The moment Lucy realized the skirt moved, she grabbed both sides and spun.
She stumbled sideways, caught herself against Hannah’s knees, then demanded to be set loose again.
Noah had been right.
Noah laughed so hard he had to sit down.
Lucy squealed.
Red fabric flew around her legs.
Hannah wiped at her face.
I saw my mother-in-law standing near the fence.
She had come after all.
She watched Lucy spin.
For once, she said nothing.
Red fabric flew around her legs.
***
That night, Cyril found me watching Noah sleep.
“Proud?”
“Very,” I said. “Still furious about the lunches.”
“Same.”
We had barely made it out of bed before 6:30 the next morning when Noah came charging into our room.
“Mom! Dad!”
I sat up.
“What happened?”
“Come outside!”
“Still furious about the lunches.”
Cyril’s feet hit the cold floor before his brain even processed the shift in Noah’s tone.
I followed our son through the hallway and onto the porch.
Then I stopped.
Our entire front lawn was covered with lunchboxes.
At least 50.
Maybe more.
Our entire front lawn was covered with lunchboxes.
Dinosaurs, superheroes, bright colors, old metal boxes beside brand-new insulated bags.
They stretched from our porch almost to the sidewalk.
Noah turned slowly.
“Are these mine?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
Cyril came out behind us.
“What in the…”
Then Noah spotted the largest one.
“Are these mine?”
It sat by itself in the middle of the lawn.
A battered metal lunchbox big enough to hold a small toolbox.
Across the lid, someone had taped a white card.
OPEN THIS FIRST
“Noah, wait,” I warned.
Too late.
He knelt.
The metal clasp snapped open.
“Noah, wait,” I warned.
He lifted the lid.
And stopped moving.
“Noah?”
He didn’t answer.
