Ms. Collins agreed.
What began as a short lesson became something Grace looked forward to every afternoon.
Then I noticed her.
She was sitting beside the worktable, wearing a soft knitted cap.
The wig Noah had given her rested on a nearby stand.
“Dad?”
Michael turned.
Grace stood up slowly.
For a moment, father and daughter simply looked at each other.
Then Michael asked:
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Grace lowered her eyes.
“Because you said I shouldn’t do the play.”
“I was worried about you.”
“I know.”
“Then you should have talked to me.”
She hesitated.
Then, almost in a whisper, she answered:
“Dad, I tried.”
The silence that followed was painful.
Michael opened his mouth, but no words came.
Grace picked up a small blue costume vest from the table.
It had three mismatched buttons.
One pocket was noticeably higher than the other.
“I made this,” she said.
