I hesitated, my fork hovering just above the plate. “Wait…” I said. “What?”

“Tennis camp? We talked about this yesterday. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember that you mentioned it. I don’t remember any decision though.”

“The sign-up for camp is today, and they’re pretty sure it’s going to fill up fast, so you should try to be there around eight thirty. They’ll start taking names at nine. Her art class is at eleven.”

“I need to go over my presentation.”

“It’s not going to take long to sign her up, and you can go over it while she’s doing art. There’s a coffee shop a couple of doors down in the same complex. She’ll be fine if you don’t stay – I usually just drop her off and leave for the gym. What time’s your meeting?”

“Two.”

“See? That’s perfect. Her class ends at twelve thirty, so you can drop her at your mom’s afterward. You know where the studio is, right? In that strip center just down from the mall with the TGI Fridays?”

I knew the strip mall she was talking about, but my mind was more focused on my rapidly expanding to-do list.

“Can’t we just call the club and sign her up?”

“No,” Vivian said. “They need a copy of the insurance card, and there’s a waiver that has to be signed.”

My mind continued to whirl. “Does she have to go to her art class today?”

Vivian turned toward London. “Do you want to go to art class today, sweetheart?”

London nodded. “My friend Bodhi is there,” she said, pronouncing it Bodie. “He spells it B-O-D-H-I and he’s really nice. I told him that I’d bring Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles in today so he could see them.”

“Oh, that reminds me. You’ll need to grab more shavings, too, from the pet store,” Vivian added. “And don’t forget about dance class later this afternoon. It’s at five, and the studio is in the same shopping center as Harris Teeter.” Vivian stood from the table and kissed London before giving her a squeeze. “Mommy will be home after work, okay? Make sure you put your dirty clothes in the hamper.”

“Okay, Mommy. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I walked Vivian to the door and opened it for her before offering a quick kiss.

“You’ll knock ’em dead,” I said.

“I hope so.” She touched her hair carefully. Reaching into her purse, she handed me a folded piece of paper. “I wrote London’s schedule down to make it easier for you.”

I scanned the list. Art classes on Mondays and Fridays at eleven, piano lessons Tuesdays and Thursdays at nine thirty. Dance class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at five. And starting next week, tennis camp, on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays at eight.

“Wow,” I volunteered. “That’s quite the schedule. Don’t you think it’s too much?”

“She’ll be fine,” Vivian said.

For whatever reason, I expected a longer goodbye, maybe a bit more chitchat about her being nervous or whatever, but instead she turned and walked briskly toward her car.

She never glanced back.

Don’t ask me how, but somehow, I pulled it all off. Shower, shave, and throw on my work duds; check. Detangler spray before brushing London’s hair and get her dressed for the day; check. Clean the kitchen, and start the dishwasher; check. Sign London up for tennis camp and bring her to art class along with Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles; check and check. Go over the presentation, drop London off at my mom’s, and make it to the meeting with the chiropractor with a couple of minutes to spare; check, check, and check.

The chiropractor’s office was a rinky-dink storefront in a run-down industrial area, not the kind of place anyone might feel comfortable seeing a health practitioner. A single once-over revealed that my potential client was in desperate need of my services.

Unfortunately, the client felt otherwise. He was interested in neither the PowerPoint presentation I’d prepared nor anything I had to say, especially when compared to the interest he showed in the sandwich he was eating. He was irked that it didn’t have any mustard. I know this because he told me three times, and when I asked if he had any questions at the end of my presentation, he asked me if I had any packets of mustard in my car that I could spare.

I wasn’t in the best of moods when I picked up London from my mom’s, and after swinging by the pet store, we headed home. I hopped back onto the computer and worked until it was time for dance, but finding London’s outfits took some time since neither of us had any idea where Vivian put them. We were a few minutes late leaving the house and London grew fretful as the clock continued to tick.

“Ms. Hamshaw gets really, really mad if you break her rules.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll just tell her it’s my fault.”

“It won’t matter.”

It turns out London was right. Just inside the entrance was a seating area occupied by five unspeaking women; directly ahead was the dance floor, the two areas separated by a low wall with a swinging door. To the right were cases filled with trophies; the walls were decorated with banners proclaiming various students and teams as winners of national competitions.

“Go on in,” I urged.

“I can’t walk onto the floor until I’m told I can proceed.”

“What does that mean?”

“Stop talking, Daddy. Parents are supposed to be quiet when Ms. Hamshaw is talking. I’ll get in even more trouble.”