children’s parties always did—loud, sticky, and mildly hazardous.
Preschoolers chased each other with water guns.
My father fell asleep under an umbrella.
Glen burned the first batch of hot dogs and blamed the breeze.
Clara remained at the edge of the activity.
She refilled drinks.
Gathered paper plates.
Retied a loose balloon ribbon to the fence.
When I asked whether she wanted to swim, she looked toward the crowded pool.
“Maybe later.”
“You’re wearing a swimsuit, Clara!” I said.
Her smile barely appeared. “That doesn’t mean I have to be brave enough to dive in.”
