Free Heart Like Mine by Amy Hatvany

with a slightly older man named Wade.
    My voice rattled in my throat as I told him about Kelli. He let out a low whistle. “Oh my god , honey,” he said. “That’s so awful .”
    “I know. I’m just . . . blown away.” I sniffed and swallowed hard. “And now I’m on my way to pick up the kids and I don’t know what to tell them. I’ve never been in a situation like this. I don’t know how to act.”
    “I don’t think there’s any specific way you should act, sweetie.” He paused. “You don’t have any idea how she died?”
    “No,” I said, then pushed my lips together to fight a sob I felt building in my throat. “Victor didn’t have any details yet and he’s the one who should talk to them, but I’m going to see them.” I paused again. “They’re not stupid, you know? They’re going to sense something’s wrong. I never pick them up from school.”
    “Can you play dumb?” Sam asked.
    “Maybe.” My throat began to close up again, and I couldn’t stop it. The sobs I’d been fighting came hard and fast, filling my chest with sharp, painful edges in every breath. “Sorry,” I finally managed to gasp. “I don’t know why this is hitting me so hard. It’s not like we were friends. But I just . . . I just . . .” I trailed off, unable to find the words to describe how I felt.
    “Oh, Gracie,” Sam said. “Don’t apologize, honey. It’s tragic, what’s happened. Of course you’re upset. You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t. And you love Victor and the kids. You’re feeling their pain.”
    I shook my head, as though he could see me, then took a deep breath, only to exhale it slowly. “I’m scared,” I whispered. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
    “Sweetie,” he said, his voice swelling with concern. “Think about what you do every day. Everything you handle for your clients. You’ll be fine, I know it.”
    I smiled weakly. He was an old soul, my brother. “Thanks, Sammy. I love you.”
    “Love you too,” he said. “Call me when you can.”
    I hung up, then scavenged for a tissue in my purse to blow my nose. It suddenly struck me that telling the kids about our engagement the same weekend they’d learn their mother had died was not exactly perfect timing. I knew this much about having kids in your life—their needs came first, no matter what. I quickly took the ring off my finger, staring at it again for a moment before slipping it into the zippered compartment in my wallet, suffering a sharp pang of sadness with the act. I prayed it wouldn’t get lost.
    After another deep breath, I shot a quick text off to Melody asking her to call me. She didn’t respond right away, so I knew she was in the middle of an appointment with a massage client and couldn’t answer her phone. Then I pulled back into traffic and drove the rest of the way to Seattle Academy. On the way there, I attempted to give myself a pep talk. Sam was right. I could do this. I could maintain whatever front I needed to with the kids. I was the adult; they would trust me. I’d adopt the same demeanor I’d learned to use when first talking with a domestic-abuse victim—I’d be calm and collected. I’d listen more than I’d speak.
    The office was on my left as I entered and I approached the front desk, letting the secretary know who I was and why I was there. She was a plump, older woman with bluish-gray hair the same airy texture as cotton candy. “Mr. Hansen said to expect you,” she said, frowning. “It’s just so sad . I can barely believe it. Kelli was the best mother.”
    I nodded, suddenly feeling impossibly inferior. Of course she was the best. Of course I could never live up to her.
    “Can I see your driver’s license, please?” the secretary asked. “It’s our routine security check.”
    I pulled out my ID and showed it to her, thinking how my license broke me down into such simple parameters: age, height, weight, and eye color. I wondered if this was how the doctorswho took