Chapter 3
Up Down Up Down
Skye
I don’t mind being in charge of things.
In fact, I kind of relish it. I’ve been groomed for it my whole life, even when I wasn’t aware of it. Give me a crew to manage, a job to plan, a problem to solve, and I’m good. Better than good.
But parenting—being in charge of this little innocent person’s life—is something else entirely.
There are no plans to follow. Just the constant, low-grade terror that I’m going to fuck something up and this time the consequences won’t be mine to deal with.
They’ll be hers.
On the plus side, we subscribe to the village method, so I’m not the only one involved.
We all take turns with Saoibhin. The little booger leaves things everywhere.
A sweater at Jake’s. Shoes at Uncle Finn’s.
Toys in our living room. A cup she insists is the only cup she likes at Uncle Eamonn’s.
There are little pieces of her scattered all over Gemini Hill now.
Because this is her home, and she bounces beautifully between the houses on this hill like they were always meant to be hers, every one of them, and I guess they were.
Life is funny like that. It knows its path before we do.
I remind myself of that as I sweat profusely on the bathroom floor.
The tile is cold against my cheek. Almost painfully cold, but I press my face harder against it anyway because the rest of me feels like it’s on fire. The bathroom window is cracked open, letting in a breeze but I can barely feel it.
All I can feel is the tile. I lay my cheek against it and pray.
Praying is not something I do.
“Mama Skye?”
Saoibhin’s gentle voice permeates the bathroom door. God knows how long I’ve been in here.
“Everything is fine, baby. Can you go find Dad?”
“He just left for the store. He said he’ll be right back.”
Fuck.
I close my eyes. The exhaust fan hums above me. Somewhere outside, bird chirps obnoxiously through the open window.
“Saoibhin, honey? Can you go get my phone? I think it’s on the kitchen counter.”
“What’s the matter?”
I’m seconds from passing out. I can feel it. She can’t see me like this. I won’t let her. Not that I could get up to open the door anyway.
Sweat drips from my forehead onto the floor. My shirt is stuck to my back. My hands feel weird—heavy and useless—and when I try to push myself up, my arms immediately give out.
“Nothing. Just grab my phone off the kitchen counter. It should be right there. Quickly, honey.”
The door handle rattles.
“I got your phone. The door is locked. Can you open it?”
“No baby. You remember my code, right? Up, down, up, down, left, right.
“It didn’t work.”
“Try again, honey.”
“It’s not working.”
Oh God, it’s going to lock on her.
“Try again, baby. You can do it. You do this all the time for YouTube.”
“I know, but you’re making me nervous.” Her little voice gets quieter. “What’s wrong? You sound weird.”
My throat tightens.
“Nothing. I think I just have a stomach bug.”
My insides twist against themselves. Jesus Christ, I cannot die on this bathroom floor.
Not with her outside the door.
“Try one more time, Princess.” I swallow hard and force my voice to sound normal. “You can do it. You are so smart. I’m always so impressed at how smart you are.”
A few seconds pass.
Too many. Clouds start to roll in.
“I did it!” she practically cheers.
“Okay. Good girl. Now call Dad. Find the picture of him and call him.”
“Okay.”
“And Saoibhin?”
“Yeah?”
I open my mouth.
I don't even know what I was going to say.
That I love her?
That everything is going to be okay?
That I'm not going anywhere?
I don't make promises I can't keep.
“Just call Dad, baby.”
I barely manage to turn my head before I throw up.
“Mama Skye?”
Her voice is the last thing I hear before I pass out.