Chapter 22

June 5, 2021

Juna had been told three times that the purple tassel was not a toy. Each time she had nodded as though the explanation made perfect sense, then waited for Callie to turn back toward the mirror before reaching for it again. The cap was on the dresser, which put it just high enough that Juna had to stand on her toes. Callie could see the attempt reflected in the mirror while she tried to reach the zipper between her shoulder blades. “I see your hand.”

“I was helping.” Juna put the hand behind her back and looked at the cap.

“You can help by finding your shoes.” Callie twisted farther, caught the zipper pull for half a second, and lost it again. She had chosen a pale blouse and dark pants because she would be sitting outside for most of the afternoon, but the gown made it impossible to tell whether anything underneath was straight. She could change a diaper with one hand and find Juna’s cup in a dark bedroom without turning on a light. Apparently fastening her own graduation gown required someone with a different set of qualifications.

Hannah stopped in the doorway. “You’re making a face.”

“The zipper’s stuck.” Callie dropped her arms and turned her back to her sister before Hannah could decide that noticing the problem was enough of a contribution.

“It’s stuck because you twisted it.” Hannah pulled the fabric straight, worked the zipper down, and tried again. This time it went up without catching. She gave the collar a final tug. “There. Civilization survives.”

Juna came over to inspect the result, temporarily abandoning the cap. “Mommy has a dress.”

“It’s a gown.” Callie looked at herself in the mirror. The explanation did very little for how it hung on her.

“A weird dress,” Hannah said. She bent to retrieve a sandal from beneath the desk while Juna agreed with her. “Why is there only one of these?”

“The other one’s downstairs. I think.” Callie took the sandal and knelt, gathering the gown out of the way before Juna could stand on it. Getting her daughter into the yellow dress had already involved another yellow dress, a purple dress, and an argument about whether she could wear her raincoat. Callie had stopped worrying about the missing shoe somewhere around the raincoat.

“I have two feet,” Juna informed Hannah.

“That’s the problem.” Hannah went to check the hall, leaving Callie to fasten the first strap. Juna rested a hand on her shoulder for balance. Callie held her ankle still while she worked the buckle, then smoothed the hem of the dress. She used to be able to fit that whole foot in her palm. Now Juna was impatiently lifting it to see whether the sandal had gone on correctly.

The dresser held the cap, Callie’s keys, and a folded printout of questions for Pacifica Polytechnic University. She had circled the line about family accommodations and written childcare hours? in the margin. There was a reply from admissions on her phone, but she had not opened it. Between Juna’s breakfast, the argument over clothes, and Stuart starting the photographs before Callie had put on her shoes, there had not been a good time. She would read it tonight. She wanted at least the ceremony before she had to start figuring out California again.

“How much longer?” Stuart called from downstairs.

“Are you asking as my father or the photographer?” Callie turned Juna gently toward the doorway so she would stop trying to hop on the foot with the shoe.

“Both have been waiting patiently.”

Hannah returned with the second sandal hooked over one finger. “He took a picture of the front door. Apparently we need to remember what the house looked like before you graduated.”

“That is not what I said,” Stuart called.

“It’s very close.” Hannah handed over the sandal, then took the cap from the dresser. While Callie finished with Juna’s shoes, Hannah examined the pins tucked inside its edge. “Come here when you’re done. If this blows off, he’ll make us stop the ceremony to find it.”

Callie stood and let her sister pin the cap in place. Through the open window she could hear a lawn mower and leaves moving in the breeze. The house smelled of coffee and the strawberry jam Juna had wanted on her toast. It was still cool enough to have the windows open, although Callie doubted the people in the bleachers would appreciate the weather by the time the speeches ended. Hannah pushed in the last pin, checked that it did not show, and stepped back. Callie picked up her keys and phone, leaving the housing questions on the dresser.

Sally was waiting at the bottom of the stairs with the canvas bag she used for outings with Juna. A water bottle protruded from one side, and she was checking the zipper on the other. “Snacks are in here. Sunscreen’s in the pocket. Your father has the camera, in case you somehow missed that.” She looked up as Callie reached the last step and stopped checking the bag. “Look at you.”

“I look like I borrowed a curtain.” Callie held out one sleeve.

“You look like you’re graduating.” Sally straightened the collar, although Hannah had just done it upstairs. Callie let her finish. Her mother had adjusted enough school-picture blouses and winter coats that arguing would have taken longer than standing still. “Do you have your phone?”

“I’ll put it in the bag.” Callie slid it into the inside pocket and added her keys.

“And your diploma case?” Sally asked, then looked annoyed with herself before Callie answered.

“They give us that there.”

“I knew that.” Sally touched her cheek and turned to Juna, who was examining a loose thread on the canvas strap. “Both shoes. We’re doing well.”

Stuart had made room by the living-room window, moving Juna’s block tower onto the coffee table so nobody would have to stand behind it. He lifted the camera as Callie came in. “One picture before we go.”

“You’ve taken eleven,” Hannah said from beside the doorway.

“First one with the gown.” He motioned Callie a little closer to the window and checked the frame. Callie lifted Juna onto her hip, adjusted the child’s dress, and looked toward him. Juna immediately reached for the tassel. Callie caught her wrist, but Juna was already laughing, and the camera clicked before either of them could settle. Stuart checked the screen instead of asking them to try again. That usually meant he had what he wanted. “This one’s going on the wall.”

“Please choose a flattering wall,” Callie said, lowering Juna before she could make another attempt.

“You don’t get a vote.” Stuart took a second look at the screen and put the camera strap around his neck. Sally ushered them toward the door before his definition of one picture could expand.

On the drive to Ridgemont High, Juna asked where they were going twice. The third time she supplied the answer herself. Mommy was going to school, and she was going to clap. Hannah told her she understood the ceremony better than several people at rehearsal. Callie sat beside Juna’s car seat while Sally drove and Stuart checked the battery he had charged overnight. He had brought a spare too. Callie had seen him put it in the camera bag.

The radio was playing quietly enough that she caught only part of the report about crowded intake facilities near the coast. Sally changed the station before the next speaker came on. Since the family’s Smallara vulnerability results, Callie had paid more attention to the numbers, even when she wished she had not. Another city reported cases, another hospital explained how many patients it could take, and Ridgemont continued to have no confirmed case. She was glad of that, but it no longer sounded like a reason to assume they would never have one. Grey’s had changed the original store’s receiving procedures twice since winter. Employees were supposed to report possible exposure even if they felt fine.

Callie and Hannah had finished Guardian training earlier in the spring. Callie could still picture the demonstration aid on the classroom table and how carefully she had needed to use her hands around it. She remembered Hannah interrupting an instructor who had used safe when he meant less dangerous, too. Her sister insisted they had taken the same class because it made carpooling convenient. That might have been easier to believe if Callie had not watched her turn down two earlier openings.

“You’re staring,” Hannah said, catching her looking.

“I can see the back of your head.”

“You’re doing it judgmentally.” Hannah turned enough to look at Juna, who was leaning forward as far as the car-seat straps allowed.

“I clap for you too?” Juna asked.

“Not today. I haven’t done anything deserving of public applause.” Hannah reached back to straighten the dress where it had folded under the strap. “But thank you.”

“You fixed my zipper,” Callie said.

“Emergency service. Doesn’t count.” Hannah faced forward again as Sally slowed behind a line of cars turning toward the school.

Traffic cones blocked the usual way into the lot, and graduates were crossing between cars while their families tried to work out where to park. Purple and white decorations hung at the stadium entrance. Callie saw the Ridgeback logo above the gate and remembered coming here for a football game in September 2017. She had been fourteen, trying to keep track of her friends in the crowd and expecting an ordinary Friday night. She had talked enough about those years lately that she did not want to spend the ceremony going over them again. She watched a man back out of a space instead, hoping Sally had seen him.

“There,” Sally said, turning on her signal. “By the side entrance.”

Stuart leaned forward to study the stands through the windshield. “I should be able to get a clear shot from the west aisle.”

“You should be able to get a seat first,” Sally told him.

“I can do both.” He waited until she had parked before opening his door, although his attention was still on the stadium.

Callie got Juna out of her car seat and settled her against her hip. Around them, relatives were asking graduates to look at one phone while someone else tried to take a picture with another. Wind pushed the gown against Callie’s legs, and she caught the cap with her free hand even though Hannah’s pins were holding it in place. She had wanted this day for years. Now that she was here, she still had to carry the bag, keep Juna from pulling at the tassel, and find the gate she had been told to use at rehearsal. The field smelled of freshly cut grass, and somebody behind them was asking where he had left the tickets.

“We’ll find seats,” Sally said, coming around the car. “Go meet your class.”

Juna tightened her arms around Callie’s neck. “I come?”

“You’ll go with Grandma and Grandpa. You can see me from where you’re sitting.” Callie pointed toward the field. “And you have a job. Remember?”

“Clap.” Juna looked where Callie was pointing, although the parked cars blocked most of the view.

“Exactly.” Callie kissed her cheek and passed her to Sally. Juna held on for a second before accepting the change, then became interested in Stuart’s camera as soon as he came close enough. Callie handed Hannah the canvas bag.

“I’m not a pack animal.” Hannah caught the strap before the bag could slide down her arm.

“You’re the one who wanted us in the same training class so we could carpool.”

“Conveniently.” Hannah put the strap over her shoulder and followed Sally, leaving Callie with a clear view of the graduate gate and no excuse to delay going through it.

Maggie found her before she reached the line. She was carrying her cap and looking as though the photographs had already taken up most of her morning. “Please tell me you know how to keep this on. My mother has thirty pictures of me holding it because every time I put it on, I look like a roof came loose.”

“The pins go along here.” Callie turned it to show her the front edge.

“They gave us pins?” Maggie checked one gown pocket, then the other.

“At rehearsal.” Callie held the cap while Maggie searched more thoroughly.

“Rehearsal was mostly a man saying left when he meant right.” Maggie produced two pins and a mint. She put the mint back without commenting on it, then stood still while Callie set the cap on her head.

“There.” Callie secured the second pin and checked the angle. “You’ve passed the building inspection.”

“High praise.” Maggie carefully moved her head to test it. When the cap stayed where it was, she looked past Callie toward the parking lot. “How’s Juna?”

“Ready to clap for anyone who looks vaguely like me.” Callie glanced toward the stands, but her family had not reached them yet.

“Good. I’m counting on considerable applause.” Maggie moved out of the way of two graduates heading through the gate.

Luke appeared behind them with a bottle of water in each hand and his cap sitting crooked on his head. “Apparently I’m not allowed to save seats for the entire graduating class, so I brought provisions.” He passed them the bottles, looked at Callie in her gown, and lost some of the joke in his expression. “You did it.”

Callie took a drink before answering. The three of them had been together at school on plenty of ordinary days since the Monday none of them wanted to remember, but that was the one his expression brought back. He had known her before she was trying to fit homework around a baby’s sleep schedule. So had Maggie. They had kept knowing her when being her friend took more effort than agreeing on where to sit at lunch. Callie screwed the cap back onto her bottle. “They haven’t handed out the diplomas yet.”

“Details.” Luke’s grin returned. “I’m doing the speech now so you can’t escape later.”

“That was a speech?” Maggie asked, inspecting the water bottle. “We should have stopped you.”

“You’re both impossible.” Luke spread his arms, nearly caught a passing graduate with his elbow, and apologized while moving aside. Callie and Maggie followed him through the gate before he could start again.

The rows of chairs had looked easy enough to follow at rehearsal. With everyone arriving at once, Callie had to stop twice to let people pass before she found her assigned seat between Maggie and a girl from physics. Luke was farther back. He spotted the Greys first and began waving both arms, which helped Callie locate them above the west aisle. Stuart was near the end of the row, with Sally, Juna, and Hannah beside him. Juna waved enthusiastically at Luke. When she finally saw Callie, she straightened and looked from her mother to the distance between them. Callie waved again rather than calling across the field. Hannah leaned over to say something, and Juna settled against Sally before lifting her hand for another wave.

The principal’s first words came through the microphone with a hollow rattle. He waited for someone to adjust it, thanked them, and began again. Callie sat with her water bottle between her feet and tried to listen while he talked about perseverance, community, and their futures. She understood what he meant, but the next week was easier to picture than the next ten years. She had a shift at Grey’s, a housing office to call, and Juna’s pediatric appointment. She needed to know whether the campus childcare program would take Juna once she turned three and whether it stayed open late enough for labs. If she could get those things sorted out, she would feel considerably better about the future he kept mentioning.

Maggie nudged her foot and angled her program toward Callie. Along the bottom she had started a tally beside the word journey. The principal used it again while Callie was reading. Callie took the pencil Maggie offered, added a mark, and handed it back. Maggie kept her face turned toward the lectern, but Callie could see the effort she was making not to smile.

A later speaker talked about the changes they had seen during high school, including closed borders and national emergencies. A few students checked their phones while he explained their responsibility to their neighbors. Smallara had reached the United States in 2020, and the reports had become much harder to ignore this year. People in Ridgemont still tended to discuss the coastal cases as something happening well away from them. Callie understood why. Nobody wanted to spend every trip to work wondering whether this would be the day that changed. But the training had made it harder for her to hear no local cases and stop thinking about it. Someone who needed help could turn up at Grey’s before a report reached the news.

When the names began, people paid attention again. The request to hold applause lasted through approximately one graduate. After that, families cheered whenever they wanted, and the announcer waited for them to finish. Callie watched people from her classes cross the stage, along with students she mostly knew from seeing them at the same lockers for four years. Maggie got up with her row and checked her cap once more before heading toward the steps. When she accepted her case, she arranged her face into such exaggerated seriousness that Callie had to look down at the program to keep from laughing.

Callie’s row stood a little later. Chairs scraped and knocked together as they moved into the aisle. From the line beside the stage, she could see the upper rows of the bleachers but could no longer pick out her family. The sun was in her eyes, and the graduate ahead of her was whispering about a slipping cap. Callie checked her own. Hannah’s pins were still holding. She lowered her hand when the line moved, then heard her name through the speakers.

“Mommy!” Juna’s voice carried from the stands before Callie could find her. People nearby laughed, and Callie looked up to see her on Stuart’s lap, waving both hands. He was trying to hold her with one arm and use the camera with the other. Sally was clapping, and Hannah lowered her phone long enough to wave. Callie smiled back at them before the woman beside the steps reminded her to keep moving.

Crossing the stage took less time than she had expected. She shook the principal’s hand, accepted the diploma case, and stopped where the photographer pointed. She had imagined she might think about the late nights, going back to school after Juna was born, or the conversation with Jed Steverson that had made her so angry. Instead she wondered whether Stuart had managed to take a picture without Juna knocking the camera. Then someone was directing her toward the steps at the other end, and it was over. She carried the case back to her chair, opened it far enough to check inside, and closed it again when the next name was called. She had finished. The rest of the ceremony could take as long as it liked.

Luke crossed later, looking toward his relatives when they started cheering. He made it down the steps without tripping, despite someone in his row having clearly hoped for it, and gave Callie and Maggie a thumbs-up on his way past. By the final name, Juna had stopped waving. Callie could see Sally trying to keep her occupied with something from the bag. The caps went up, everyone stood, and Callie retrieved hers from beside a chair before joining the crowd moving toward the stands.

She found her family near the edge of the field. Sally put Juna down when she saw Callie approaching, and Juna ran over, slowing only when the gown got in her way. Callie crouched and pulled the fabric back. “You clapped.”

“I yelled.” Juna looked pleased with herself.

“I heard you.” Callie hugged her, then held the diploma case away from the grass as Juna leaned across her knee to inspect it.

“Is that your school?” Juna touched the corner.

“That’s what they gave me for finishing.” Callie turned it so she could see the front.

“Can I have it?” Juna was already reaching with both hands.

“For one picture.” Callie placed her fingers along the edges and waited while Stuart lifted the camera. Juna held the case carefully for three quick photographs, then tried to open it by bending the cover backward. Callie took it away before the crease could become permanent. Juna regarded this as an unfair change to their agreement.

Sally put an arm around Callie’s shoulders as she stood. “I couldn’t see your face from up there. How did it feel?”

“Fast.” Callie looked back toward the stage, where someone was already moving a chair. “I thought I’d have more time to feel something.”

“You’ve got time now.” Sally kissed the side of her head and released her as Stuart asked them to stay together for another photograph. Callie looked down at the case while he found someone who would take the camera. She was glad her mother had stepped away before she had to answer.

A passing parent agreed to photograph all four Greys and Juna. Hannah complained that they were facing the sun, then came close enough that her shoulder pressed against Callie’s. Stuart stood on Callie’s other side with a hand against her back. Sally held Juna, who announced “Cheese” before the man had finished working out which button to use. He took the picture a moment later. For once nobody asked to repeat it, and Stuart thanked him while Callie checked that Juna had not recovered the diploma case.

Maggie and Luke arrived as Stuart was reviewing the screen. Maggie had been returned by her family after a series of photographs, and Luke had promised his that he would come back once he found Callie. They joined the Greys for another picture. Luke crouched beside Juna and put his cap on her head, which covered her eyebrows and most of her eyes. She laughed and tipped her head forward. Maggie caught the cap before it reached the grass, then put it back on Luke at an angle that would have bothered Callie if she had been the one wearing it.

They stayed near the field while classmates and relatives stopped to talk. A couple who shopped at the original Grey’s told Callie there was already space on the office wall for a graduation picture. She looked at Stuart. “Did you authorize that?”

“I’m sure they can find a place.” He examined his camera screen with more attention than the question required.

A woman Callie recognized from Juna’s pediatric clinic stopped to congratulate her, then mentioned that her newborn niece had received her mandatory vulnerability result the week before. She sounded relieved and a little embarrassed to be bringing it up at graduation. Her husband had finally been tested at his annual checkup too. Callie remembered searching the family portal for Juna’s result before opening her own. Having that answer had mattered, even though it did not prevent Smallara from affecting people outside their household.

After the woman moved on, Hannah bent to fix Juna’s sandal strap. Juna lifted her foot obediently, then nearly lost her balance because she had not thought to hold on to anything. Hannah steadied her, finished with the strap, and set her foot down before letting go. She had been just as particular in training when an example treated a Little as something to be moved rather than a person who might have an opinion about it. Callie had not needed to tell her sister to sign up. She had not needed to tell her to help with Juna today either, whatever Hannah said about the bag.

“Ms. Grey.” Jed Steverson waited a few feet away, his sleeves rolled up and his tie missing. He looked as though he had given the family time to finish taking pictures. When Callie turned toward him, he offered his hand. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Mr. Steverson.” Callie shifted the case to her other hand and shook his.

“I hear you’re headed to Pacifica Polytechnic.” He glanced toward Juna, who had taken Luke’s cap again and was trying to return it by putting it on his shoulder.

“Electrical engineering.” Callie watched Luke hold still so Juna could finish whatever she thought she was doing, then looked back at her teacher.

“Good.” Jed said it with the same matter-of-fact approval he used when she got a circuit right. “Have you looked at their undergraduate labs?”

“The control systems lab and the electronics fabrication space. Online, anyway.” Callie had spent considerably longer on those pages than on the general campus tour. “First-year students don’t get much access right away.”

“First-year students seldom believe that applies to them.” His mouth shifted toward a smile. “You’ll get in when you’ve earned it.”

Callie remembered sitting across from him in January 2018, pregnant and furious that he thought he could tell her what her future would look like. She still did not agree with everything he had said. But once she returned to school, he had continued expecting her to do the work, including the harder assignments she might have been happy to avoid. He had not congratulated her merely for showing up. She appreciated that more now than she had when an unfinished lab was waiting beside Juna’s bottles.

“I’ll send you a picture when I make something that doesn’t catch fire,” she said.

“Send the first one that does. I’ll tell you what you wired wrong.” Jed nodded to Sally and Stuart, congratulated them, and headed toward another graduate before Callie could decide whether he had been joking.

Luke watched him go with the cap finally back on his head. “Was that his heartfelt speech?”

“Practically a hug.” Callie tucked the case under her arm while Juna reached up to be carried.

They left when Juna began insisting she was not tired every time someone suggested sitting down. Callie took off the gown before getting into the car and laid it on the back seat. The cap stayed in her lap. Stuart drove home while Sally answered messages from relatives, and Callie checked her phone when Luke sent a photograph to the group. He had caught her onstage from an angle she would not have chosen, but Juna’s raised arms were visible in the foreground. Callie enlarged that part, then saved the picture. Stuart’s would probably show the gown better. She wanted this one too.

At home, graduation cards collected on the dining table beside cake, paper plates, and the ribbon Juna had pulled out of her hair. Relatives came and went through the afternoon. Gus from Grey’s arrived with a card signed by employees from the original store and laughed loudly enough at something Stuart said that Juna came running in to find out what she had missed. Callie thanked him and read the messages twice before putting the card with the others. By the time the last guest left, there were crumbs under several chairs and an abandoned fork on the windowsill. Sally carried plates into the kitchen, Stuart began putting away the camera, and Hannah sat on the living-room floor to build a block tower for Juna.

Callie took a towel from the drawer and stood beside her mother at the sink. “I’ll dry.”

“You graduated today. I can handle plates.” Sally rinsed one and set it in the rack.

“I know.” Callie picked it up anyway. Through the window she could see the garage casting a long shadow across the yard. She dried the plate more carefully than it needed and put it away before taking another. “Thank you. For today. And the rest.”

“The rest?” Sally stopped with her hands in the water and looked at her.

“Picking Juna up when I had labs. Helping me move shifts around. Taking her before exams when I kept saying I had it handled.” Callie turned the towel around a glass. Some of those nights she really had thought she could manage. Others she had just disliked having to ask again. “I know I’ve had more help than a lot of people.”

“You have.” Sally rinsed the next plate and passed it over. “You’ve still been her mother every day.”

Callie looked through the doorway. Juna had knocked down the tower and was demanding a taller one. Hannah objected to receiving specifications from a toddler, but she was already sorting the blocks into a wider base. There was usually someone here who could take over for an hour, or pick Juna up when a lab ran late, or notice that Callie had forgotten to eat. Callie did the bedtime routine and got up when Juna woke in the night. She knew which breakfast her daughter would accept after a bad dream and which promised outing would get them through putting on shoes. She could keep doing those things in California. What she could not do was assume someone would be in the next room when she needed to study.

“I got a reply about housing,” she said. “I haven’t read it yet. I need to find out where Juna can live with me and whether the childcare hours cover labs. If they don’t, I need to know before I sign up for something I can’t get to.”

“We can sit down tomorrow.” Sally drained the sink and reached for the cloth. “Go through the costs and the dates.”

“I want to.” Callie put the glass away and folded the towel over a chair. “I just don’t want the solution to be leaving Juna here because it’s easier. She comes with me.” Her mother had not suggested otherwise. Callie knew that. But every college form that assumed she was arriving alone made her feel she had to explain it again.

“I know.” Sally turned from the sink so Callie would look at her when she said it.

Stuart came in carrying two camera batteries. He glanced at the towel, then at Callie. “If you have a childcare problem at ten at night, you call. We’ll help figure it out. I can’t promise I can drive to California before eleven, but I can pick up the phone.”

“That’s a disappointing response time.” Callie moved a plate off the counter so he could put the batteries down.

“I’ll work on it.” Stuart set them beside the camera bag. “I still have the list we made when you went back to school after Juna was born. I didn’t know how that was going to work either.”

“You never told me that.” Callie remembered him checking schedules at the table and driving her to school. At the time she had assumed he knew what they needed to do, mostly because he had looked less frightened than she felt.

“You had enough to worry about.” He glanced toward the living room as Juna cheered over another collapsed tower. “We figured it out as we went. You did most of the figuring.”

Callie had wanted someone to tell her all day that California would work out. She would have believed it for about five minutes, then remembered another question the housing office had not answered. Her parents could help with the calls and the money and the plans, but they could not tell her which room would be available or what she would do if Juna refused to sleep before a morning lecture. Those things still needed answers. She reached for Stuart’s hand and squeezed it. He held hers for a moment, then picked up the batteries as though they had urgently become an obstruction.

By bedtime, Juna was leaning against Callie’s shoulder while continuing to object to being carried upstairs. She smelled of sunscreen and cake, and her dress had a smear Callie had not noticed earlier. Hannah followed with the stuffed Gus she had found beneath the couch. Juna announced that she was not sleepy, then yawned against Callie’s neck before she could get through another protest.

“Terrible argument,” Hannah told her. “You’ve testified against yourself.”

“I’m awake.” Juna lifted her head to make sure Hannah saw.

“Devastating rebuttal.” Hannah set Gus on the bed and moved toward the door.

“Thank you,” Callie said, sitting Juna beside the toy. “For today.”

“I took pictures. That was my job.” Hannah paused with a hand against the doorframe, looking suspicious of where the conversation might go.

“And fixed my zipper. And carried the bag. And helped with Juna.” Callie reached behind her daughter to undo the dress.

“Do you have a point?” Hannah asked.

“You were there.” Callie eased the dress over Juna’s head before Juna could complain about it getting stuck.

“Obviously.” Hannah touched Juna’s hair on her way out and closed the door most of the way, leaving Callie to find the pajamas.

Juna chose a book they had read often enough that she began explaining the ending before Callie reached the second page. Callie made her wait until they got there, then let her supply the last words. Outside, a car went past, briefly louder than the fan. By the time Callie closed the book, Juna had Gus beside her pillow and her eyes almost shut. Callie was reaching for the lamp when her daughter spoke again.

“I go to your new school?” Juna opened her eyes to look at her.

“You’re coming to California with me.” Callie set the book on the nightstand. “I’ll go to school there, and we’ll have a place to live together.”

“Grandma come?” Juna moved Gus closer to her face.

“Grandma and Grandpa will visit. We’ll come back to visit them too.” Callie pulled the sheet up where Juna had kicked it away. “Hannah’s still going to be here.”

Juna thought about that while rubbing the toy’s ear between her fingers. “Gus comes.”

“Gus definitely comes.” Callie checked that the stuffed dog had not ended up beneath the pillow. “We might need to buy him a tiny suitcase.”

Juna smiled and closed her eyes again. Callie waited until her hand stopped moving on the toy’s ear, then sat a little longer to make sure she was asleep. When they brought her home from the hospital, Callie had worried about getting through the first night. Now she had to explain a move across the country to a child who wanted to know whether her grandmother and stuffed dog were coming. She did not have all the answers yet. She could at least make sure Gus went into a bag they would keep with them instead of a box they might not unpack right away.

In her own room, Callie hung the gown over the closet door and set the diploma case on her desk. She put the cap beside it, straightened the tassel Juna had spent the day inspecting, and opened the housing email. There was a link to the family housing information, an application deadline, and an office number for questions about childcare. She followed the link, read through the options, and went back over the email before taking out the folded page she had left on the dresser. On a fresh sheet she wrote tomorrow’s date, copied the phone number, and listed what she still needed to ask. She circled the deadline so she would not lose it among the questions.

Downstairs, Hannah laughed at something Stuart said. Sally called for someone to put the cake away, and neither of them appeared to be volunteering. Callie added a question about childcare during Juna’s first week, laid the pen beside the diploma case, and checked the email once more for anything she had missed. The office would not be open tonight. She turned off the desk lamp and went downstairs to help with the cake.

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