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An idea nudges me, so I whip off the bedcovers and climb down from the mattress. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“I want to help June.”
I’m still not sure if I like her yet, but I want to help her. I don’t want her to be sad like me. Looking around the glowing green room, I locate the stuffed butterfly sticking out from underneath the bed, then I tiptoe my way into the hall. Baby June’s nursery is right around the corner, and her tiny cries lead me through the dark. When I poke my head inside, I’m greeted with kicking legs and a scrunchy face.
I squeeze the butterfly. “Hi, June. I’m Brant.”
My voice is low, just a whisper, and I don’t think she hears me. June keeps kicking her legs, her arms joining in with little balled-up fists. Her eyes are closed tight, her mouth wide open with no sound coming out, as her head twists side to side.
Taking a few steps closer, I stop at the side of her crib. Then I toss the butterfly toy over the railing. It lands beside her on the mattress, startling her enough for her eyes to ping open.
“I brought you something, June. I hope you like it.”
My efforts are shattered when June instantly starts to cry.
Oh, no.
She doesn’t like the toy.
She hates it.
She hates it so much, she turns redder than Mario’s hat. June’s whole face scrunches up again, silent at first, like she’s building herself up to a giant crescendo, and when her shrieking wail finally breaks free, I jump back from the crib, mortified.
It’s not long before Theo’s mother rushes into the nursery, tying her robe at her hip. Her hair is a mess, her eyes tired-looking, and she blinks a few times when she spots me in the middle of the room, standing frozen to the elephant-shaped rug.
“Brant?”
Thinking I might be in trouble, I start to stutter. “I–I’m sorry, Mrs. Bailey. I was trying to make her less sad, so I brought her a toy. I–I didn’t mean to make her madder.”
I’m rambling loud over the ear-piercing cries. My own cheeks feel just as red as June’s.
Theo’s mom offers me a little smile, then rushes to the crib to scoop up the squawking baby, bouncing her up and down. Up and down. She pats at her back, strokes her tiny head sprouting with dark tufts of hair, and makes hushing sounds that make both of us feel better.
A peacefulness enters the room. A mother’s love.
She takes the baby with her to the rocking chair and plops down, while whispering cooing sounds into June’s ear. When the baby quiets, Theo’s mom’s eyes lift to me. They don’t look like angry eyes. They don’t look like Dad’s eyes when Mom didn’t cook something right or forgot to make the bed. Her smile returns and she says, “That was very kind of you, Brant. Thank you.”
I bite my lip. “You’re not mad?”
“Of course not,” she tells me, and I believe her. She ushers me forward with the flick of her wrist. “Here, come closer.”
Fidgeting for a moment, I inch my way toward the rocking chair, my gaze fixed on the squirmy little thing draped over its mother’s shoulder. I swallow. “I guess she just needed her mom.”
Theo’s mother doesn’t reply, but her eyes look wet in the gleam of moonlight spilling into the room. She holds her hand out to me, and I take it, and then she whispers, “I’ll love you like my very own, Brant. I’ll love you like Caroline loved you. You have my word.”
She doesn’t say any more, but she holds my hand for a long while, even as she rocks back and forth with June on her chest. She hums a lullaby. It’s not the same one Mom sang to me, but it makes me both happy and sad at the same time. Happy because I feel loved.
Sad because the person I love most isn’t the one holding my hand and singing me lullabies.
When I traipse back to my bedroom after June is carefully returned to her crib fast asleep, I see that Theo is also asleep. He’s facing the opposite wall, one leg sticking out of the blanket and hanging off the bed. He snores a little, and it makes me laugh.
I dip inside my own comforter, prepared for sleep to steal me away.
But I don’t make it very far.
June starts crying again.
