“Four! That means it’s far away, right?”
“Getting farther,” June said. “We’ll keep counting to make sure.”
The storm raged outside, but inside the blanket fort, with Lila warm in her lap and June’s shoulder solid against hers, Melissa felt something she hadn’t felt in three days.
Safe.
They ate their picnic dinner by candlelight, the power having flickered out around six and not coming back. Lila was calmer now, distracted by the novelty of eating in the dark, her fear giving way to the excitement children felt when normal rules were suspended. Melissa had changed out of her work clothes to yoga pants and a soft shirt. June had lit more candles—tea lights arranged along the windowsill, two pillar candles on the coffee table—and the room glowed amber and close, and Melissa kept catching herself looking at June’s face in the candlelight and having to look away.
June caught her once. Held her gaze for just a beat too long before turning back to Lila.
Melissa’s pulse had no business doing what it was doing.
“Can we sleep in the fort?” Lila asked eventually, already drowsy from the warmth and the food and the late hour.
“If you want to,” Melissa said.
“I want to. All three of us. Together.”
June caught Melissa’s eye over Lila’s head, a question in her expression. Melissa nodded.
“All three of us,” June agreed. “Together.”
They rearranged the blankets, creating a nest of pillows and quilts on the living room floor. Lila settled in the middle, her otter stuffed animal clutched to her chest, and June and Melissa took their places on either side. June was close—necessarily close, the blanket nest didn’t allow for much distance—and Melissa was acutely, almost painfully aware of every inch between them.
“Will you tell me a story?” Lila asked, her voice already thick with sleep. “Not from a book. A made-up one.”
“I’m not very good at made-up stories,” Melissa admitted.
“Miss Hollis is. She told me one last week about a girl who could talk to birds.”
“That sounds like a good story.”
“It was. The birds helped her find her way home when she got lost.” Lila yawned hugely. “Can you tell one together? Take turns?”
Melissa looked at June across Lila’s small sleeping form, and June looked back, and there was something almost unbearably tender about it—the two of them bookending this child, this nest of candlelight and blankets, the storm still murmuring outside.
“Once upon a time,” June began, “there was a little otter who lived in a river at the edge of a great forest.”
“The otter’s name was…” Melissa hesitated. “What was the otter’s name, Lila?”
“Luna,” Lila murmured. “Like the moon.”
“Luna,” Melissa continued, surprising herself. “Luna the otter was the smallest in her family, but she was also the bravest. She wasn’t afraid of the rapids or the deep pools or the hawks that circled overhead.”
“But there was one thing Luna was afraid of,” June added. “Storms. When the thunder came, Luna would hide in her den and wait for the sky to stop being angry.”
They passed the story back and forth, each adding pieces—June supplying the adventure, Melissa filling in the details. Luna met a wise old beaver who taught her that storms brought rain, and rain made the river rise, and the rising river brought new fish and new friends. By the time the storm passed, Luna wasn’t afraid anymore. She’d learned that scary things sometimes brought good things too.
When they reached the end of the story, Lila was asleep, her breathing slow and even, her small body warm between them.
The candles had burned lower. The storm had quieted to a soft, steady rain.
“You’re better at made-up stories than you think,” June said softly, lying on her side facing Melissa.
“I had help.” Melissa reached across Lila’s sleeping form and found June’s hand in the darkness. June’s fingers closed around hers immediately, warm and certain, and Melissa felt the wanting move through her like a current—all the more acute for the fact that Lila was right there, that this was all they could have right now, just hands.
“Thank you for this,” Melissa said quietly. “I was dreading coming home tonight. I was so tired, and the bill is falling apart, and I kept thinking about everything I’d have to deal with. But then I walked in, and there was this fort, and Lila was happy, and you were here, and—” Her voice caught. “I don’t know how you do it. How you make everything better just by being present.”
