Because she’d watched television for much of the day before, I didn’t want to park London in front of the electronic babysitter again. At the same time, I had to limit her activity, and we’d already done the coloring thing not too long ago, so I was at a bit of a loss. On a whim, I decided to swing by Walmart on the way home from school. There, I chose a board game called Hoot Owl Hoot! The box explained that the goal of the game was to help the owls fly back to their nest before the sun came up. Each player drew a color card and flew an owl to a color tile on the way to its nest, but if a player drew a sun card, the game moved one step closer to sunrise. All the players won if the owls made it back to their nests in time.
I figured that it was something both of us could handle.
London was thrilled to visit the toy section of the store, and she wandered from one side of the aisle to the other, enthralled by one item after the other. More than once, she pulled an item from a shelf or rack and asked if she could have it; while I was tempted to give in, I didn’t. Nearly everything she’d shown me would have held her interest for only a few minutes after we returned home, and her toy box and shelves were already bursting with neglected stuffed animals and knickknacks.
The game ended up being a hit. Because the rules were simple, London got the hang of it quickly, and she was alternately overjoyed or despondent, depending on whether the owls appeared as if they would make it home in time. We ended up playing four games at the kitchen table before she began to tire.
Afterward, I relented when she asked if she could watch TV for a while, and she lay on the couch, yawning. Maybe it was just Vivian’s voice harping in the back of my mind, but I felt that I still needed to let Hamshaw know about the accident. Because she hadn’t returned my call, however, I felt like I had to do it in person.
I told London about swinging by the studio, loaded her in the car, and spotted Ms. Hamshaw in what I assumed was her glass-walled office. London elected to stay in the car. Ms. Hamshaw had looked over at me as soon as I entered, but took her time before finally making her way over to me.
“London wasn’t in class on Monday,” she observed, arching an eyebrow in apparent displeasure, before I even had a chance to speak.
“She was in a pretty bad accident on her bike,” I said. “I left you a couple of voicemails. She ended up at the hospital. She’s recovering, but she won’t be in class today or Friday, either.”
Ms. Hamshaw’s expression did not change. “I’m glad to hear she’s all right, but she has a performance coming up. She still needs to attend class.”
“She can’t. The doctor says she has to take it easy this week.”
“Then unfortunately, she can’t perform in the recital next Friday night.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“London has already missed two classes. If she misses a third, she’s not eligible to perform. You may feel that to be unfair, but it’s one of the ground rules of the studio. She was informed of that when she signed up.”
“She was sick the first time,” I said, with dawning incredulity. “On Monday, she was unconscious.”
“I’m sorry to hear of her misfortune,” Ms. Hamshaw said, sounding anything but. “As I said earlier, I’m glad she’s recovering. But rules are rules.” With that, she crossed her skinny arms.
“Is this because she needs to practice? She’s one of the trees and she showed me what she’s supposed to do. I’m sure if she’s here next week, she’ll have more than enough time to master it.”
“You’re missing the point.” Ms. Hamshaw’s mouth was a thin line. “I have rules for the studio because parents and students will always find a reason not to come to class. Someone is sick or a grandparent is visiting or there’s too much homework. I’ve heard every excuse imaginable over the years, but I can’t foster a culture of excellence unless everyone shows commitment.”
“London’s not participating in any competitions,” I reasoned. “She hasn’t been chosen to do so.”
“Then perhaps she should practice more, not less.”
I squelched the urge to let Ms. Hamshaw know what I thought of her ridiculous little quasi-military operation, and instead said patiently, “What do you suggest that I do? Since her doctor told us to limit her activity?”
“She can come to class and sit in the corner and watch.”
“Right now her head hurts and she’s exhausted. And on Friday, she’ll just be bored if she sits and watches.”
“Then she can look forward to the Christmas show.”
“Where she’ll be a tree again? Or maybe an ornament?”
Ms. Hamshaw straightened, her nostrils flaring. “There are other dancers in her class who demonstrate much greater commitment.”
“This is ridiculous,” I blurted out.
“That’s what people generally say when they don’t like the rules.”
I brought London home and we ate the leftover Chinese food. Vivian called, and by the time the FaceTime session had ended, London could barely keep her eyes open.
I made the executive decision to skip her bath and got her into her pajamas. I read a short book to her in bed and she was asleep moments after I turned out the light. Descending the stairs, I told myself that I should use the rest of the evening to get some work done, but I simply wasn’t in the mood.
Instead, I called Emily.
“Hey there,” she said as soon as she answered. “How are things?”
“Not too bad, I guess.”
“How’s London? Bodhi said she got to be the teacher’s helper, so she must be recuperating nicely.”
“Yeah, she was pretty excited about that,” I said. “And she’s fine, really—just a little tired. What did you end up doing today?’
“Worked on one of the paintings for my show. I think I’m getting closer, but I’m just guessing. I could probably work on this one forever and never think it’s done.”
“I want to see it.”
“Anytime,” she said. “Thankfully, the other paintings I’ve started are going well. So far, anyway.” She smiled. “How are you holding up? I can’t imagine how scared you must have been. I’d probably still be traumatized.”
“It was pretty bad,” I admitted. “And tonight wasn’t so relaxing.”
“What happened?”
I replayed my conversation with Ms. Hamshaw.
“So she can’t do the recital?” Emily asked when I finished.
“I don’t think she was all that excited about it anyway,” I said. “I just wish Vivian weren’t so hell-bent on having her go there. I don’t think London enjoys it at all.”
“Then let her quit.”
“I don’t want another reason to argue with Vivian. And I don’t want London in the middle of it.”
“Did you ever think that by continually appeasing Vivian, you’re just adding fuel to the fire?”
“How do you mean?”
“If you give in every time Vivian gets angry, then she knows that all she has to do is be angry to get what she wants. I mean, so what if she gets angry? What’s she going to do?”
She didn’t add the question, Divorce you? but the obvious truth of her observation startled me. Was that the reason things had started going downhill in the first place? Because I’d never stood up to Vivian? Because I wanted to avoid conflict? What had Marge once said to me?
Your real problem is that you’re too damn nice for your own good.
At my silence, Emily went on.
“I don’t know if what I said has any bearing. I could be wrong. And I’m not saying this because I want the two of you to argue. I’m just saying that you’re London’s father, and you have just as much right as Vivian when it comes to making decisions as to what is best for London. Lately, you have even more rights than she does, since you’re the one who’s taking care of her. You’re the primary parent these days, not her, but you still seem to trust Vivian’s judgment more than your own. To me, London seems like a very happy little girl, so it’s clear you’ve been doing something right.”