Never once, however, had I spotted a zebra or giraffe, or a chimpanzee; I’d never come face-to-face with baboons, or elephants either. Maybe I’d seen them at the circus – my family went to the circus every year when it was in town – but seeing the animals in a setting that was somewhat reminiscent of the wilds of Africa was enough to make even the kids stop and stare for a while. Handing London my phone, she took more than a hundred photos, which added to her excitement.

Because we took our time, we didn’t finish up at the zoo until late afternoon. By the time we trekked back to the car, the kids were trailing behind us.

“It’s like the tortoise and the hare,” I said to Emily.

“Except the hares back there probably ran three times as far as we walked.”

“Well, at least they’ll sleep well.”

“I just hope that Bodhi doesn’t fall asleep in the car. If he naps for two hours, he’ll be awake until midnight.”

“I didn’t think about that,” I said, suddenly concerned about London’s schedule as well. “Kind of like remembering to bring sunscreen. Or bringing snacks for the trip. Obviously, I’m a work in progress when it comes to child rearing on my own.”

“We’re all works in progress,” she said. “It’s the definition of being a parent.”

“You seem to know what you’re doing.”

“Sometimes,” she said. “Not always. This week when Bodhi was sick, I couldn’t decide whether to baby him, or treat his cold like an everyday occurrence.”

“I know how my parents would have reacted,” I said. “Unless I was bleeding profusely or had broken bones protruding from my skin or a fever high enough to fry my brain, they would have shrugged and told me to tough it out.”

“And yet, you turned out just fine. Which means that maybe I was too soft on Bodhi. Maybe he’ll learn to like being sick because it gets him special treatment.”

“Why is it so hard to be a really good parent?”

“You don’t have to be a really good parent,” she said. “All you have to do is be good enough.”

As I pondered her words, I realized why my parents and Marge had liked Emily so much. Like them, Emily was wise.

CHAPTER 19

Finding My Own Way

It was the wedding in Chapel Hill that cemented my resolve to see Emily again. By the time the cake had been cut and the bouquet had been tossed, Emily and I had danced to more songs than I could keep track of. When the band took a break, we stepped out on the balcony for a breath of fresh air. Above us, a big orange moon hung low in the sky, and I could see Emily staring at it with the same sense of wonder I felt.

“I wonder why it’s orange,” I mused aloud. To my surprise, I heard Emily answer.

“When the moon is low in the sky, the light scatters because it has to pass through more layers of the atmosphere than when it’s overhead. By the time the light reaches our eyes, the blue, green, and purple parts of the spectrum have scattered, leaving only yellow, orange, and red visible to us.”

“How do you know that?” I marveled, turning to her.

“My dad explained it to me every time we saw one of these,” she said, nodding at the glowing orb hovering over the horizon. “I guess over time, it just stuck.”

“I’m still impressed.”

“Don’t be. If you ask me anything else about the night sky other than the location of the Big Dipper, I wouldn’t be able to help you. For instance, I know that one or two of those stars out there are probably planets, but I couldn’t tell you which ones they are.”

Scanning the sky, I pointed. “That one over there, right above the tree? That’s Venus.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s brighter than the stars.”

She squinted. “Are you sure?”

“No,” I admitted and she laughed. “But my dad told me that. He used to wake me in the middle of the night so the two of us could watch meteor showers.”

A nostalgic smile crossed her face. “My dad did that with me, too,” she said. “And whenever we went camping, he’d stay up with Jess and me for hours, and we’d watch for falling stars.”

“Jess?”

“My older sister. Do you have any siblings?”

“I have an older sister, too. Marge.” I tried to picture Emily as a girl, with her family. “I’m having a hard time imagining you camping.”

She knitted her brows. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess maybe because you strike me as more of a city girl.”

“What does that mean?’

“You know… coffee shops, poetry readings, art galleries, joining protests, voting socialist.”

She laughed. “One thing’s for sure – you don’t know me at all.”

“Well,” I said, gathering my courage, “I’d like to know you better. What do you like to do for fun?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

Her gaze left me feeling a bit flustered. “If your idea of fun is skydiving or shooting apples off my head with a bow and arrow, then the only reason I’m asking is for the sake of conversation.”

“But if it’s dinner and a movie…” She arched an eyebrow.

“That’s more my style.”

She brought a hand to her chin and slowly shook her head. “No… dinner and a movie is just too… clichéd,” she said finally. “How about a hike?”