Page 48 of Clever Little Thing

My hands shook. I put down the éclair. “I’m scared. The way she’s changing—I know it sounds great, but it’s really not. I’m terrified, to be honest.”

“I don’t understand,” Cherie said. “Stella is getting dressed and going to school without complaining? I would kill for one day of that.”

I cast about for a way to explain. “Iknowthat something is wrong. It’s like when Stella has a fever. I don’t need a thermometer—I just use my hand. Iknowif she’s sick. A mother’s hand knows.”

Cherie took a minute to wipe chocolate off her fingers with a paper napkin. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“It’s maternal instinct. Look at what happened when Zach was little. People said he had a mental disability because he wouldn’t talk, and you knew that wasn’t true. You alone knew what he needed.”

Cherie threw her dirty napkin on the table. She spoke slowly, emphatically. “I knew what he needed because I got Zachassessed. And this new social-skills therapist isn’t the first. I’ve read dozens of books, I’m in three different online groups. You would know all this if you ever really listened to me. It doesn’t take a mother’s hand—it takes a fucking village.”

I had a burning sensation in my throat. “So when it comes to Stella, my problem is that I don’t listen to other people. Other people know what she needs better than I do. Including you, I assume?”

“Look, forget I said anything,” Cherie backtracked. “Let’s change the subject.”

“It’s fine, really,” I said, forcing a smile. “But I don’t feel that great. I have to go anyway.”

Cherie showed me out, trilling promises we would do coffee soon. Maybe Zach was right to be hesitant about learning social skills. Too often, they meant hiding how you really felt. I’d been so sure that the bedrock of my friendship with Cherie was that we were alike: we were committed to doing whatever our unusual kids needed, regardless of what anyone else thought. But she’d been secretly judging me. And I was at fault too. She was right, I hadn’t listened closely to her. Or I would have known we weren’t alike at all.

•••

When I was nearly home, my phone pinged with a message from Pete:On way home from Coral Reef Waterworld! Emmy suggested playdate so I invited them swimming.

I cringed. What was he thinking? This wasn’t just a swimming pool. There was a pirate ship and five waterslides—it was a sensory nightmare. Yet my phone pinged again, and there they were: Stella with a small smile and her hair plastered to her shoulders and, next to her, Lulu grinning toothily, with her arm around Stella. I stared at the picture, looking into Stella’s eyes. Maybe she was genuinely enjoying something that a few months ago, she would have hated. Or maybe she was just pretending, and on the inside, she was furiously composing the diary entry she’d write when she got home.

A realization started to take shape. This change in her wasn’t something imposed from outside. It didn’t happen because of Irina and the trauma of Blanka’s suicide. Stella had changed who she was, orappearedto be, through sheer force of will.

But why?

I studied the photo again. Lulu flashed teeth, but Stella’s smile was tense. Pete thought it was a real smile, but I could see that it wasn’t. She was just determined to give Daddy a great photo, to show Daddy that she was having a good time. Maybe that was why she suddenly loved going to the pool too: Pete wanted her to become a strong swimmer. She’d humiliated Pete at her birthday party, and now she behaved beautifully around his friends. The last time she’d gone into freak-out mode, Pete had stormed out of the house, and now she’d dropped it for good.

It was so obvious that I couldn’t imagine why I hadn’t seen it before. Stella longed to please Pete, become his true north again. She was pretending to be the daughter that she thought Pete wanted. The diary was the one clue that inwardly she still seethed with thought.

•••

When I got home, Emmy was coming down our front path with Lulu. Pete stood on our front step with Stella, waving goodbye.

Emmy looked surprised to see me. Her striped dress today had thick bands of color—raspberry red, orange, and lemon yellow—and reminded me of a fruit ice lolly. Damp, her hair had a gentle wave, and this made her look softer and younger. “Hello, Charlotte!” she said. “I’m not really here. It was a long drive home, so Lulu and I popped in to use the loo. The girls had a fabulous time.”

Pete stood in the doorway waving to Emmy and Lulu. His curls were wet, close to his head, and behind his glasses, his eyes looked very blue, like they used to do when he surfed. He held Stella’s hand as she waved goodbye too.

Once Emmy and Lulu had gone, we went inside. “We had an amazing time,” Pete said, his face alight. “Stella was great.”

“Really?”

“She didn’t even mind the wave machine. She was so brave. She put her head underwater. She’s totally mastered blowing bubbles through her nose. She loves it down there. She hardly even came up for air.”

He wasn’t giving her a chance to talk. “Did you have fun, my sweet?” I asked Stella. I studied her face closely for signs of strain.

“Oh yes. The water is nice,” Stella said.

“Was nice,” I said sharply. “You mean, it was nice. You’re not in the water anymore.” I looked deep into her eyes, trying to catch a flicker of her old self.

“I’m going to my room,” she said, and I was sure she wanted to get away from Pete. This charade must be exhausting.

•••

Pete got Thai takeout—he’d found a place where they put the food into the containers he brought from home—and Stella took hers to her room.

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