She could hear his voice, remembered the sound of it from the other bed—they had twin beds in a pink room upstairs in the old house in Ithaca—when she’d been awakened by Kate’s unhinged crying.
Dad had always shown up instantly, sat on Kate’s bed, gentle, calm, unhurried. He never got mad, he never reprimanded her for waking the house, he just started with…
Once upon a time.
Maybe not the most original opening, but just hearing his voice in her head made her smile.
“Once upon a time,” Tessa started, realizing—like Artie Wylie probably had—she had no earthly idea where she was going with this story. “There was a little princess named…Olive.”
The shivering eased.
“She lived in a castle,” Tessa continued. “A big, beautiful…sandcastle.” She added the slightest squeeze, hoping to remind Olive of the ones she herself had made. “It had jewels on the walls and a big drawbridge and…handsome knights and one really…big…”
Bigwhat? She winced and dug.
“Mirror! A magic mirror!” Yes, that would work. “In Princess Olive’s room, there was a magic mirror and whenever she looked in the mirror, she…”
Olive looked up, as if she were following every word and waiting with bated breath to see what the magic mirror could do.
“She sang,” Tessa finished, pretty proud of that option. “Her voice was like an angel in heaven, soft and sweet, and when she sang…”
Now what? She looked at the bed, making out the shape of her stuffies.
“All of her stuffed animals came to life.” She spoke slowly, soothingly, letting the words roll out as they came. “Princess Olive was brave,” she continued. “And kind. And very, very smart.”
She felt Olive’s breathing slow further, her small body pressing warm and solid against her.
“The castle had towers and walls and secret rooms. And the sand was always just the right kind—never too dry, never too wet.” She described it in detail, letting herself improvise freely.
Olive shifted slightly, then stilled again.
Tessa kept going, not stopping, letting the story flow. No wicked witch, no Prince Charming. In this story, the heroine had a perfect life, she was always safe, and her animals adored her.
Olive’s eyes widened, giving Tessa the confidence she needed to continue with a story. Stuffed animals came to life, they danced, they surrounded Princess Olive, and made sure her life was perfect. And they went with her to the beach and collected shells and made her jewelry, and when she was sad, they made her laugh…
Olive sighed into what had to be sleep about ten minutes into the rambling tale.
Tessa let her voice trail off and shifted slightly, adjusting the blanket, careful not to disturb Olive more than necessary.She felt the little girl’s grip loosen just a bit, her body relaxing incrementally.
Earlier, reading in the lamplight, the domestic quiet had opened old wounds. It had brought regret. Loss. The ache of motherhood she’d never lived.
This—this didn’t hurt at all. In fact, she wasn’t thinking about Roman. She wasn’t thinking about what she’d missed or what she’d never had.
She was here, holding this child who desperately needed her, feeling wonderfully maternal.
Tessa kept stroking Olive’s hair, her back, and when Olive stirred, she continued the story.
Princess Olive exploring her castle. Princess Olive knowing she was loved. Princess Olive safe and warm and protected through the night.
Gradually, Olive’s grip loosened completely. Her breathing became slow and even, the tension draining from her small body.
Tessa whispered until Olive’s eyes fluttered, nearly asleep, her face pressed against Tessa’s chest.
After what must have been another twenty minutes, she eased away, ready to let her sleep. As she did, Olive’s tiny hand reached up and grabbed her T-shirt, pulling her closer.
“Are you still awake, baby?”
Two blue eyes opened and looked right at Tessa, the connection palpable and real.
