He pulled his gaze away from the snake woman and looked at Kirsty. “Go to bed. And stay there.”
Kirsty didn’t move, but watched her father turn away from her again. He leaned down and picked up the woman by her waist so she was standing really close to him. He said something to her in a low voice that no matter how hard she tried Kirsty couldn’t hear.
No one seemed to notice when she stood and moved closer to them. She moved quietly until she was so close to them that the woman’s torn dress dripped cold water onto her bare feet.
Her ghost skin had turned bright pink, and she said, “I wouldn’t try to do that if I were you.”
“Is that a challenge, George?”
Kirsty tugged on her father’s shirtsleeve while she looked up at them. “Do what?”
They both turned toward her.
“I told you to go to bed.”
“I’m not tired.”
Her father let the woman go for a second and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at her and then at the woman. “Get out of those wet clothes and put this on.” He handed the woman some clothes. On top was something green and shiny and familiar.
“No! That was Mama’s!” Kirsty yanked the dress out of the woman’s hands and held it tightly against her so no one could take it away.
Her father looked at her as if she had socked him.
“It was Mama’s,” she said, and to her horror she could feel herself start to cry. The tears just rose up from her chest to stick in her throat like thick choking mud stuck to your feet.
“It’s only a dress,” he said. “What does it matter?”
Kirsty didn’t answer him. She just looked down at the dress, which was dotted with small dark wet spots from her tears.
“Now that was brilliant, MacOaf,” the lady muttered.
“How was I supposed to know she would do this?”
“You wouldn’t know. Obviously that kind of knowledge would involve thinking.”
Her father swore under his breath, then looked at Kirsty, frowning fiercely. “Are you crying?”
She stared up at him through blurred eyes that couldn’t really see anything but her dumb old tears.
“You are crying,” he said, as if she had disappointed him.
She spun around them, and ran out the door, dragging the dress with her as she ran down the hall. She didn’t stop until she was inside the dark bedroom with Graham. She closed the door and leaned against it, her breath catching for a second.
Graham was still asleep. She could tell because he hadn’t moved. When her eyes adjusted to the dark she could see his even breathing.
Her brother never cried for their mother or their father. Graham never had nightmares and went to sleep just because he was told to.
She stood with her back pressed hard against the door and she looked around the dark room. It was so very quiet, the way the air was before those cold strong storms that came sometimes.
There was nothing to be afraid of. No monsters lived in the tall closet with the mirrored doors. No snakes or alligators were hiding under the bed so they could bite her toes.
But still she was afraid. She crossed the bare floor quickly, just in case, then she crawled on the bed. She lay her head down on a feather pillow that was cold with the chill of the room. She didn’t use the sheets and blankets to cover her. Instead she wrapped her mother’s pretty green dress over her.
If she tried really, really hard she could remember her mother. She could see her dark red hair and hear her laugh. As she lay there very still and quietly, she began to smell her mother’s scent, so faint and far away at first, the way it was sometimes when she tried to picture her mother’s face. Like she almost had to chase after the image to remember.
But the smell of her mother was there, just like all those memories of when they were happy and were still there. Somewhere. Or was she losing those, too? It was then, with the faintest scent of lavender around her, that Kirsty cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Twenty
