Page 1 of Twins for the Silver Foxes

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HANNAH

What a year.

I brusheda hand down the sticky substance causing my shirt to bunch together over my naval, then lifted it cautiously to my nose. It smelled like paint… and glue. Great. Another shirt possibly ruined. Thank goodness for that research rabbit hole I jumped down when the year first started where I learned all the tips and tricks for removing stains like this. I’d sent three shirts to the graveyard before finding it.

“Miss Hannah, Miss Hannah!”Bobby jumped up and down, waving both hands over his head. Bright yellow paint dripped down his wrists. “I did it. Look.” He snatched up his painting and shoved it toward my nose.

My eyes crossedas I tried to focus on the whirling patterns dancing in front of me. “That’s great, Bobby.” I added the slightest hint of censure to my voice. “But you were supposed to wash the paint off when you finished.”

“Oh. Yeah.”He dropped the painting into my lap then bolted for the sink in the corner of the room where several of my preschool kids stood in line. Bobby jumped in beside his best friend.

“Hey, no fair,”Ashley bumped Bobby with her elbow. “You can’t cut in line, Bobby.”

Bobby pouted but backed out of the line and retreated to the end. It took two whole seconds for him to strike up a conversation with the boy in front of him.

I shookmy head and grinned while gathering up the still wet paintings and laying them out on the table to finish drying.

Laughterand the genuinely happy and innocent voices I’d only ever heard from preschoolers filled the room. They were so full of pure joy that it made my chest hurt to know today was our last day together. Through the windows behind the children, I spotted parents pulling into the parking lot. I’d gotten to know all of them over the school year, and they seemed as happy as the kids to have finally reached the last day of school. Smiles stretched wide on their faces as they huddled up near the playground and waited for the bell that signaled the release of the kids from my care.

I hesitated to rush them,but time was running out. “Carl, I think you’ve had long enough. Let Brian wash.”

Carl flungwater droplets from his fingers, giggling when they splatted against the sink wall. “Okay.” He grabbed a handful of paper towels and dried his hands while running toward me.Small arms latched around my waist. “Do we really have to never see you again?”

I took my time processing his words. “You might see me again. Next year, when you come back, you’ll be in kindergarten, which is that room right over there.” I pointed out the window at the brick building where kindergarten and first grade classes were taught. “You’ll see me at lunch and recess.” I knew from experience that they would not miss me as much as they thought in this moment. By the time the new school year came, excitement for a fresh experience would push out most of the memories of me and this class. Still, there were always a few that would come and hug me the following year. They needed the reassurance that their whole world was not changing overnight.

Carl’s lips pursed,but he nodded and released me saying, “You have to come see us every day.”

Ashley skippedover and hugged me, effectively ending the conversation.

The bell clangedfrom the main building. Heads jerked around, eyes going wide as the reality of the school year ending crashed through the room. Tears pricked and burned the backs of my eyes. I held them in and opened my arms for hugs.

“Okay.Time to go. You’re all going to have a wonderful summer and I’ll see you next year.” I always made it a point to check on them at least once when the new year first started. Miss Kaitlyn—the kindergarten teacher—understood and never begrudged me a visit.

One by one,every child in my class hugged me tight. A few tears glittered in innocent eyes, the sight almost breaking my control.

“Have a great summer!”Bobby waved from the door where his mother waited.

“You too.Here, don’t forget this.” I picked up his dried painting and held it out. Little feet churned as he bolted toward me and snatched up the painting.

“Look,Mama. Look what I made today. It’s a rocket. And that’s me inside.”

Just like that,I was forgotten.

I wavedand smiled while keeping track of each child and the parent they left with.

“Mama?”A small hand tugged on my shirt.

I turned and knelt.“What’s up, little bear?”

Liddy fistedher hands in her shirt, rolling the material around and around until she’d covered them completely. “All gone.” Tiny shoulders shrugged. Large hazel eyes lifted to stare past me, hurt lingering in them. We’d talked about this moment before, but at three years old, Liddy didn’t quite grasp the concept of summer vacation.

I brusheda strand of dark brown hair back from Liddy’s face and cupped her cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. They’re all gone. Next year, you’ll make new friends.” Friends she would lose again at the end of that school year. Then she would be old enough to attend preschool and progress to kindergarten like the rest of them. I loved my principal for allowing Liddy to stay in class with me instead of forcing me to put her in daycare—an expense I couldn’t afford. But this was the fallout, the threat of tears and the not understanding why she lost her friends.

“I have an idea.”I stayed hunkered down in front of her. “Let’s clean up the room and then we’ll get ice cream.”

It wasn’t meantto be any kind of compensation for the loss of friendship, but the easy distraction was about all I had left in me.

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