Seven Year Switch (2010) by Claire Cook Page B

or toward some new horizon—the balance of our lives had changed and nothing would ever be the same for Anastasia or me.
    Finally I cried. I cried hard. I cried for a family that had once been whole and never would be again. I cried for my daughter and all those missed years with her dad she could never get back. I cried for myself and my dashed dream of a perfect little family in a house full of joy. And somewhere along the line I realized I was also crying for the little girl I’d once been, whose mother ignored her and who never knew her father. The sad and lonely child who’d always believed in her heart that better days were up ahead.
    When I was sure she’d been asleep long enough, I tiptoed back into Anastasia’s room. She was curled up on her side, hugging an armful of Senegalese pocket dolls. Her face was flushed. One leg poked out of a tangle of covers.
    I thought about trying to unravel the covers, but I didn’t want to risk it. Instead, I reached under her mattress and carefully wriggled out her diary.
    I held my breath until I was back in the hallway. I knew I should have waited until she was safely at school. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this at all. But I was like a diary junkie who couldn’t wait until morning for her next fix. I leaned back against the wall and angled the pages under the ceiling light. It didn’t take long to find to night’s entry.
    Â 
    A my name is Asia
    Â 
    S enagleez pocket dolls
    Â 
    I n the middle of a luaw
    Â 
    A dad that was worth waiting for
    Â 
    I shook my head to bring myself back to the community center. T-shirt Tom freed himself from the conga line and came over to open the oven for me. Today’s shirt said my wild oats have turned to shredded wheat.
    â€œThanks,” I said. I slid the cookie sheets of Huli Huli Chicken inside.
    When I stood up, he was looking at me through the fingerprints on his glasses. “Why so glum, chum?” he said.
    One of his sidekicks broke away from the conga line and came up to stand with us. “Keep an eye on this one,” he said. “He can’t be trusted around the pretty young ladies.”
    Ethel came over, too. “Oh, leave her alone, you old coots,” she said. The turquoise sweat suit and matching stretchyheadband she was wearing really popped against her orange hair. “She already has a boyfriend. Don’t you, honey?”
    â€œOkay,” I yelled. “Why don’t you dance that line over this way, and we’ll get the real party started.”
    â€œOh, no,” Ethel whispered. “Is it over already?”
    Â 
    BY THE TIME I FINISHED cleaning up after Lunch Around the World, my phone shift for Great Girlfriend Getaways had begun. I just managed to put the leftovers and everything else into the passenger side of my car before the phone rang.
    â€œHi,” a woman said after I finished answering. “Can you tell me if your Costa Rican surfing trip is full yet?”
    â€œThere are a few spots left,” I said. The truth was, the more the merrier, and no matter how many women signed up, we’d find a way to make it work. “But it’s one of our most popular trips, so I wouldn’t wait much longer.”
    â€œHave you ever been on it?”
    â€œNot yet,” I said.
    â€œWhy not?”
    Because I haven’t been anywhere in almost a decade and essentially I have no life didn’t seem like the most positive response.
    â€œIt’s next on my list,” I finally said in what I hoped was a believable voice. I didn’t tell her it was probably my bucket list, and that statistically I had approximately four decades to go before I kicked it.
    I shifted the phone to my other ear, so I could put the key in the ignition.
    â€œOh, good,” the woman said. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”
    â€œAbsolutely,” I lied. “I’ll look for you.”
    Before my shift was over, I’d