Chapter 9 - The Science Fair
Thursday morning arrived bright, cold, and clear.
St. Jude’s Academy gymnasium was filled with the chaotic, beautiful noise of seventy elementary school kids showing off their science projects. Poster boards covered in glitter, cardboard models, vinegar volcanoes, and battery-operated circuits lined row after row of folding tables.
Liam stood behind his table, dressed in a sharp navy-blue collared shirt and khaki pants. His poster board was a masterpiece of hyper-fixated perfection: "THE DYNAMICS OF VOLCANIC MAGMA CHAMBERS: A COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS."
He had spent three weeks painting a papier-mâché volcano model, complete with red LED lighting wire buried inside the chamber to simulate flowing lava.
David and I stood a few feet back, holding our coffee cups, watching Liam carefully arrange his small plastic dragon figures around the base of the volcano.
"He's in his element," David smiled, bumping his shoulder against mine.
At 10:15 AM, the double doors at the back of the gym opened.
My father walked in.
He looked older than he had two months ago. He was wearing his good tweed jacket—the one he always wore to church or major events. He looked nervous, his eyes scanning the crowded room like a man stepping into a minefield.
Then his eyes locked onto us.
He walked over slowly, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He stopped a few feet from our table, looking at me with an expression of deep, humble hesitation.
"Julia," he said softly.
"Hi, Dad," I replied, keeping my voice neutral, but letting a small, quiet smile thaw the ice between us.
Dad turned his attention to Liam. He didn't rush forward. He didn't make loud, overwhelming noises the way my mother always did when she was trying to perform "doting grandmother" for an audience.
He walked up to the table, rested his hands on the edge, and leaned down to look closely at the papier-mâché volcano.
"Well now," Dad said softly, his voice full of genuine wonder. "Look at those magma channels, Liam. Did you wire those LED lights yourself?"
Liam looked up. His eyes lit up with that bright, electric focus he gets whenever someone asks a real, detailed question about his work.
"Yes!" Liam said loudly, pointing with his small finger. "I used a parallel circuit so if one LED burns out, the rest of the lava chamber stays illuminated! Look, Granddad!"
Liam clicked a small switch under the table. The papier-mâché mountain glowed from within, a deep, vibrant crimson light pulsing through the painted cracks.
My dad’s eyes filled with sudden, unmistakable tears. He reached out and gently rested a hand on Liam’s small shoulder.
"That is the most impressive thing I've ever seen, buddy," Dad whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "The absolute most impressive thing."
Liam beamed—a pure, unselfconscious smile that lit up the entire room.
I looked at my husband, and David reached out, taking my hand in his, wrapping his fingers tightly around mine.
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My mother wasn't there. Chelsea wasn't there. There was no fake laughter, no social media photography, no passive-aggressive comments about "intensity" or "fitting in."
There was just a grandfather, standing beside his grandson, seeing him clearly for the very first time.
