Page 55 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

She looks up at me and says, “The saddest thing is that butterflies can’t even see their own wings.”

Her wide eyes search mine. She extends her hand, and I take it, fitting her small fingers along my palm.

“I never thought about that,” I tell her.

“Miss Carmady says so. We had caterpillars. They hatched out of their cocoons except two didn’t yet. And we had to let them go. The butterfly ones. Then Miss Carmady said they can’t even see their own wings.”

Why would a teacher feel it necessary to share that sad reality with a child? Let them dream as long as they can. Soon enough they’ll lose all sense of magic and wonder.

“Well,” I say. “Maybe they can see their friends’ wings.”

Cassidy is quiet for a beat. Then she looks up at me with a beaming smile.

“They can see them! Can you see if I have wings?”

“If you do, they’re invisible.”

She smiles even wider. “Maybe I have invisible wings.” Then she pats my back. “I don’t feel yours, but you maybe have them too.”

“Maybe,” I say, even though I know very well I don’t.

“I bet my invisible wings are silver … with glitter,” Cassidy says, hopping up the stairs, alternating feet as she goes.

When I open the front door to The Serendipity, she stares around the lobby, taking it all in.

“Those are the stairs,” I point to the spiral staircase to our left. “And that’s the elevator.”

“And those are phone booths,” she says.

“What do you know about phone booths?”

“I saw one on TV.”

“Hmm.”

We step onto the elevator, and Cassidy says, “Okay, tell me to push number two.”

“Number two, please ma’am.”

“Coming right up,” she says in a very formal tone of voice.

She pushes two, and the elevator engages. When the doors open, she steps out and looks around. We walk past Logan’s apartment.

“My Gran, your great grandma, used to live there,” I tell her.

She studies the door intently. “She doesn’t live there now?”

“No, she passed away. But I used to visit her here all the time.”

Cassidy nods softly.

We walk through the lounge, and I open my apartment. The door squeaks.

Cassidy runs over to the window and looks straight out. “I see it! I see it! That’s the parking garage!”

“Yep. There it is.”

“Okay. Let’s bake cookies. Or we could paint.”

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