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Luckily for me, tonight was one of those nights.
I made sure my footsteps were small and quiet as I ventured my way down the hall and into June’s nursery. She was already awake, but she wasn’t fussing. She was just lying in her rocker, kicking her feet, and making sweet little sounds I couldn’t decipher. Her eyes were big and round, and I swore they lit up just for me when I hovered over her. “Don’t be afraid, Baby June. I’ll protect you.”
It took me a few moments to unclasp the buckle, but when she was finally free, I gathered her to my chest and picked her right up. She sure was heavy for being such a tiny thing. Carrying her down the hallway to the front door caused me to sweat even harder. It made my breath come fast and quick, too. My heart pounded inside my chest.
I remembered to bring her pacifier with us—Theo calls it her nom-nom—as well as her favorite pink blanket to keep her warm. My arms were too full of June to grab Aggie, so I’ll need to go back for the toy later.
June was a real good baby. She hardly made a peep when I set her down on the welcome mat to slip on my sneakers and a light jacket and open the front door. She only cooed and gurgled when I clutched her to my swiftly beating chest, then hauled her down the short sidewalk as a mild breeze followed alongside us.
And she only smiles with her gums when we finally land in front of my old house.
“This is where I live, June,” I tell her, bouncing her softly up and down like her mother does.
June chirps back, “Ga!”
Theo’s dad said that nobody lives here anymore, but that’s not true. This is my house. I live here.
There’s a sign stuck to the front lawn with big letters and a picture of a strange man’s face. He’s happy and smiling, and I wonder if he’s trying to steal this house from me.
I lay June on the grass on her back, and she squirms among the long blades, watching me as I skip away to the front porch. It’s dark outside, and the porch light isn’t on, but I notice a box attached to the doorknob that looks like some sort of lock.
The door won’t budge.
How will I get inside?
This isn’t right. This is my house, and I should be able to open the door and walk right into my own house.
Sadness crawls all over my skin, so I scratch at my arms, my mind racing with possible solutions. June still looks content, tickled by the early fall breeze as she clasps her fingers around a tall weed. She doesn’t appear to be cold, but I pace over to her and tighten the blanket around her wiggly body just in case.
As I straighten, my eyes skate over the yard, falling upon the mailbox.
Dad’s beloved rocks stare back at me, and an idea blossoms.
My heart skips.
And before I can second-guess myself, I jog the rest of the way over to the mailbox and grip a ruddy rock inside my palm.
You shouldn’t do this, Brant.
This feels wrong.
Oh, but I must…
My thoughts battle it out as I traipse back to the front of the house and come to a complete stop, facing the main window.
I swallow my fear and glance over my shoulder at June, muttering the three words that have haunted me ever since The Bad Night: “Cover your ears.”
Then I twist back around and throw the rock right through the window with all my might.
Glass shatters. I jolt at the noise. June starts to cry.
“It’s okay, June. I’ll be right back for you.”
Darting up to the porch, I start to climb through the broken window, instantly slicing my hand on a jagged piece of glass when I pull one leg over the ledge. Blood oozes from the wound. My head feels light and dizzy.
Keep going. Keep going.
Ignoring the stab of pain, my body rolls the rest of the way inside until I hit the floor, landing on my back. It takes a moment for me to catch my breath, but then I’m on my feet, heading toward the front door and successfully swinging it open. I race out into the yard to collect a shrieking June and hobble my way back inside, shutting the door behind me.
