She points. “My shadow looks like it swallowed a pumpkin.”
“Oh, it does not.” I swat at her, lightly tapping her arm.
Quiet settles over us as we take them in.
“Sounds like a cool story.” Melancholy laces her words.
“It is.”
She rubs the right side of her belly. “It’s depressing to think about all that’s been lost, you know? How bleak life will be for the kids who have to grow up now—compared to before, or even how I did. They deserve books like that. Stories. Fairy tales. Stuffed animals… hell, even school. Instead, the most they get to look forward to is battle training, scavenging for supplies, and gardening just to survive.”
The truth of it presses in, like a burden I’m meant to bear. I sit with it for only a moment before it’s snuffed out by something stronger—determination. I refuse to let that be her child’s fate when there’s something I can do about it.
“It doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom. We can still give this little guy the same things, maybe even both. Yes, he’ll need to learn how to survive and defend himself, but there’s no reason he can’t also have fairy tales and stuffed animals. We’ll make them ourselves if we have to. And as for school, I’ve recovered enough textbooks and lesson plans to give him a thorough education.”
“And the fairy tales?”
My grin builds as I crouch and open the cupboard beneath the shelves. Inside, two rows are packed with classics and plenty of childhood stories that I’ve gathered over the years.
Lila’s eyes widen, and she drops down beside me. She folds her legs beneath her and immediately reaches for the shelves, wonder spreading across her face as she pulls out a book.
“Oh, my God. Why didn’t you tell me you had these?”
She reads the titles aloud. “Where the Wild Things Are, Charlotte’s Web, and Dr. Seuss.” Her smile softens. “My mom used to read me Dr. Seuss. Oh my lord… she’d always do it in this god-awful accent. I don’t know why, but it made me laugh every time.” A quiet laugh escapes her. “Or maybe it was because she’d tickle the hell out of me. Not literally, but…” She giggles at her own joke.
“And my dad…” She turns a page as if too caught up in the images to focus on the words. “He was always telling us to quiet down. He wasn’t a jerk or anything—just trying to focus on his work. We’d forget ourselves sometimes, get too loud, and it never failed—he’d holler, ‘Pipe down, you two. I’m trying to work!’ But there was always laughter in his voice. Like he loved hearing us, even if he couldn’t get anything done.” Her smile lingers, softer now. “He’d give my mom a hard time for winding me up before bed. But in a loving way. Anyway… that was kind of our thing, you know?”
I sit beside her, offering comfort in the only way I can by listening.
“That’s a beautiful memory.”
As if she doesn’t hear me, she says, “God, this is a treasure trove. Little Red Riding Hood. I know this one.” She holds up another. “And this…” Her fingers brush the cover. “This is worth its weight in gold. Alice in Wonderland. My mom used to say it was one of the best stories ever written.”
“I love it too.”
“Why didn’t you show me these sooner?”
I shrug. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I was saving them. Like everything else. And I just… with everything going on, I guess I didn’t think of it.”
She pulls more books into her lap, gaze dropping, her hair falling forward to curtain her face. “Freakin’ Green Eggs and Ham.” She gives a small shake of her head.
“So your parents were good people? You don’t talk about them much.”
“Just hard to remember sometimes.” Her fingers are still on the page. “I miss them. And stress isn’t good for the baby.” She opens Alice in Wonderland, flipping through the pages. “Do you mind if I borrow some of these to read? I’ll treat them with care, I promise.”
“Of course. My house is your house. You’re free to use anything here. I’ve told you that a thousand times.”
A quiet beat passes before I dare to broach the question she’s avoided every time it surfaces.
“Do you think they’re still alive?”
She closes the book and stills. Between one heavy breath and the next, her shoulders begin to shake.
Wrapping my arm around her, I pull her into me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’ve just been curious, is all.”
Her answer comes garbled, a silent sob slipping free as she speaks, “That’s the thing... I don’t know. And I’m too terrified to find out. I know one thing… They would have searched for me. They would have left that godforsaken settlement and searched the world over for me, and that scares me to death, because I have no idea what they might have faced or what trouble they could have run into trying to find me.”
I nod against her head. “Don’t lose hope. They might still be out there, looking. You have to believe that. Do not dread the worst.” I hesitate, then press on. “I’ll start asking around in the cities and towns I visit. See if anyone’s seen them. Maybe we should…”
