Gabriel gave his wife a squeeze, then said, “Let me see if Talia’s up for company, or if she’s up at all today.”
He left the room, his footsteps fading down the hall as Brianne handed me a cup of coffee. She dished up three plates of food and said, “Talia hasn’t been coming down for breakfast. Every day I wake up and think, Maybe today will be different.”
“Your husband says she’s been spending a lot of time in her room.”
“She has, just listening to music and watching television most of the day. We’ve been trying to get through to her, to help her during this difficult time, but as a parent, it’s hard to know what the right thing to do is in this unthinkable situation.”
My thoughts drifted back to months earlier when I’d lost my best friend, and then further still, to the day I lost my daughter. I understood better than most what it meant to want nothing more than to disappear from the world. I’d done it myself—vanished without a trace after my daughter died, living off the grid for two years because I couldn’t bear to face anyone or anything that reminded me of what I’d lost.
Grief changed people.
And for some, it was harder to bounce back than others.
“Everyone grieves in their own time,” I said. “It isn’t easy, but you take it one day at a time until you reach a point where the pain eases, even if only a little.”
“You say it like you know a little something about it.”
“I do, and if there’s one piece of advice I could give you, it would be to say that your daughter is aware of the support you and your husband are trying to give her. I have no doubt she’ll come through this when she’s ready.”
“How long did it take you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Longer than it should have, but I’m in a different place now. I’d like to believe that, one day, your daughter will be too.”
Gabriel reappeared in the doorway, his expression grim.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “She’s not up for visitors today.”
“Well, I guess we ought to take her breakfast up to her then, before it gets cold,” Brianne said. “Georgiana, you’re welcome to join us at the table. Our daughter may not be up for a conversation, but perhaps we could be of some help.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “But first, would you mind if I took the plate of food up to Talia? I give you my word I won’t press her with questions or do anything to make her uncomfortable.”
They exchanged glances and though reluctant, Gabriel nodded, handing the plate of food over to me.
“Upstairs, first door on the left,” Gabriel said.
I climbed the stairs, the old wood creaking underfoot as I went. I reached Talia’s bedroom door and paused, thinking about what to say when I saw her. As I mulled things over, I found myself staring at her bedroom door. The paint around the frame was chipped, and a faint trace of old stickers was still visible beneath a layer of dull white.
I knocked once, and the door eased open on its own, creaking just enough to let her know I was there. Inside, Talia sat cross-legged on her bed, lost in whatever world poured through her earbuds, as her head bobbed to its rhythm.
Her black plaid skirt was frayed at the hem and layered over torn fishnets, and she wore a blue shirt, which matched the color of her hair. She didn’t seem to see me in the doorway, so I stepped inside, the faint scent of incense and nail polish drifting through the air as I entered.
Talia flinched, her head snapping up in surprise, and I lifted the plate toward her, hoping it would be enough to keep me from being thrown out before I even had the chance to speak.
She jerked the earbuds out of her ears, grabbed the plate, and said, “I told my dad I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”
“I know. I’m just here to bring you this plate of food.”
She raised a brow, looking at me as if she wasn’t buying it.
Glancing around, my eyes fell upon her record collection.
“I collect records too,” I said.
This seemed to interest her.
“Oh, yeah?” she said. “What are you into?”
“Depends on the mood I’m in, I guess. One day it’s Duran Duran, and the next it’s Louis Armstrong. Louis was a famous?—”
