Chapter 16May 12, 2016
At 8:45 a.m., I greet Ms. Parsons at the door to Katy's classroom. Ms. Parsons, who Katy regards as old and wise, had to be about twenty-five years old, with short blonde hair and eyes that danced around a small nose and dimples. She is one of those teachers who oozed excitement about the children she taught and spoke of as her own.
“Hi, Ms. Parsons,” I say, extending a hand.
“Hello, Mr. Winslow. So glad you could make it.”
“Please, call me Scott,” I say.
She regards me as if assessing whether this is appropriate, and then says, “Okay, and you can call me Betsy.”
I nod, reflecting on the fact that Betsy Parsons seems an older name than the face that presents.
“I was named after my grandmother,” she adds, as if having read my mind. Then she says, “I know the ki
