Chapter 30 - Her Name on the Page
Lena’s final presentation was scheduled for the same afternoon as the twins’ winter concert.
When she told us, Noah put down his fork.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Nico asked the practical question.
“What time?”
“Mine starts at two. Yours starts at three thirty.”
“How long is yours?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
I watched Lena begin calculating.
Traffic.
Parking.
A room she might be able to leave quietly.
An apology prepared before anyone had requested one.
“I can record the concert,” I said.
She looked at me.
“I want to be there.”
“I know.”
Noah stared at his plate.
My chest tightened.
Then he asked, “Is this the part you worked on all those nights?”
“Yes.”
“With the cards Isabel drew on?”
Lena smiled.
“Yes. Those.”
He considered that.
“Then you should do it.”
She reached for his hand.
“Are you sure?”
“No,” he admitted.
We all laughed softly.
“But you can watch the video.”
On the afternoon of the presentation, Caroline came with me to the school. Marco met Lena at the university because she had quietly admitted she would like someone familiar in the room.
He wore a suit.
She accused him of making a student presentation look like a diplomatic appointment.
He told her he had limited categories of clothing.
At the concert, Nico sang every word with grave concentration.
Noah missed the beginning of one song because he was checking the audience.
I raised my hand.
He found me.
Then he looked at the phone beside my face and smiled.
Lena arrived home after us carrying her folder and a small bunch of flowers Marco had bought from a supermarket.
“How did it go?” I asked.
She stood inside the door.
For one frightening second, her face crumpled.
Then she laughed.
“I passed.”
Isabel cheered without understanding the alternatives.
The boys ran toward her.
Noah hugged her around the waist.
“Did you say all your words?”
“Most of them.”
“Did you forget anything?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, visibly reassured.
“That happens.”
After dinner, we watched the concert on the television. Lena applauded every child as though they could hear her.
Later, she showed us her presentation.
She had designed a practical support plan for caregivers who needed training but could not easily leave work or arrange childcare.
Evening sessions.
Flexible attendance.
Clear information.
Someone to answer questions without making people feel foolish for asking.
“You built the thing you needed,” I said.
“Part of it.”
Her course certificate arrived the following week.
We asked where she wanted it.
She chose the wall beside the desk she used for studying.
Not above the fireplace.
Not in the center’s reception area.
A place she could see while working.
That evening, I found her looking at another course description.
“More?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
From the doorway, Noah leaned around my arm.
“Will you come home after?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Then he pointed at the screen.
“Does this one have homework too?”
“Quite a lot.”
He sighed with the sympathy of an experienced sufferer.
“I’ll get you a pencil.”
Lena watched him disappear down the hall.
Then she looked at me, smiling.
May you like
I pulled out the chair beside hers.
“Tell me about it.”
