Chapter l
l
ON THURSDAY I RACED BACK TO brOOKLYN FROM the office to make it to Sammy’s school in time for the art show, which was in honor of March being Youth Art Month. I swear it wasn’t until the kids were in school that I learned there is a month or a day for pretty much everything. Did you know there’s a National Journalism Day? May 3. There’s even an International Children’s Day of Broadcasting. The first Sunday in March. I don’t know anyone who celebrates it, though, including me. After Liam’s kindergarten class celebrated International Talk Like a Pirate Day, Darren and I joked about it for years.
I got to the auditorium before Darren and the kids. It always feels odd being at a school function without them, like, who am I? What right do I have to be there alone?
But it was still too cold to stay outside, so I hovered by the door, waiting for them to arrive. When they did, I saw Liam, Sammy, Darren, and Courtney.
I waved and Sam came over to give me a hug. “Violet’s babysitting Ivy and Sage because Angie couldn’t stay,” he said. “But I promised her I’d take pictures.”
I looked over at Darren to confirm that it was a babysitting thing, not that Violet was upset with me. He was looking at Courtney, though, who was talking to Liam. There are so many personalities in our family. So many relationships and so many feelings always happening at once.
“Oh, we’ll definitely take pictures,” I told him. “Let’s go find your painting.”
He took my hand, and we walked toward the wall where the art was hung. About a quarter of the way down, Sammy stopped and pointed.
“That’s mine,” he said.
I took a step closer. I saw a woman with dark hair walking down an autumn street in Brooklyn. The artist’s vantage point was from behind her, and she was slightly slouched, her hands tucked into the sleeves of a big sweater. She was wearing black leggings and had black boots on her feet. The boots looked familiar, the hair, too. But I wasn’t sure. I looked at the small piece of paper taped to the wall next to it, and it read: Left Behind by Samuel Maxwell . I didn’t know how he was relating the title to the image.
“Will you tell me about it?” I asked him. It’s what I’ve been saying ever since he started showing me his artwork scribbles when he was two. That way I wouldn’t say Ooh, beautiful kitty! when he’d drawn something else altogether.
“That’s you,” he said, pointing to the woman with her head down. “And you’re walking away from Dad’s house on a Saturday night. See, that’s his street. That’s the house that’s being redone next door, but I left the construction work out. I just imagined what it’ll look like when it’s finished. And that’s Dad and Courtney’s car, parked right there.”
“I thought that might be me,” I said. “It looks like my hair.”
“And your leggings and slouchy boots, with your big thick sweater, the one you wore, like, the whole fall.”
I laughed. I had worn a thick gray sweater a lot this past fall.
“Is the title because you feel like I leave you behind on Saturday nights?”
Sam shrugged. “I guess sort of,” he said, looking down at his sneakers. “But more because I feel like we leave you behind sometimes. Like, you’re in the house all alone, and we’re all together somewhere else. And it always makes me wonder if you’re lonely without us.”
I pulled Sammy to me and laid my cheek against his hair, so he couldn’t see the tears in my eyes. “You really do have an artist’s soul,” I whispered.
He pulled away and then looked up at me.
“Mom,” he said softly. “Do you think Gabriel would think so? And his mom? Do you think they would be proud if they saw this drawing?”
I looked at his picture and then looked at our boy. “I do,” I said. “I think they’d be really, really proud, just like I am. Not just because of your talent but because of how hard you work on your art, how much you love it, and how thoughtful you are when you draw and paint.”
Courtney, Darren, and Liam joined us soon after, and Sam explained his drawing to them, too. Then his art teacher, Kathy Hammer, came by to talk to us and we migrated over to the cookies-and-juice table near where Ms. Hammer walked up onto the stage to make a speech about the importance of art in schools and nurturing our children’s talent and love of creation. She announced that the pieces included in this show were going to be relocated to a gallery wall in the school’s media center for the remainder of the year.
The parents all clapped, and then Ms. Hammer walked off the stage.
Liam looked at Darren hopefully. “Time for a celebratory ice cream?” he asked.
“We should get back to Violet and the girls,” Darren said, looking at the time on his iPhone.
Sammy’s face fell.
“I can take the boys and drop them off at your house,” I said.
Darren turned to Courtney, a pained look on his face. “I told the girls I’d be home to read them three Elephant they’re dead, but they’re kind of still alive because of their paintings.”
“I like that idea, Sammy,” Courtney said.
Liam wiped whipped cream off his lip. “I bet you could have a painting in a museum one day, Sam,” he said.
“And I bet you could play drums on a song that people sing over and over,” Sam said. “We’d both kind of live forever.”
Liam smiled. I could tell he liked that idea.
“Your mom, too,” Courtney said. “She’ll live on for a long time—as long as people are watching her shows.” She picked up her diner mug for another sip of hot chocolate.
“What about you, Courtney?” Sam asked.
“Courtney will live on in the minds and hearts and history of every single kid she’s helped,” I said.
I thought about how so many seemingly small things can have such a huge impact. I wondered if tonight was one of those things for Sammy or Liam. Or for Courtney.
“You never answered Sam’s question, Mom,” Liam said. “Can we go to the art thing?”
I loved how Liam expanded Sammy’s request to include him, too. “If you want to go, then you absolutely can.”
Liam nodded, and Sammy smiled.
“Thanks for coming tonight,” I said to Courtney, as the boys got into a conversation about how many ounces of hot chocolate they could fit in their mouths.
“It’s a little hard to breathe in that house right now,” she said. “I’m happy to be here.”
“I know the feeling,” I said.
She smiled sadly at me as I flagged down the waiter for the check.