June brought the end of the school year and a new question from the front office: updated contacts for summer camp pickup. Aaron filled the form himself. Simone Blake. Aaron Blake. Aaron's sister. No other adults. He signed his name with a pressure that left a groove in the paper.
On the last day of school, Aaron arrived at pickup early. The lane was the same theater of yellow buses and SUVs and backpacks and late-afternoon daylight. Teachers with clipboards moved through the current. Aaron stood near the flagpole where he had sent Lily to wait on that October afternoon, and when the doors opened he felt his body brace for a history that did not repeat.
Lily ran to him.
"Dad! I wanted you to get me today."
He caught her. He held her. He breathed the smell of elementary school summers — glue and grass and the particular dust of classrooms emptied for three months. Simone appeared from the visitor lot, not rushing this time, walking with the careful dignity of a woman who had spent months learning what her rush had cost. She smiled at Lily. She looked at Aaron with a question she did not speak.
The same teacher from October — clipboard, tired eyes — approached out of habit and then recognized them and nodded.
"Mr. and Mrs. Blake. All set. Have a good summer."
"Thank you," Aaron said.