A few minutes pass. Cecie has cycled from customary resentment about her mother to fondness for Wayne’s adoration. A brisk knock on her office door startles her. “Yes?” her voice creaks a little.

Carmen puts her pretty face around the door frame, ascertains that she’s welcome, and steps into the room. “I need to talk.”

“What’s with the kids?”

“Musical chairs is down to three now. Andrea’s handling it. The others just got back from the playground so there are plenty of teachers.” Carmen sits in the red leather chair opposite Cecie’s desk. She crosses her overalled leg and exposes her ankle-chain tattoo of bones and roses. Cecie feels the usual small jolt of disappointment when she sees that tattoo. She had tried so hard to dissuade Carmen. She’s known Carmen since the girl was fifteen and came to work part-time in the center, and she’s tried to be a mentor and big sister to her. In the ensuing eight years Carmen has grown in self-esteem and confidence, but all of Cecie’s arguments against tattooing failed. It seems to Cecie like a commitment issue; in the last year or so Carmen acts driven to commit to something, and a tattoo is a kind of commitment.

“So it was good news, from the Foundation.” Carmen’s words bring Cecie back from her psychoconjecture. She nods.

“That’s great! Oh good for us…”

“That’s why I’ve called a lunch meeting. You, Andrea and I need to discuss this before it goes out to everyone else.”

“Yes. Oh…did you think? No, I didn’t come in here to talk about the grant.” Carmen is smiling and blushing beneath her dark gold skin. “I came to tell you I’m getting married.”

“No…”

“Yes. Mark and I.”

“But…”

“No. He’s changed. Really. After we broke up, he was alone for six months. He says he learned what he was missing. He started therapy. He came back last month. I didn’t want to tell you because, you know, I wanted to give him another chance and I was pretty sure you wouldn’t be okay with that. But Cece, he’s been wonderful. No anger. Gentle and loving and considerate. And I just found out I’m pregnant.”

“You’re too young,” Cecie blurts, even though half the kids they care for have mothers as young or younger. Carmen just looks at her.

Cecie comes around her desk, pulls Carmen to her feet, hugs her.

“Hey, girlfriend,” Carmen exhales as she returns the embrace. “Don’t worry. It’s time. I’m twenty-three and I’m ready for a man and a baby and my own home. It’s all right. It’s going to be good.”

Cecie thinks Carmen is throwing herself away. But Cecie doesn’t believe in permanence, so she figures Carmen will still have options even after tattoo, man, and child. “I know, honey,” she murmurs into Carmen’s ear. “Congratulations.”