Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Amanda came home late last night to find her mother on the couch watching TV.
Zoe was already in bed. Within a few seconds of seeing her, her mother muted her program and asked her what was wrong.
It wasn’t surprising Jules knew something was up.
How could Amanda hide the stress of the day from showing on her face?
Not to mention that she still needed to break it to Zoe that her teacher was murdered.
She’d sunk onto the cushions next to her mother and laid out the basics. Spoken robotically, devoid of emotion. It was a way of protecting her mind and emotions, but the effort was failing her. Finding his killer was personal for her because of Zoe. “How am I supposed to break it to her?”
It was her mother’s response that played on a loop in her head while she tossed and turned all night. Just be honest with her. That’s all you can do.
Simple advice, but Amanda kept imagining Zoe’s face when she told her the news.
If only there was some way to protect her from learning he was murdered.
But there was no way around that. It would either come from her or from the school’s assembly that morning.
And Amanda wasn’t relegating her responsibility toward Zoe.
She owed it to her daughter to be transparent.
After all, if she wanted Zoe to be open with her, Amanda had to set the example.
There was only one thing she could think of that might soften the blow.
It was that idea that had her setting her alarm for 6 AM and creeping down the hall before her mother or Zoe woke up.
She started a pot of coffee and got to work making pancakes.
If she had no choice but to dispense heartbreaking news, she’d send it down with sugar and carbs.
She had just started cooking the first set of pancakes when her mother’s slippers padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. A moment later, she rounded the corner and took in the mess on the countertop. She raised her eyebrows at Amanda without saying a word.
She ignored the look, disliking the implication she took from her mother’s expression.
Sometimes life serves up shit… Feeding your daughter sugar two days in a row isn’t going to do her any favors.
Or that was all in Amanda’s head. She felt bad for making pancakes, but what was the difference between this and eating a pint of ice cream after a nasty breakup?
Though was comfort food the coping mechanism she wanted to encourage?
“Coffee’s ready if you want one,” she told her mother, shutting down her internal banter.
“I smell that.” It was a near incomprehensible mumble as her mother walked past to pour herself a cup.
“I just thought I’d treat her to pancakes.” And now I’m trying to justify myself…
Her mother waved her hand. “I know what you’re doing, sweetie, and it’s kind of you.”
Amanda paused midway to the griddle, surprised by her mother’s comment. “You think so?”
“I do. You’re just trying to lessen the blow. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Amanda loved how her mother summed it up. There was another thing that Amanda had to bridge with her mother though. She flipped the pancakes, stalling a moment longer. “When I go to tell her, will you—”
Jules put her finger to her lips. Zoe’s bedroom door opened. Next, the bathroom door closed.
“Yes, Mandy, I’ll make myself scarce.”
Her mother’s psychic abilities were uncanny. “You don’t need to leave the house. Maybe just go back into the guest room?”
“Sure, I can do whatever you’d like. Right now, if you want.”
“No, of course not. Sit, drink your coffee, eat pancakes with us. I was going to tell her afterward. Maybe if you just stayed silent when I do.”
Jules pantomimed zipping her lips shut.
“Why is everyone up so early? Oh, pancakes again? What’s going on?” Zoe narrowed her eyes.
“They’re your favorite.”
“Yeah, and…?”
Amanda refused to answer her daughter’s curiosity.
She’d find out soon enough. Instead, Amanda left the pancakes to cook the rest of the way and gave her daughter a good-morning hug.
One day, she’d tell Amanda she was too old for the ritual, just like she had with being read to at bedtime and watching animated movies.
Amanda had tried to convince her that even adults without children watch them, but Zoe wasn’t buying it.
But when she’d abandoned Frozen, that was a positive sign.
Zoe used to watch it with her biological mother, and seeing it was a way she kept her alive.
The fact Zoe wasn’t playing it on a constant loop told Amanda that Zoe had progressed in her grief.
What if the news about Paul Archer dragged her under again?
Though, Amanda was taking on a fool’s errand to think she could protect her from life’s hardships.
She pulled back and looked in Zoe’s eyes.
“I’m sorry I had to work late again last night. I hope you had fun with Grandma.”
Zoe looked over at Jules and smiled. “Always.”
Amanda’s mother engaged with her granddaughter—coloring, playing dress-up, or whatever was Zoe’s fancy in the moment.
She didn’t plop her in front of the TV and walk away.
“I bet. So, sit, eat pancakes, and tell me all that I missed.” She moved the finished pancakes from the griddle to three plates.
As Zoe ate and drank apple juice, she shared the adventures she’d had with her grandmother. Every once in a while, Jules would chirp in with something. They had done some spiral art and played with Zoe’s Royale High dorm room playset.
“I’d love to see what you made,” Amanda told her.
“Sure. After?” Zoe spoke around a mouthful of pancake.
“Yes, of course.”
When Zoe finished eating, she dropped her fork onto her plate and hopped off the stool. She called over her shoulder, “I’ll clean up in a minute.” She ran down the hall and returned holding her creation.
“That’s beautiful, Zoe.” Amanda admired the broad use of bright colors—pink, green, and blue.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Amanda’s heart sank as she glanced over at her mother. Time has run out… “There’s something I need to tell you, sweetheart. How about we go talk on the couch?”
“Okay.” Zoe led the way and sat on the edge of a cushion.
Amanda dropped next to her and took her daughter’s hands in hers. “I want you to hear this from me and not at school, but I have some unfortunate news about your teacher, Mr. Archer.”
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Zoe’s baby blues dove into Amanda’s eyes.
“He is, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”
“Was he murdered like Mom and Dad?”
Amanda’s heart cracked. Zoe’s voice was clear but small. She was trying to shield herself. “He was murdered, yes. But Trent and I are doing everything we can to find out who did this to him.”
“Okay.”
“I can only imagine how upsetting this is to hear. You can talk to me about anything you’re feeling. You know that, right, Zoe?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And I can make an appointment with Dr. Tanner.” Marisol Tanner was Zoe’s therapist, recommended by a PWCPD psychiatrist, Colleen Frost.
“I need to get ready for school. When people there find out about Mr. Archer, they are going to be sad, and I can help them.” Zoe sat there, peering in Amanda’s eyes, as if seeking permission to leave.
“Sure, sweetheart.” She laid a hand over her heart as she watched her daughter walk off.
Jules came up behind Amanda and put her hands on her shoulders. “You handled that well.”
“Did I? Because I feel like I did it all wrong.”
“Is there any right way to deliver news like that?”
Amanda let her mother’s rhetorical question sit there.
It would have been better if Zoe had screamed and cried, even thrown a fit.
That she’d shut down, withdrew, and projected her grief onto others was far worse.
While it sounded noble that she wanted to be there for her fellow students, Amanda didn’t trust that response.
She feared once her daughter’s shock wore off, when the reality of what happened sank in, Zoe would be a mess.
But when that happened, Amanda would be there for her.