Alice’s mother had passed away while Alice was in her third trimester of pregnancy, leaving Alice grieving and alone. Her father managed to pick himself up and get on with his life, more or less. Paul continued drinking. Alice was the only one who seemed to be having trouble getting out of bed in the morning. Why? Wasn’t she the one who had the most to live for? Alice had never been the prayerful type, but one night, when Zoe was five months old, she got down on her knees and asked for help.
The next day, Alice’s father told Alice that her great-grandmother needed a live-in helper in her home in Atherton. Atherton was twenty-five miles out of San Francisco, and was a lovely family area. Alice looked at it as an opportunity for a fresh start. And it was. Her great-grandmother, Joan, adored Zoe, and while she wasn’t much help physically, her sage advice was a great comfort. (“Forget what the book says,” she’d say. “You’re her mother. You want to pick her up, you pick her up.”) Alice probably wasn’t a typical mother during those years. While other moms were joining “Mommy and Me,” “Charlie’s Music Time,” and signing up for swimming lessons, Alice was driving Joan to her appointments, grocery shopping, and looking after Zoe. But they were happy. This was their life.
Zoe was two when Joan passed away. Alice inherited her Atherton apartment and after a few months of grieving, started her business, and began to fill up her day with clients. Problem was, she didn’t fill them with anything else. It had been a hard couple of years. Two deaths, a baby. At the end of the day, she pulled the blinds and snuggled up with her daughter, pretending the outside world didn’t exist. Zoe was happy with the arrangement. As long as she was snuggled up close to her mother, that beautiful smile remained on her sweet little face.
By the time kindergarten approached, Alice had fallen into a rut. Any friends she’d had in San Francisco had given up calling. She hadn’t been on a date since before Zoe was born. And Alice was determined to turn things around, for Zoe’s sake. School would be the beginning of something for both of them. She would be the queen of the PTA. Carpooling, canteen duty. Driving a carload of giggly girls to McDonald’s at the end of the school year, eavesdropping as they talked at full speed about whatever giggly girls talked about. Afterward, when their smiling mothers came to collect them, Alice would open a bottle of wine and they’d do some giggling of their own. She had seen it all so clearly.
But on the first day of school Zoe was hard to get going. It had taken ages to get her dressed and she barely ate a bite of breakfast. Alice had thought she’d be excited about school, but she’d been reluctant to talk about it—nervous, perhaps. She walked slower than usual on the way to school, and as they turned a corner and the school building came into view, she stopped walking entirely.
“Are you all right, Mouse?” Alice asked.
She followed Zoe’s gaze to the large redbrick building that loomed before them. Students moved through the gates like a caterpillar, exploding into the playground with tanbark churning at their heels. Boys of about seven or eight rolled, entangled, on the grass while girls of a similar age demonstrated the way their shoes lit up in flashing lights when they stomped their heels. The parents stood in closed circles, glancing outward only to reprimand an unruly child before returning their gaze to the center. On first glance it didn’t seem to be the most welcoming environment in the world. Which, Alice could admit, was a little disappointing.
Alice draped an arm around Zoe’s shoulder. “Everything is a little scary on your first day. But once you get to know everyone, it will be great.”
Inside the gates, signage directed them to classroom 1B, which was across the courtyard at the top of a flight of stairs. By the door, a woman attempted to pry a sandy-haired boy off his mother’s leg.
“Excuse me?” she said to the woman. “Is this classroom one-B?”
“It is,” the woman said. She spoke to Alice but her eyes were on the little boy.
“I’m Alice Stanhope,” she said. “This is Zoe.”
“I’m Mrs. Dawson,” the woman replied. She finally succeeded in separating the boy from his mother, and he promptly began to wail. “Head on inside and I’ll be there in a minute. Come on, now, Oscar—”
Alice regarded the woman, a little sadly. She was probably in her late fifties, with a helmet of brown hair and a stern jaw—the kind of woman, Alice thought, who prided herself on never wearing makeup and always telling people the truth, even when it hurt their feelings. In her imagination, she’d pictured a lively, smiling teacher—mid to late twenties—who’d greet Zoe (and maybe even Alice?) with a hug before leading her into the classroom by the hand.
“Go on, moms,” she’d say. “Don’t cry. We’ll be fine, won’t we kids?”
And they’d all shout “Yes!” and then the moms would go for coffee together and become firm friends.
Instead Alice led Zoe into the classroom. A few kids ran in wild circles around the tiny chairs and tables. One red-haired girl sat at a table, crying into her forearms. “Mom?” Zoe said. “My stomach hurts.”
Mrs. Dawson bustled in, pulling the sandy-haired little boy by the arm. “Now then,” she said to Alice. “Sorry about that.”
“Zoe’s not feeling well,” Alice said. “Sore tummy.”
Mrs. Dawson looked down at Zoe. “Are you nervous, Zoe?”
Zoe continued to look around the room, wide-eyed.
“I think everyone is a little nervous on the first day,” Mrs. Dawson said, looking back at Alice. “Including Mom?” She lowered her voice. “Sometimes we can pass our nerves on to the little ones without meaning to. It’s probably best that you leave us to it, Mrs. Stanhope.”
Alice hated it when people called her Mrs. Stanhope. But she fought the urge to correct her and instead looked at Zoe, who was white as a sheet.
“Would it be all right if I stayed awhile? I think Zoe would feel better if—”
“We have a no-parent policy in the classroom, Mrs. Stanhope. It’s really best for everyone. I promise, she’ll be all right.”
“Oh,” Alice said. A no-parent policy. No matter how ridiculous that sounded—for a kindergarten class!—Alice was, first and foremost, a rule follower. It was one of the things she loathed most about herself.
She kneeled down beside Zoe. “I’ll be right here at the end of the day. You’ll be okay, right hon?”
“Yes,” Zoe whispered.
Mrs. Dawson was standing over her, as though ready to strong-arm her out the door. Zoe looked on the verge of tears.
“I just—”
“She’ll be fine, Mrs. Stanhope,” Mrs. Dawson said. “We know what we’re doing.”
And yet, Alice found herself reluctant to leave.
All mothers found it difficult when their children started school, Alice told herself. That was all it was. She just needed to keep her mind busy until three thirty that afternoon, when Zoe would reassure her that it had been the greatest day of her life. And with that, Alice summoned all of her strength and walked out of the school grounds and back to her apartment, where she got into her car and drove to Mrs. Stephens’s house. Mrs. Stephens had a doctor’s appointment that morning. Alice drove her there and while she was waiting, she checked her messages. Her phone had been on silent so it didn’t ring in the waiting room.