Chapter Forty-Nine Raine
Chapter Forty-Nine
Raine
Molly sat cross-legged on the floor, staring, eyes glazed, at the characters tumbling across the TV screen. The false cheer of their voices grated.
I leaned against the kitchen counter and dialed the funeral home. Speaking in a low voice, I didn’t waste time. Molly would be at my side on the next commercial break.
“Yes, you can pick them up at the forensic center,” I said. “I’m not sure of the logistics.”
The man on the other end had a soft, practiced voice and assured me his company had done this before.
There was a special parking bay for funeral home hearses ready to pick up the departed.
I needed to talk to Gabe’s mother, but Maria and Gabe had cremation in their wills.
When it came to the matter of cemetery plots, I hesitated.
And then, for Molly’s sake, I said, “There’s a family plot on the Hale land. ”
“I remember. We placed your parents there.”
“That’s right. I’ll bury Maria and Gabe there.”
“I have crews that can handle the logistics.”
“Thank you. Call me when you have them.”
“Of course.”
I ended the call just as Molly appeared in the doorway, staring with wary eyes. “I’m hungry.”
“Peanut butter and jelly okay?”
She nodded.
In the avocado-green kitchen, I set her at the table. Missed calls from Edith glowed on my phone, but I shoved them aside. I owed her a call. But first, my lawyer.
I laid out peanut butter and white bread. I’d lived on the stuff when I was in law school. My dorm office desk drawer had always been stocked with a loaf of bread and a jar.
Creamy peanut butter smoothed over the bread. “Want me to trim the crust off?”
“Mommy never did.”
“Did Amy?” The casual question slipped out.
“Yeah.”
“Want me to leave it?”
She considered the question. “No, cut it off. I never eat it anyway.”
“Why didn’t your mom cut the crust off?” A silly question, but we were talking, and she wasn’t locked in a sullen silence.
“She said it was a waste of time. She said I could eat around it.”
I smiled faintly. “Makes sense, I guess. Bet you can nibble right up to the edges.”
“I can.”
I trimmed the sandwich and angled the knife at the halfway point and then at a diagonal. “What shape?”
“Sideways.”
The knife slid through the bread, and I pushed it toward her. I wasn’t fooled by the ease of this morning. We were both in shock. And soon the numbness would wear off. And she’d start testing as kids did, and I’d get frustrated and question my sanity.
“Why don’t you have kids?” Molly asked.
“It was never the right time, I guess.”
She pinched off a portion of the sandwich. “Mommy said you’re married.”
“I was. Or at least it’s about to end.”
“You’re getting a divorce.”
It wasn’t odd that she’d heard the word before. “Sometimes marriages end.”
Molly popped the piece in her mouth. “Was someone bad?”
Her words carried more weight than she knew. I smeared peanut butter on a single slice of bread, folded it in half. “What do you mean?”
“Mommy and Daddy fought. When I asked why, Mommy said Daddy was bad.”
“Oh.”
“Was your husband bad?”
My fingers sank into the soft bread. Relationship counseling from a five-year-old. “No one was bad. We just needed to live in different houses.”
“Why?”
“I live here now. He lives in the city. That’s all.”
She ate. Small bites, but steady. A little victory. I filled a glass with water and set it in front of her. “When we go into town, I’ll buy juice and milk.”
“You don’t have any?”
“I don’t. Only water, coffee creamer, and wine.”
She sipped the water. “Okay.”
“How did you sleep last night?” I asked.
“Okay, I guess. Lots of noises at the hospital. People kept coming in my room.”
“Hospitals are kind of noisy. And the doctors and nurses were checking on you.”
“I guess.”
“You’re here. And it’s very quiet.”
She chewed the sandwich’s middle. “Can I have a TV in my room?”
“I don’t know. The wiring in the house needs an upgrade. We’re lucky that the TV in the living room works at all.”
“Okay.” She yawned.
“Do you want to lie down?”
“Like a nap?”
The word was rarely popular with children. “Maybe just lie down. You don’t have to sleep. And I can show you your room.”
“What about my old room?”
“I’m not sure if we can go there right now. But when we can, I’ll take you.”
She finished her sandwich, and I took her by the hand and led her upstairs. “This house is old,” she said.
“It’s very old.”
“Don’t you want a new house?”
“I’m not sure. I’m hoping I can fix this one first.” Stairs creaked as we climbed. The walls were painted a hunter green, and the old landscape portraits were heavy in their gilded frames. In the small room next to mine, I led her into the best re-creation of her past life.
She walked up to the bed and smoothed her comforter, which was a little small for the mattress. “The bed is tall.”
“It is. There’s a bathroom right here. And I have some of your stuffed animals.”
She inspected the toys. Affection mingled with wariness. I understood. They were hers but, like her, didn’t quite belong in this new life.
“Do you need help in the bathroom?” I asked.
“No.” She hurried into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. After a minute, the toilet flushed and the tap on the sink turned on.
“Can you reach the sink?” I asked.
“Sort of.” She emerged with damp hands.
I helped her climb into the bed and under her comforter. She lay back, testing the mattress. “Would you lie down with me?”
“Of course.”
I lay beside her. I’d never slept in this bed.
The mattress was firm and the scent of new sheets relaxing.
She didn’t cuddle but hugged her purple dinosaur.
I stared at the cracked ceiling, wondering how many problems this house had.
It could all be fixed. For a price. But then what?
Would I stay in the country with a five-year-old?
The child had never been part of the plan, but she changed the entire dynamic.
If the courts gave me permanent custody, my future decisions hinged on her. Schools. Jobs. Dating. The estate, which would go to her one day. The future circled around one little girl.
Molly’s breathing grew slow and steady. She didn’t roll toward me. The tension in her face relaxed to a slight furrow in her brow.
I closed my eyes. Only for a moment.
And just like that, I fell hard into a deep sleep.
Until a scream ripped me awake.
I woke up so quickly I couldn’t focus.
And then I saw Molly staring at the door. I followed her gaze.
Ken. He was standing over us.