DAVID
Claire's fingers are blue. Her hair fanned out in the water. Her face, I can't see it. The water is too high, and she is too still, and ice drags through my veins.
Shaky hands.
Dry throat.
No breath. None for me and none for her. Dear God...
None for her.
I drop to my knees. My hands on her body. Turning her over. Her eyes, empty and staring. A scream tearing through my soul. I cradle her and now I'm wet, too. Stand and stagger, dripping water from her dangling hair, her head flopping loosely. Too loosely. I cradle her close. Press her face against my heart and lurch towards the bedroom where Michelle is stretched out, unconscious and spread-eagled on the bed.
"What have you done?" The words come from everywhere and nowhere. They are mine. A roar. A warrior's call bouncing off the walls and ceiling. An accusation and the worst question I've ever had to ask in all my life.
Michelle's eyes flutter open. She pushes herself up, her hair shimmering and shifting, turning blond and then white as it falls across her face. Her blue eyes glassy. So glassy. And then, not hers at all.
It's not her.
That isn't Michelle.
And I'm not holding Claire.
It's...
* * *
My eyes spring open. My heart is in my throat. Sweat coats my body. Michelle rolls towards me.
"You okay?" she murmurs, her sleep-warmed hand an iron brand on my thigh.
"Everything's fine." I slide out of bed. "Just have to pee."
Michelle nods and falls back to sleep before I've even left the room. I blink against the bathroom lights, grip the cold porcelain sink, and stare at my reflection in the mirror. The nightmares faded away almost a year ago. Almost a year of good nights and easy mornings. Almost a year of feeling like I know how to live with a Maggie-shaped chunk of myself missing. And right now? Every time I close my eyes, I see Claire's face superimposed over hers.
I turn on the cold water and cup my hands under the faucet. Splash it onto my cheeks and drag my still-wet hands through my hair. Sleep is an impossibility so I head downstairs, brew some coffee, and wait for morning to come.
* * *
Mom's the first to arrive, humming to herself as she pushes through the front door. She freezes when she finds me sitting in the dark at the table in the kitchen, and then heads over to check the coffee pot.
"How long has this been on the burner?" she asks.
I shrug. "Hours."
She nods once and empties what's left into the sink before starting a fresh pot. "It's been a long time since you've been up when I came in," she says, her hands busy and her eyes on her work.
"It has."
"Does Michelle know?"
I sit back and run my hands up into my hair. "Does Michelle know what, Mom?"
She finishes with the coffee and then pulls out a chair and sits across from me. "Does Michelle know about Maggie?"
"No."
"Don't you think she deserves to?" Mom folds her hands together and rests her arms on the table. "That's a pretty big thing to keep from her, and it's not fair. Not to you. Not to her. And not to her little girl."
She's right. I don't want her to be, but she is. "And it's not fair to Maggie, either." I close my eyes and let a long breath out through my nose. "I know I need to tell her. I just..."
I just what? Don't want Michelle to know about my daughter? Don't want her to judge me for what happened? Don't want Maggie to be part of my future with Michelle and Claire?
"Keeping it a secret doesn't change the fact that it happened, Son. It doesn't lessen the pain and it certainly doesn't make it any easier to bear when you try to shoulder it alone. If Michelle and Claire are just a bit of fun for you, I can understand why you wouldn't want to share Maggie with them. But I'd also have to ask you what in God's name you're doing having those two live here if you don't see something serious with them.
“But you can't hide the way you look at her, and there's no denying the way she looks at you." Mom raises her eyebrows and waits for me to acknowledge I heard her. "What's the point in holding back, David? What's the point in hiding? If this is the woman for you, then she deserves to have all of you."
I scrub my face with my hands. "We've only been dating for a few months."
"I knew the day I met your father that he was the man for me. When you run across true love, you can't deny it. You can't explain it to someone who hasn't experienced it, but once you have? It's clear as the difference between night and day."
Is that what this is? True love? Am I in love with Michelle? When the hell did that happen? As soon as I ask myself the question, I know the answer. The very instant I laid eyes on her, part of me responded to her in a way I don't know how to explain. In a way I didn't recognize as special because nothing about that day at the shelter was extraordinary—except her.
Mom stands, grabs my mug from the table, and then pulls one down for herself before filling them with fresh coffee. She doesn't say anything else about it for the rest of the morning. Doesn't tell me what to do. Doesn't ask what I'm thinking. She just goes about making breakfast, wiping her hands on the towel stuck into the front pocket of her jeans while she hums herself a little song.
Claire wanders downstairs just after sunrise and climbs into my lap right around the time Dad and Colton come in. My heart clenches in agony and then opens with joy. Maggie used to do the same thing every morning. I'd bury my nose in her hair, breathe her in, and snuggle her close while she chattered on about whatever had her attention that morning. I give Claire a little squeeze and then shift her to my knee while Mom makes very pointed eye contact with me over her head.
"You're up awfully early, Little Monster," I say.
Claire leans her cheek into my chest. "I had a bad dream."
I let out a long sigh. "I did, too."
"You did?" Claire looks up at me. "Are you okay?"
"I am. Dreams can't really hurt you, you know."
"Mine hurt." Her eyes drop to her lap. "My daddy used to make Momma cry and that would make me cry, too. Sometimes, I dream about him like a big stompy monster, blowing stinky smoke everywhere and screaming and screaming and screaming."
I sigh. Maybe dreams can't really hurt, but the memories they bring up sure do. I hate that a child this young understands that through personal experience. "But what about now?" I ask. "Are you still scared?"
Claire sucks her top lip into her mouth and chews on it. "A little. I don't like thinking about all those bad things."
"I get that. But what happens when you think about all those bad things being over and done with? When you remember that now you get to play with Mouse in the barn and help pick apples in the orchard, and go help take care of the hens?"
Claire considers. "I guess it feels less scary then."
"Bad things happen to everyone," I say. "We can choose to carry them around like terrible secrets or we can recognize that we're stronger now and they can't hurt us anymore." It took me long enough to learn that and it looks like I still have some learning left to do.
She nods like she understands what I'm saying, like she's a tiny adult trapped in a child's body. "What about you? Are you still scared after your bad dream?"
"A little," I reply. "But I'm feeling better by the minute."
"How come?"
"Well, because I have a sweet little monster in my lap and a delicious breakfast on the way. And your momma is asleep upstairs and she makes everything better." And I've already decided that I'm going to share my secret with her, the heaviest burden I've ever had to carry. And the relief I feel in making that decision leaves little doubt in my mind that it's the right one.
"She does, doesn't she?" Claire asks, looking proud. "My mom knows just how to make even the worst bad things feel okay."