The pictures in a book.
The imaginary adventures of their dolls.
“Why didn’t you just sit quietly?” I asked.
“Because quiet makes Sofia think I’m looking.”
The pictures in a book.
I hadn’t thought of that.
“So you kept talking?”
Anna nodded.
“Sometimes she tells me to make it funny.”
“What kind of funny?”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“Like when I said the squirrel outside was as big as a dog.”
I smiled.
“Was it?”
“No. Sofia said I was being ridiculous.”
For a moment, Anna almost laughed.
Then she looked down.
“Sofia said I was being ridiculous.”
“She won’t play with me anymore.”
I was about to reassure her when she reached beneath her pillow.
She pulled out Harry’s little recorder.
“There’s something else.”
She pressed a button.
“She won’t play with me anymore.”
A faint squeaking sound filled the room.
Then Anna’s recorded voice.
“That’s my scooter. It sounds like a mouse.”
Sofia’s voice followed.
“A mouse with a broken trumpet.”
A faint squeaking sound filled the room.
Both girls burst into laughter.
Anna stopped the recording.
“We were making something for Daddy.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
Both girls burst into laughter.
She opened a notebook.
On the cover, written in uneven purple letters, were five words.
THE SUMMER YOU MISSED, DADDY.
Inside was a list.
She opened a notebook.
Scooters.
Ice cream truck.
Rain on the porch.
Mom singing while washing dishes.
I looked up.
“You recorded all these?”
Mom singing while washing dishes.
Anna nodded.
“Daddy said he wished he could hear our summer.”
She pressed another button.
The ice-cream truck played its tune.
Then Sofia announced, “Anna is running because she thinks the ice cream will escape.”
She pressed another button.
Anna’s voice shouted, “It might!”
I laughed despite myself.
Another recording captured me humming in the kitchen.
Then Sofia whispered, “Your mom sings the wrong words.”
Anna replied, “Don’t tell her.”
Another recording captured me humming in the kitchen.
I put a hand over my mouth.
They’d been collecting our ordinary days.
And I hadn’t known.
Anna scrolled through the recordings.
“Listen to this one.”
I hadn’t known.
There was a rustling sound.
Then Sofia’s voice.
“Don’t look yet.”
“I’m not,” Anna answered.
A pause.
“Tell me what’s outside.”
There was a rustling sound.
Anna began describing the backyard.
“The roses are pink. There’s a bird on the fence. He’s very fat.”
“How fat?”
“Like a potato with wings.”
Sofia giggled.
Anna began describing the backyard.
Then she asked, “Are you going to tell your daddy about my glasses?”
Anna answered immediately.
“No. You said not to.”
“Good.”
“Want to hear about the bird again?”
“No. You said not to.”
“Only if he’s still a potato.”
I stared at the recorder.
My daughter had understood something I’d spent the entire summer wondering about.
Sofia didn’t need anyone to solve her mystery.
She needed someone who would let her keep it.
I stared at the recorder.
That evening, I called Sofia’s mother.
I told her what Anna had described.
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, “Sofia has nystagmus. Her eyes move involuntarily, and she’s sensitive to bright light.”
I listened.
I called Sofia’s mother.
“The tinted glasses help her. She also feels more comfortable wearing them around other children.”
“Has the school known all along?”
“Yes. Her teacher has the accommodation paperwork.”
She sighed.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t know the questions at recess had gotten this bad.”
“The tinted glasses help her.”
I told her Anna had accidentally shared something private.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Thank you for telling me.” Then she added, “Sofia’s very upset. She thinks Anna told Tyler everything.”
“Anna wants to apologize.”
Anna had accidentally shared something private.
“I know. But Sofia needs a little time.”
I understood.
The following morning, I contacted the school.
Sofia’s mother had already requested a meeting.
She invited me to attend.
I understood.
The principal acknowledged that the boys had repeatedly questioned Sofia about her glasses and that the school should have noticed sooner.
