“You really think so?” Her eyes, large blue saucers, held his gaze.
He nodded. “Yep.And do you know what else?”
“What?”
“I’ll want to be there, at your wedding. I want you to promise you’ll invite me, so I can cheer and clap!” He beamed at her, relieved that she seemed more herself.
“I promise.”
“Good. And the next time you have questions about kissing and friends and stuff like that, will you ask your mom?”
“I do already.”
“Good,” he said. “It’s your turn to skip. Here.” He handed her some flat stones and cheered at her success.
Then he said, “I’ll race you back to the car!” and turned on his heel and ran back to the campground. He felt like a coward but was eager to get away so Cecelia couldn’t ask him any more questions.
As he approached Amanda, he slowed enough to catch his breath. “Cecelia asked me all kinds of questions. We need to talk.”
Amanda looked up at him. “About what?”
“Kissing and marriage and things like that.”
“Oh.” She smiled.
“What made her ask me?” He opened the trunk and began helping her pack the car.
“Maybe because she trusts you, because she likes you. We’ll talk later. Here she comes.”
Cecelia stopped in front of Amanda, breathing hard. She frowned at Marcus as he moved the tent to one side of the trunk. “Marcus, that race wasn’t fair. Your legs are longer than mine and you had a head start.”
“I apologize. I needed to get the kinks out.I’ll give you a head start next time.”
Two days later, Marcus met Amanda outside her classroom. “Have you got a couple of minutes?”
She nodded.
“Let’s walk to the waterfall near the trees.”
Amanda looked at him. “What’s on your mind?”
“Cecelia.” He scanned the ground as they strolled. “You have to tell me what prompted her questions—when we were camping.”
“What did she ask you?”
“She started by asking if I kissed you when we go out. I told her I did. Then she asked me about getting married—that her friend, Sam, was going to marry her uncle and she thought she and I—well, that she was going to marry me. I told her I thought her friend, Sam, wasn’t going to marry her uncle and that she would probably marry somebody else, not me. I was really sweating that.”
“The fantasies of little girls can be interesting. Be glad she didn’t get more graphic.”
“What do you mean?”
“I called Joan to find out exactly what’s been going on.” She started to laugh. “Sam’s big sister showed the girls pictures in The Joy of Sex. Talk about learning things from a big sister.Sam’s mother was furious that Brittany has that particular book.”
Amanda looked over at him. His head was down, a forelock of hair over one eye and he was pushing a stone around with one foot, reminding her of a small boy uncertain what to say next. “Marcus, I’ve always had a policy of honesty with Cecelia. When she has questions, I answer them.”
His head came up and he blew out his breath. “Well, she about bowled me over. I told her that she should be talking to you about all this.”
“We already have.”
He nodded. “She made that very clear, but insisted on getting the male point of view.”
Amanda smiled. “You should be honored. Obviously, she trusts you.”
“But I’m not used to questions like that.”
“If you’re going to be her friend, better get used to it.” Amanda picked up a paper that had slipped out of her notebook. “You must have done a good job. She hasn’t asked me any more questions. On that particular topic, anyway.”
“Oh?”
“She’s got other things on her mind, like horseback riding and more Scout trips, and will I let her fly to Minnesota this summer to see her grandmother.”
“Are you going to let her do that?”
“No. I’m not comfortable letting her fly by herself, especially if she has to change planes.”
“Somehow, I doubt she’ll be happy with that answer.”
“You’re probably right.” Amanda checked her watch. As she walked back toward her classroom, she imagined what life might be like if Marcus helped her raise Cecelia, answered her daughter’s questions, guided her through the teen years. It felt good thinking she wouldn’t be the only one with that responsibility.
When she began her lecture about eighteenth-century poets, she wrote the words of George Crabbe on the board as an example of a couplet.
“How many of you wish for things? What did George Crabbe mean when he wrote these words?”