“You brushed your teeth, right?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
She turned and flashed me a toothpaste-smeared grin, which was answer enough.
“All right, hop in,” I said, flipping on her night-light shaped like a little lighthouse. Its glow washed the walls in pale yellow, the beam slowly rotating across the ceiling like we were inside a tiny ship cabin.
Winnie scrambled into bed with a dramatic sigh and flopped backward, her arms wide, the book landing on her chest with a soft thud. “You said we could read the ghost parts.”
“I saidoneghost part,” I reminded her, sitting beside her and tugging the blanket up over her legs. “And only if you promise not to wake me up in the middle of the night scared of haunted beach brides.”
She giggled and tucked the unicorn under her chin. “I won’t. Promise. I’m not scared of the Lady. She’s just sad.”
I hesitated, surprised and charmed by her earnestness. “You think the Lady is sad?”
Winnie nodded solemnly, her eyes wide. “She’s all by herself. That’s the worst part.”
I opened the book to the page she’d bookmarked with a Post-it and a heart sticker from her backpack. The musty paper crackled as I smoothed it flat, and I began to read in a low, steady voice.
“It’s said the Lady can be seen walking the dunes in her white wedding gown, holding wildflowers. She is waiting for her love to return from the sea—but he never comes.”
Winnie’s hand found mine beneath the quilt. Her palm was sticky with residual jelly from dessert.
“She waited forever, right?” she whispered.
“So the story goes,” I said, brushing her hair gently back from her face. “But no one really knows what’s true. It’s an old legend. Sometimes things get mixed up.”
She was quiet for a moment, her little brow furrowed in thought. “Do you think Daddy will still come next weekend?”
My heart pinched. “He said he would,” I said carefully, smoothing the blanket higher on her chest. “But sometimes ... schedules change.”
Winnie didn’t say anything. She just turned her head to the side, staring at the wall. Her thumb crept toward her mouth but paused halfway, like she was trying to act older than she felt.
“He was supposed to take me to the zoo last time,” she whispered.
“I know.” I reached out and tucked her unicorn tighter against her side. “If he has work, we’ll do something fun here instead. Just you and me.”
Brian and I shared the same workaholic tendencies, but more and more it was affecting our daughter. His work at the university had always been important, but he didn’t seem to notice the way her sweet little face fell any time he had to change plans.
There was a long beat of silence, and then Winnie murmured, “Maybe Austin would take me.”
I blinked. “What?”
She rolled to face me, her eyes round and sleepy but insistent. “Austin would take me to the zoo. He listens to me and he laughs at my jokes, even the really bad ones.”
I laughed softly, my throat suddenly tight. “You do tell a lot of bad jokes.”
“He helps me with stuff even when I don’t ask,” she continued. “He didn’t get mad when I spilled juice in his new car, and he gave me his last gummy bear. He didn’t even pick out the red one to keep for himself.”
“Wow,” I whispered, teasing. “That’s pretty serious.”
“It’s fun when he picks me up from school,” she added, already drifting. “He makes me feel happy in my tummy. Not twisty or sad.”
There it was. Gentle and childlike—but clear. She didn’t sayanxietyordisappointment. She didn’t have the words for those yet, but I did. I was all too familiar with what a twisty tummy meant.
I swallowed hard, smoothing her hair again as her eyes fluttered closed. “I’m glad he makes you feel that way, baby.”
She yawned, the unicorn’s mane clutched in one hand. “He’s handsome like a movie person, but in real life.”
I chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of watermelon shampoo and a faint trace of peanut butter.
