Ethan’s mother looked me over slowly, as if she were mentally noting every detail for later discussion.
“So, what do you do?” she asked.
“I teach fourth grade.”
“Oh?” she replied. “Which school?”
When I mentioned the public school where I worked, her smile tightened. Then she said something I still remember clearly.
“I suppose there’s a certain… fulfillment in educating those children.”
I wanted to ask what she meant—to force her to say out loud what she clearly believed—but I swallowed my words.
His father leaned back, swirling his wine. “I’ve been trying to place your last name. Are you related to the Hendersons, by any chance?”
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