Behind her, Hildy lingers in the doorway, taking a measured scan of the room. She looks tired, but not done—more the air of a marathon runner at mile twenty, calculating exactly how much effort is required to push through the last stretch. She clocks me and Hank immediately, eyes tracking the movement in the kitchen, the half-prepped dinner, the mess we’ve already made. She drops her own bag inside the door, as Hank sets Lucydown, and then crouches to unlace Lucy’s boots with practiced efficiency.
“You didn’t have to make dinner.”
“We wanted to,” says Hank, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You’re good. Go sit.”
We?
I raise an eyebrow at this, but Hildy just nods, brushing an errant strand of hair out of her face. “Thank you,” she says, and for a second there’s a softness to it, a crack in the shell she’s been wearing since arriving here. I don’t know how to respond, so I busy myself draining the pasta.
Lucy, meanwhile, is inventorying the shopping bags we left on the counter. Her eyes go wide when she sees the bright colors and unfamiliar shapes.
“You get more cheese?” she asks.
Hank grins, digging into the first bag. “No, but we will. This was from Florida. Look at this.” He pulls out the two stuffed animals, a dolphin and a lopsided turtle, and holds them up, one in each hand.
Lucy gasps and grabs both, cradling them to her chest. “They’re friends,” she decides instantly.
“I thought so,” says Hank as he hands them to her. “Now you’re their friend too.”
I dry my hands on a dish towel and reach for the other bag, the one containing the gift I picked out with more care than I’d like to admit. I pass it to Lucy, who hugs it instantly, as if she’d been waiting for it all her life.
“He’s cold,” she says, pressing the plush to her cheek.
“It’s an axolotl,” I tell her.
She considers this, then giggles. “That’s a silly name. He’s my favorite.”
Hank blinks, momentarily thrown. “What?”
Lucy lifts her chin and declares, “You’re one of my favorite people,” with the solemnity of a judge issuing a sentence.
He clutches his chest in mock anguish. “Crisis averted.”
I resist the urge to smile, but only just.
We eat together at the table, not the kitchen island. The meal is basic—chicken, pasta, jarred sauce with added vegetables, and cheese — on Lucy’s, who treats it like a feast.
Lucy tells us about her and Hildy’s job, with all the books she’s gonna read when she learns. Hank eats quickly. Hildy is quiet, polite, and present. Nothing tense. Nothing warm either. Just… here.
After, she stands and starts stacking plates. “I’ll do the dishes.”
“It’s fine,” Hank says. “We got it.”
“I want to,” she replies, already at the sink.
I don’t argue.
Hank checks his watch and shoulders his bag. “Okay. I’m out.”
Lucy hugs him hard. He promises to be back soon, ruffles her hair, and leaves.
The house seems to shrink.
Lucy looks at me, axolotl tucked under her arm. “Will you watch a cartoon with me before my bath?”
I glance toward the kitchen. Hildy’s back is to us, water running steadily.
“Sure,” I say.
