Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
CLARA
They’re going to school.
Bryson would have hated it.
I cried in Virgil's arms last night.
I hate that I needed to.
I hate that I’m still thinking about him.
I stare at the words until the ink blurs. Then I close the journal and cry all over again.
Somehow, like always, I end up on his side of the bed. Where the sheets are cold. So damn cold.
“God.”
The word leaves me on a shaky breath.
The bedroom is quiet except for the ticking clock on the dresser. The one Bryson bought at a garage sale because he liked the sound. Said silence was unsettling.
Now I would give anything for silence.
Everywhere I look, there's another reminder. His boots by the door. His jacket hanging on the hook. The fishing lure sitting on the windowsill because he swore he'd remember to put it away later.
Later never came.
My throat tightens. I squeeze my eyes shut.
The past couple of weeks should have felt like a victory. The electricity works. The roof doesn't leak. The plumbing mostly behaves. The children are excited about school.
Everything is getting better.
Then why does it feel like I'm losing him all over again? The mug. The school registration. Every decision. Every change.
One piece at a time, the life we built together slips through my fingers.
A tear slides into my hair. I wipe it away angrily. This is ridiculous.
I'm thirty-two years old. I survived pregnancy. Childbirth. The winter the generator died. The summer wildfire.
The flood should not have broken me. But it did. Because the flood didn't take the cabin. It didn't take the chickens. It didn't take the garden.
It took Bryson.
A soft knock startles me. The door opens before I answer.
Helen peeks around it. "Mama?"
I quickly swipe at my eyes.
"What is it, baby?"
She hesitates. Already worried. Already carrying too much. "Are you sad about school?"
The question punches straight through me.
I force a smile. "A little."
She studies me. Children always know more than we think.
"I'm scared too," she whispers.
My heart cracks. "Come here."
She crawls onto the bed beside me. For a moment she just curls against my side so small and warm. Mine.
One day she won't be. The thought arrives so suddenly, it steals my breath. One day she'll grow up. One day Luke will too. One day they'll leave. And I'll have to let them.
The fear wraps around my ribs like wire. Maybe that's what Virgil doesn't understand.
It's not school. It's not even Bryson. It's that every time I love something, I eventually have to lose it.
Helen rests her head against my shoulder. "We'll be okay, Mama."
I close my eyes. In the driveway, a truck engine rumbles to life.
Virgil.
Probably checking fences. Or cutting wood. Or fixing something else that doesn't belong to him.
My chest tightens. Of course he's still here. Part of me wishes he'd leave. The other part is terrified he will. And somehow that feels like the biggest betrayal of all.