CHAPTER 13
A year after Claire left, Lily started kindergarten.
I cried in the parking lot.
She didn’t.
That felt unfair.
“You said you were excited,” Nora reminded me.
“I am.”
“You look like someone canceled Christmas.”
“She’s very small.”
“She’s five.”
“Exactly.”
Lily stood beside us wearing her bee socks and a purple backpack.
Airport’s stuffed head stuck out from the zipper.
“I’m ready.”
I crouched.
“You know my number?”
“Yes.”
“Aunt Nora’s?”
“Yes.”
“Teacher’s name?”
“Daddy.”
“What?”
“You asked me these already.”
Nora smirked.
“She’s ready. You’re not.”
Lily wrapped her arms around my neck.
“I’ll come back.”
The words stopped me.
For most of her life, I had been the one saying them.
Now she was comforting me.
“I know.”
She pulled away.
Then looked serious.
“And you stay.”
“I stay.”
She walked into school.
She didn’t look back until the door.
Then she waved.
I waved like an idiot until she disappeared.
That afternoon, she came running out.
“Daddy!”
I bent down.
She hit me full force.
Just like I had imagined so many times before the day everything changed.
No hesitation.
No checking whether she was allowed.
She simply ran.
I held her.
“How was school?”
“Good.”
“What did you learn?”
“Nothing.”
“Excellent.”
“I made a friend.”
“Already?”
“Her name is Emma.”
“Does Emma like rabbits?”
“No.”
I gasped.
“Problematic.”
“She likes frogs.”
“We’ll allow it.”
Lily giggled.
On the drive home, she became quiet.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
I waited.
Dr. Patel had taught me not to interrogate silence.
Three traffic lights later, Lily spoke.
“A boy got in trouble.”
“What happened?”
“He pushed.”
“Okay.”
“The teacher got mad.”
My hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“Did that scare you?”
“A little.”
“What did you do?”
“I asked if I could go get water.”
“That was smart.”
“She said yes.”
I nodded.
Then Lily said something I had waited a year to hear.
“I knew she wasn’t mad at me.”
I looked at her in the mirror.
She was staring out the window.
Casual.
As if she had not just announced an enormous victory.
“That’s really good, Lil.”
“Dr. Maya says people can be mad and I can still be safe.”
“That sounds like Dr. Maya.”
Lily smiled.
We kept driving.
Healing did not arrive dramatically.
There was no morning when Lily woke and everything was gone.
It arrived in moments.
The first time she said no without flinching.
The first time I raised my voice at a football game and she didn’t freeze.
The first time she spilled juice and grabbed a towel instead of apologizing twenty times.
The first time I left overnight for work and she slept through the night.
The first time I returned and she shouted at me because I forgot the promised cinnamon rolls.
That one made me absurdly happy.
“You forgot!”
“I know.”
“You promised!”
“I promised to try.”
“No, you said you would bring them.”
She was right.
I checked my message.
She was very right.
“I messed up.”
Lily crossed her arms.
“I’m mad.”
“You should be.”
She blinked.
“You’re not mad that I’m mad?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re allowed.”
She thought.
“Can we get cinnamon rolls now?”
“Yes.”
“Two?”
“Negotiator.”
“Three?”
“Nice try.”
She laughed.
We drove to the bakery.
The house changed too.
The yellow sofa stayed.
So did the crumbs.
We converted the blue guest room into an art room.
That was Lily’s idea.
The room where Claire had hidden her drawings became the place where nothing Lily created could be hidden.
We covered one wall in corkboard.
She filled it quickly.
Rabbits.
Family.
Rainbows.
Amelia with wings.
Me with terrible hair.
Nora wearing what appeared to be a crown.
One picture showed Claire.
I froze when I saw it.
Claire stood outside a black box.
Lily stood far away beside me.
There was no caption.
I didn’t ask.
A month later, the picture disappeared.
I eventually found it folded in a drawer.
“Did you take this down?”
Lily nodded.
“Why?”
“I don’t want it anymore.”
“Okay.”
“Can I throw it away?”
“You can do whatever you want with it.”
She carried it to the trash.
Then paused.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“I remember.”
“I know.”
“I just don’t want to look.”
I knelt beside her.
“You never have to keep something just to prove it happened.”
She dropped the picture into the bin.
Then took my hand.
“Can we draw Airport?”
“Stuffed Airport or cousin Airport?”
“Both.”
We spent the next hour drawing two rabbits.
Mine looked like potatoes with ears.
Lily laughed until she fell off the chair.
May you like
That sound filled the room where her pictures had once been hidden.
I thought that was justice too.
