Those noises mattered more than anyone expected.
They meant nobody was lying beside a bed while a six-year-old tried to decide whether nighttime had lasted too long.
One afternoon, the mother found her daughter standing near the wheelbarrow.
The girl had both hands on the handles.
For a second, the mother could not move.
Then she noticed what was inside.
Not babies.
A bag of potting soil, a pair of small gardening gloves, and a plastic watering can.
The girl looked toward her.
“Can I use it?”
Her mother swallowed.
“For the yard?”
“Yeah. It’s easier than carrying the bag.”
The mother walked over and tested one of the handles with her palm.
Then she stepped aside.
“Okay.”
The girl pushed.
The wheel squeaked once.
Her mother flinched before she could stop herself.
The girl heard it too.
She paused, then looked back.
Her mother could have taken the handles from her.
