Chapter 18
As Rebecca re-dresses Maddy’s wound, Mr. Man finishes the pasta she started and makes a salad as directed. The house is spotless, every chore complete before Rebecca can think of it. The relief she feels upon entering the kitchen borders on ecstatic.
Sitting with them, Mr. Man is motionless, but his presence doesn’t feel eerie, just peaceful. He is wearing one of Mark’s T-shirts and the same pair of jeans, and he looks almost normal.
Rebecca has been nursing her resentment at Mark for the past hour, but when his text arrives, she hastens to read it.
Sorry I was an asshole. I love you.
In an instant, everything is forgiven.
Sorry I was a bitch, she types back. I love you, too.
She sends a black-and-white romantic hand-holding GIF.
He hearts it.
Things are really rough with Derek. I need to be here late.
She sends a naggy-wife-shaking-a-rolling-pin GIF and types: Why don’t you just stand up to him?
He ha-has it.
Sends back a giant-bearded-biker-guy-on-a-Harley GIF, replies: Cuz Someone’S gotz ta pay for everything up in here!
Her fist is against her mouth, muffling her laughter.
She is about to put her phone away when another text arrives, this one from Principal de La Rosa: Evidently Don Evans is out of town but Sheila has agreed to meet you at her house tomorrow at five p.m. I hope this works for you.
Looking forward to getting on the same page and putting this all behind us!
It takes a moment for Rebecca to put together that the principal is referring to Sydney’s parents.
“No phones at the table, Mommy,” Maddy says.
“You’re right. Sorry, kiddo.”
She thumbs-ups the text, puts her phone away.
Rebecca will keep her daughter home from school tomorrow, unwilling to have her face her bully until Rebecca has said her piece to the bully’s mother.
Maddy hasn’t eaten much, just shoved the pasta around in its division on her sectioned plate that keeps different foods from touching one another. In his cage, Bao-Bao clamors to be fed.
“Would you like to start her nigh-night routine?” Mr. Man says. “I can finish cleaning up in here.”
Rebecca pauses on her way out to make eye contact. “Thank you.”
Mr. Man gives a faint nod.
The bath takes longer than ever. Keeping the drain open, Rebecca runs lukewarm water and carefully sponges around the red patch of flesh, Maddy’s eyes screwed up tight, her body rigid.
Gingerly applied soap, no-tears shampoo, careful pat-pat-pat to dry, lotion but not on the burn, brush teeth, pee, princess nightgown.
As they head to the kitchen to give Bao-Bao goodnight kisses, Mr. Man comes in from the backyard with a stubby leaf in his hand.
He lowers himself to one knee, shows Maddy the glistening seam where it has been snapped off. “Do you know what this is, Maddy?”
Maddy chews her bottom lip, examines the offering. “Aloe vera.”
“Do you know what it is used for?”
She nods. “But what if it hurts?”
“Perhaps you could hold it and apply it yourself?” he says.
She takes the leaf and examines it a moment, still working at her lip. “Didja know that orangutans sometimes use plants to heal owies?”
“I did indeed,” Mr. Man says. “They are so brave.”
Maddy draws in a breath. Then she hikes up her Belle-from-Beauty-and-the-Beast nightgown and holds the fleshy leaf hovering above the burn. Scrunching her eyes shut, she swipes it across the puffy skin, leaving a film of gel.
She opens her eyes again, draws in a shaky breath, and hands the leaf back.
A smile. “I did it.”
“You sure did,” Mr. Man says.
Back to Maddy’s bedroom for stuffties sleep tight hugs.
Then fluff pillows, tuck blankets to the chin, Horton Hears a Who!
and Good Night, Gorilla. During Goodnight Moon, Maddy finds the mouse on each page, sounding out the words as Rebecca reads.
Next it’s time for sleep-inducing nose pets and activating Pillow Pet’s projected stars on the ceiling.
After they count the stars, it’s time to make wishes.
“I wish kids at school liked me,” Maddy says, without a trace of self-pity.
Protective fury flashes, and then Rebecca careens into utter heartbreak. It envelopes her like quicksand, promising to pull her down, her and everything else around her.
“They do like you, Maddysaurus.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Maddy says, with a spike of anger. “And don’t call me that. Not ever again.”
Rebecca recoils internally, a sea anemone curling into itself. She knows this isn’t about the nickname, that this is a venting of hurt, but even so, Maddy’s tone wounds her.
Before she can regain her composure, Maddy turns away, tucking in Mr. Fox. Then she settles back on the pillow and begins her nighttime affirmations: “My voice matters.”
Biting back tears in the semidarkness, Rebecca strokes her daughter’s silky hair.
“I tried my best today.” Maddy’s blue eyes are wide and thoughtful. “I did, Mommy. I really did.”
Rebecca makes sure to keep her voice even: “I know.”
Maddy tugs at Mr. Fox’s ears. “I am still growing and learning.”
Rebecca nods encouragingly.
And then, in the tiniest whisper: “I have what it takes.” Maddy curls her fingers around Rebecca’s thumb. “Mommy?”
“Yes, Maddysaur—” She catches herself. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“What if I don’t?”
Rebecca can barely manage words. “You do have what it takes.” Is it true? A half lie? A wish? “Of course you do.”
She kisses Maddy on the forehead and slips from the room.