“Colin?”
Juni stood beside him in her pajamas, hair damp from the bath.
“Will you tuck me in, too?”
Colin looked at her watching him with the absolute certainty that he’d say yes. He tucked the anger away where she’d never see it and let her pick away at his scars.
“Yeah, Junebug. I can do that.”
Juni grabbed Colin’s hand and pulled him across the kitchen. “Come on. You have to read me a story first.”
“Of course I do,” Colin muttered, but he followed her down the hall.
“Juni?” Maren stepped out of Juni’s room and spotted them. She looked at Colin. “Oh. I thought she was just getting a glass of water?—”
“Colin said he’d tuck me in, too.Andread me a story.”
Maren’s eyebrow rose. “Did he?”
“I—”
“He did, didn’t you?” There she was, looking up at him again, this time there was just the hint ofplease go along with thisin her eyes.
They’d reached her room. Colin shrugged at Maren. “She’s the boss.”
Juni’s room was small and neat. The bed was made, with the covers already turned down—Maren’s work, he’d guess. Mr. Kibble was propped against the pillow on one side and the Blue Fairy tucked in on the other. Snoopy sat at the foot like a sentry. Juni climbed under the covers and rearranged her stuffed animals with the same serious focus she’d used pouring invisible tea.
“The Blue Fairy Book,” she announced, pointing at the nightstand.
Colin looked at Maren—silently asking for permission or a reprieve, he wasn’t sure which. She merely raised an eyebrow in return as the corner of her mouth quirked up.
“Like you said, she’s the boss,” Maren told him. She lay down on the bed beside Juni opposite from Colin.
“A Blue Fairy’s Treasury of Talesit is.” Colin picked it up and studied the old binding and worn edges. The pages were soft from years of handling. The book had obviously been loved hard by more than one kid.
He sat on the edge of the bed, opened it, and started flipping through, already familiar with it. His sister had loved this book growing up. She had carried it everywhere when she was Juni’s age, and insisted their mom read the same three stories every night until Colin could recite them from memory. He’d teased her about it back then, called her a baby for needing the same stories over and over.
He’d been nine and an idiot.
The pages blurred slightly. Colin blinked and kept flipping. At the back on the endpapers, was a pencil sketch. He stopped and studied it. A hammock stretched between two trees. Lilac bushes framed one side, detailed enough he could almost smell them. Two little girls were curled up together in the hammock, one reading aloud while the other listened. Their faces weren’t detailed—just suggestions, really—but the closeness was obvious.
“Did you draw this?” Colin asked, looking up at Maren.
Maren craned her neck over Juni. “No. Mira did. I totally forgot about it.” She sounded surprised. “We’ve just been reading the book straight through. I didn’t even think to look through the book.”
Juni was riveted. “Mom drew this?” She reached out carefully, like she was being allowed to touch the Mona Lisa. Her fingers traced the lines reverently.
Colin watched Maren’s face go tight, just for a second. Then she smoothed it away.
“Is this a picture of fairyland?” Juni asked, still tracing.
Maren chuckled then smiled, soft and a little sad. “Fairyland? Nope, that’s Iowa.”
“Where’s Iowa?”
“Far from here. That’s where your mom and I grew up. We had a hammock just like that one in the backyard, strung up between two big oak trees. And the lilac bushes—” Maren touched the sketch lightly. “Those were real, too. They smelled like heaven in the spring. We’d lie in that hammock for hours reading this exact book. Every summer until we all moved to San Diego when your Uncle Reid went into the service. I was barely ten years old.”
Juni studied the drawing. “What happened to the hammock?”
