Chapter 7 - What the Night Leaves
By eight o’clock, the sugar had burned off, replaced by the deep, bone-weary exhaustion that follows an emotional storm.
Adam and I moved through the bedtime routine like ghosts operating on muscle memory. Teeth brushed, linen party shirts swapped for cotton pajamas, cups of water carried up the stairs.
In the girls' bedroom, Nora was already tucked beneath her lavender quilt, her hands flat outside the covers. On the nightstand beside her, she had propped her drawing up against her reading lamp.
"Mommy?" she asked as I sat on the edge of the mattress.
"Yes, honey?"
"Is June cold?"
The question caught in my throat. "No, Nora. She’s not cold."
"Because Grandma said she was in heaven, but Caleb said bodies go in the dirt under grass. And the basement is under the grass, and it was cold down there."
I brushed a stray lock of hair from Nora’s forehead, tucking it behind her ear. "Her body isn't in pain, sweetheart. She’s safe. And the part of her that makes her June—her spirit, her soul—that’s not in the ground. It’s with us. It’s right here, whenever we talk about her."
Nora’s dark eyes searched mine, looking for the cracks, looking for the sudden flash of tears that had terrified her at the picnic table. When she saw only quiet stillness, her shoulders dropped an inch into the pillow.
"I didn't mean to make you mad," she whispered. "With the chair."
"You didn't make me mad, Nora. You were brave. You did something Mommy was too scared to do for a long time." I kissed her forehead, lingering against the warm, sweet-smelling skin of her scalp. "I love you. Happy birthday, my big girl."
"Happy birthday to you, too," she said, closing her eyes. "Because you did all the work seven years ago."
I swallowed down the knot in my throat, switched off the overhead light, and walked across the hall to Caleb’s room.
Adam was already there, sitting on the edge of Caleb’s low bed under the glow of a green dinosaur nightlight. Caleb was lying on his stomach, his face buried in his pillow.
"Did we ruin it?" Caleb’s voice was muffled by the cotton pillowcase.
Adam was stroking the boy’s back in long, slow circles. "Ruin what, buddy?"
"Our birthday." Caleb rolled over, his eyes red-rimmed. "Everyone left. Ben took the water balloons away. Clara looked sad. We didn't even open the presents from Grandma."
"The presents aren't going anywhere," Adam said gently. "They’re downstairs on the table. You can open them tomorrow morning before school."
"We didn't ruin it, Caleb," I said from the doorway, stepping inside and resting my hand on Adam’s shoulder. Adam stiffened slightly beneath my touch, then slowly leaned into it, his body trembling with an exhaustion that mirrored my own. "Today was the day we brought your sister home. That’s not a ruined day. That’s an important one."
Caleb considered this, his small fingers picking at the seam of his quilt. "Is she going to have a chair next year too?"
I looked down at Adam. He was looking up at me, his eyes dark, questioning, waiting to see what the rule would be now that the dam had broken.
"Yes," I told Caleb. "Every year."
Caleb nodded once, seemingly satisfied by the permanence of it, and pulled his blanket up to his chin. "Good. Because it’s four. Not three."
We kissed him, turned out the lamp, and checked on Tess. She was already fast asleep, snoring softly into her plush bear, June’s little yellow knitted cap resting safely on the dresser across the room, exactly where they had placed it.
May you like
Then Adam and I walked down the hallway toward our bedroom, the floorboards groaning under our feet, until the door clicked shut behind us and we were entirely, terrifyingly alone.
***
