But a few hours later, the camp administrator called and said, “I think you should come here. It’s about the man who brought your daughter.”
Building Bridges at Home
That evening, Maisie and I sat at the kitchen island working on her science diorama—a miniature papier-mâché model of the solar system. Newspaper strips soaked in flour paste littered the counter, and streaks of acrylic blue paint dotted our fingers.
“Mom,” Maisie said, carefully painting Saturn’s rings with a fine-tipped brush. “Paige talked to me yesterday.”
I paused, holding a sphere of painted styrofoam. “Oh? What did she say?”
“She said she was sorry about the things she posted last spring,” Maisie replied evenly, her eyes focused on her artwork. “And I told her I was sorry for sharing that picture from the locker room.”
