Nash, you fucking idiot.
I told him thatBambiwas the worst Disney movie he could choose, but he wanted to make sure that Lio had seen all of them, so he made a list, and every time they watched one, they crossed it off.Bambiwas the last of the originals he needed to see.
“I’m sorry, buddy. I don’t like that movie either, even as an adult. It’s really sad.”
He brings his little hand to his mouth when he coughs again, then leans even more into me, yawning. My heart flips with him cuddling to me like this.
I’m completely out of my depth here.
“It’s sad because Bambi’s mommy dies,” he says, and I nod, gently stroking his blond hair out of his face. “My mommy is dead too.”
I can feel my heart breaking along with hers as I look over at his mom, still standing at the foot of the bed, her eyes rimmed with tears. “I know she would be here right now if she could,” I tell him, my gaze still on Jessica’s. Her eyes soften, and she nods, a wave of gratitude filling the room.
Did her hair just dry?
“Is it nice to have a mommy?” he asks me in a soft tone. My right hand rests on my lap, and he reaches out to draw circles with his little finger on the back of it.
“I don’t know, buddy. I didn’t have a mommy that was around, either. I think the nice thing about mommies is that they love you. But I had an amazing granny who loved me. And you have a daddy and uncles who love you very much. I understand that you miss your mommy, and that’s okay because I know she loves and misses you very much too,” I whisper, trying to comfort him. Jessica gives me a faint smile, and it’s hard to tell, but she looks a bit less pale now. “You will be fine because you have so many people around you who love you.”
He stops drawing on my hand and looks up at me with sleepy eyes. “Do you love me too?”
It’s as if he just reached inside my chest and squeezed my heart with his little hand.
“Of course I do,” I choke out, tears filling my eyes.
He coughs again, and I kiss his head. As I breathe in, I notice that his hair smells salty.
We weren’t even at the beach today.
“Try to sleep. It’s already late. I’m going to stay here until you fall asleep,” I reassure him.
He scoots down the bed until he lies on the pillows, and I stroke his forehead again. “Can you sing the lobster song?”
A smile tugs on my lips when I think about the night Saylor sang the lullaby for me on repeat.
What I would do to have him sing it now.
“I think I can, but you need to help me,” I whisper, and we start to softly sing. I stumble over a few words, but Lio knows them by heart, so after the second time, I’m steady, and soon his eyes flutter closed.
I stop singing after a while and start to get up, but he grabs my arm with his eyes still closed. “I’m not sleeping yet.”
I chuckle before I yawn and scoot down a little on the bed to be more comfortable while playing with his blond strands. As Lio’s grip on my arm loosens, his breath evens out in the rhythm of sleep, and my own eyes grow heavy. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against my side is a lullaby in itself.
His need for comfort, for someone to be there, for hismom,it pulls at something primal within me, something that’s been neglected and pushed aside for far too long. My guard drops. The barriers I’ve carefully constructed begin to crumble, and with them, the floodgates of my own memories pry open when I drift to sleep.
The soft carpetbeneath me is warm and comforting. I sit cross-legged, my favorite doll, Lila, in one hand and my best friend, Emily, beside me. She’s a ghost girl from the early 1800s, still lingering around in our old house because she’s waiting for her mom. Nan has told her many times that her mom has crossed over and is waiting for her in the light. But Emily doesn’t want to go, and I don’t want her to leave either.
I’d have no one to talk to or play with if she’s gone.
Emily reaches out a hand to touch the hem of Lila’s dress, but it goes right through it, and I giggle. She smiles, her pale blue eyes twinkling with mischief.
From the doorway, I hear Nan’s voice, soft and soothing, like the lullabies she used to sing to me. “She’s just a child, Marie. She’s special, just like you are. Likeweare.”
Mom’s voice cuts through, sharp and cold. “She’s notspecial, she’s strange. You’ve been encouraging her, haven’t you? I’ve seen her talking to that… that blonde ghost girl as if she’s real or this is normal.”
“They are friends,” Nan replies calmly.
“Friends?” Mom scoffs. “Sloan doesn’t have any friends. The kids at school think she’s weird. She’s going to grow up even weirder, and it’ll be your fault. It’s a miracle, and only thanks to Dad that I turned out at least somewhat normal. But her? She’s already as crazy as you are.”
