Chapter 28 Not a Dinosaur Cara #2
I can’t bring myself to say the words on the tip of my tongue, not when I knew what we were getting into. So as my throat squeezes around a pain I’ll have to deal with one day, I swallow it down and murmur a different truth. “The only time I’ve fallen so hard, so fast, was with Emmett.”
I don’t know how I’ll ever say goodbye.
And like she hears it all, Mémère nods, the compassion in her gaze heavy, weighted with sorrow she knows all too well.
“The only peace goodbye has ever brought me is the certainty that there is so, so much love between that first hello and the final farewell. If only it made the word any easier to say.”
If only.
“Ma-bear! Cara! Look!” Abel comes bounding back over, beaming with pride as he shows off his painting, swirls of pink, purple, blue, and orange, big round faces, long legs, smiles you can’t miss as he names each person. Ma-bear. Abel. Emmett. Cara.
“Our team,” he exclaims proudly and with all the certainty in the world. “It’s our team.”
If only.
THERE IS SOMETHING SO INHERENTLY peaceful about bedtime stories.
Something soft and warm, like the little body tucked into my side, his cheek pressed to my shoulder, one teensy hand resting gently on mine as we hold the book open.
Something bright and hopeful, like the stars and the moon that shine above us as we sit curled up in the window.
Something wondrous and reverent, like the whispered words spilled from the pages of the book and into the quiet night, like a secret for only us to share.
When I was a little girl, bedtime stories reminded me that everything was going to be okay.
That even the toughest days drew to a close, and there was always a tomorrow.
I found comfort in the dark, the way I could always find at least one star in the sky, no matter the weather.
One star that fought its way through to shine.
Bedtime stories beneath the sky have always been where I’ve found peace at the end of the day, but here with Abel… there’s something more. Something bigger, something palpable. Something that feels a little like healing and a lot like a miracle.
“All done,” I whisper, lips pressed to his hair as I finish reading,
“Wait,” he murmurs, groggy and quiet as he stops me from closing the book.
He flips through the pages, all the way to the inside of the front cover, running his fingers over Emmett’s handwriting, same as he does every night.
He pats the words, looking up at me with bleary eyes, stars twinkling in a sea of green. “Don’t forget this.”
I stare down at the words Emmett wrote over three years ago now, the ones that were meant for the baby we were supposed to have.
The passage is smudged now, once-perfect handwriting stained with the splatter of teardrops from nights spent curled up right here in this very window, reading this book, wishing on a star for a miracle.
And I gaze at the boy in my lap, the one who spends his days at my side, asking me questions, learning and teaching in equal amounts, stepping a little further into himself each and every day as he places his hands in ours, takes more of our hearts and gives us more of his trust. But each time he finds a new piece of himself, I find an old piece of me, nearly the same, only the dullness has been wiped away.
One day, you’ll be snuggled up in this window, staring up at the stars above.
Mama will hold you, singing to you about the way they shine like diamonds in the sky.
And I’ll stand back and watch you together, knowing with absolute certainty…
If you and your mama were the only stars in my sky,
That would be all I needed.
By the time I’ve finished the passage, Abel is asleep in my lap. I steal another handful of minutes, treasuring the way it feels to have my arms so full, before I carefully tuck him into bed. His eyes open as I step back, slow blinks ready to drag him back under.
I press a kiss to my fingers and blow it his way. “Put it in your pocket for later.”
He grins, sending the kiss and the words right back to me before I head for the door. When I get there, his quiet voice stops me.
“Cara?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Dinosaurs don’t protect other dinosaurs.”
“They don’t?”
“No. They only protect themselves. They don’t think about anybody else.” He turns over, a quiet sigh and the ruffle of his blankets filling the air. Right before I shut the door, he whispers, “That’s why my Cara is not a dinosaur.”
THERE’S A PATTERING IN MY CHEST, fast and fluttering, a feeling that dips like unease to my stomach.
I stare out the car window at the park down the road, and that unease works its way into my fingers as they tap against my thighs, into my feet, which I couldn’t keep still right now if my life depended on it.
A broad hand lands on my thigh, a gentle squeeze that reminds me to pause, to breathe.
While I’m not exactly sure why anxiety chooses this moment to surface, moments before we meet Catharine, Abel’s mom, or sister, as he knows her, I’d guess it’s because Abel’s been talking about this visit for a week now.
Marlene, his social worker, told us Catharine’s canceled every in-person visit since attending the first one after Abel was taken to Second Chance Home, always the morning of and after confirming she’d be there the night before.
Though Marlene hasn’t heard from her today, I’m not sure I’m prepared to handle Abel’s disappointment if Catharine doesn’t show.
“Is my Catharine here?” Abel asks as Emmett pulls him from the car seat, fists shaking with excitement. His head whips left, then right, and he turns himself in a full circle. “Where is she?”
“Not here just yet, bud.” Emmett flips him up onto his shoulders, and Abel squeals with delight, clutching his head. “Should we go on the swing while we wait? Or do you want to go on the climbing wall?”
“I waaant… um…” He taps a finger against his tiny, adorable chin, then holds it up.
“Oh! I know! Let’s go up on the… the climber, and then you will put me on your back again, and-and-and I will be so tall, I will be able to see anything!
Then I can see… I can see my Catharine when she gets here, right, Emmett? ”
“Right on, dude. Let’s get you up super high so you can be on the lookout.”
It’s a mild spring day, the warm breeze moving through my hair as I watch my two favorite boys.
Emmett looks comically large on the pirate ship climber, given that it’s made specifically for kids five and under.
Still, there’s something so wildly attractive about a six-foot-three wall of a man slapping a hand over his eye and pretending to be a one-eyed pirate, complete with lots of ahoy theres and arr mateys, just to get the little boy on his shoulders laughing.
Five minutes turns into ten, and I sigh when a quick glance at my phone shows nothing from Marlene. “Please,” I whisper, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. “Please, show up.”
A shriek of laughter brings my gaze back to Abel, and I smile as he rolls around on his back on the climber, having the time of his life while Emmett appears to be fighting for his.
My man has his right hand hiding in the sleeve of his sweater as he hollers, falling so theatrically, it’s an Oscar-worthy performance.
“Ah! My hand! The crocodile! He got my hand!” Emmett reaches toward Abel with his other hand. “Help me, captain! Before he gets my other hand!”
The sight eases the tension in my shoulders, and I pull in a deep breath, letting it go as I check my phone again. No message from Marlene, and Catharine is fifteen minutes late, the same amount of time we were told to wait before leaving.
“Five more minutes,” I murmur. “I’m giving you five more minutes.”
There’s movement from the corner of my eye, and I catch a glimpse of deep auburn before it disappears behind a tree. Unfortunately for her, she forgets to make her shoes disappear.
The pounding in my ears quiets, and my chest slowly deflates with relief. I wait a minute, just long enough for her to gather her courage, it seems, because slowly but surely, the young woman steps out from behind the tree, and there isn’t a doubt in my mind who she is.
From the copper hair, the high cheekbones splashed with the same freckles, and those eyes, a stunning, cool sage, I know with certainty that this is the woman who brought Abel into this world.
I watch her stand there, eyes fixed on Abel as he runs and screams and laughs, and when tears fill her eyes, they fill mine too.
“Catharine! Emmett, Cara, look! It’s my-my-my Catharine!”
She quickly swipes those tears away as Abel races toward her, and when she grins, huge and beautiful, right before they collide, I see that dimple in her right cheek, just like his.
“I made you somethin’,” Abel tells her, dashing over to me. “Cara, can I show my Catharine what I made for her?”
“You sure can.” I take a seat on the bench, rooting through the dinosaur backpack Abel and I picked out for him the week he moved in with us. I pull out the bulky envelope and hand it to Abel, smiling at Catharine as she approaches slowly. “Hi, Catharine. I’m Cara.”
“Hi,” she says softly, pulling at the sleeves of her sweater before she tentatively offers me her hand.
I think I forgot just how young nineteen is, because as I shake her hand, I’m painfully aware that she’s barely more than a child herself.
Nails chewed to the quick, friendship bracelets stacked on both wrists, a baggy hoodie with holes in the cuffs, unzipped and showing off her old-school Spice Girls T-shirt below.
There’s a softness to her face, a fullness to her cheeks that makes her look eons too innocent to have gone through everything she’s experienced.
Because beyond everything, I see the utter exhaustion in her eyes, the dull sparkle that tells me she’s been through it, and she’s having trouble hanging on to hope. A feeling I know all too well.