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I grabbed the tongs and returned the meat to the pan. “Go slow this time.”
“But you don’t go slow.”
“Because I know what I’m doing.”
She fumbled for a while, that side of the meat burning with char, and then finally flipped it over.
I’d eat shit if she made it, so I didn’t care.
I was just happy to be with her.
“When am I going back to school?”
“Do you want to go back to school?”
She nodded, poking the veggies in the other pan. “I miss my friends.”
I wasn’t sure if she should take some time off, maybe see a therapist. But on the surface, she seemed fine, ready to move on with her life, somehow shielded against all the crazy-ass shit she’d seen. Her eyes had been down when she came to me, letting Constance guide her, so perhaps she just pretended none of it existed.
We finished making dinner and set the table.
When I retrieved Beatrice, she was lying in bed, in the dark, on her side.
Curtains were drawn over the windows, the TV was off, and there was a sense of death to the room. Like I was with a corpse, not a living person. I crept forward, trying to gauge if she was awake or just resting.
I got a view of her face.
She was awake, staring straight ahead, like she didn’t hear or see me.
She’d joined us a few days ago, and during her stay, she’d remained in her bedroom. When Claire and I went out for ice cream or went to the zoo, she remained behind. She didn’t need help with much, because she rarely left the sheets.
I stared down at her.
Nothing.
“Dinner is ready.”
She finally turned her head and regarded me.
“It’s burned…but edible.”
“Not hungry.”
Claire and I had been out of the house today, but I suspected she hadn’t eaten lunch either. “You should eat.”
“I know I should. Doesn’t mean I want to.” Her eyes turned back to the wall.
I lingered, hearing Claire pull out her chair across the rug at the dining table. “It’s not good for Claire to see you like this—”
“Yes, I’m a shitty mom. No surprise there.”
The words that would normally come out of my mouth remained restrained in my throat. There were a couple reasons for it. Pity. Compassion. But more importantly, it just seemed like a waste of time. “I’ll bring it in later in case you change your mind.” I shut the bedroom door and sat across from my daughter.
“Mommy’s not hungry?”
“She said she had a big lunch.” I took the piece that had toppled over the edge of the pan and had burn marks everywhere, and I cut into it like it was the juiciest piece of meat I’d ever eaten. “This looks good, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Dad. I think I want to be a chef someday.”
It was better than what I did for a living—and not as a contractor. “Great idea.”
“Then I can cook for you all the time.”
When she was out of the house, I could resume my old life. My freedom would return. My lifestyle would kick back in. But it would never make up for her ghost in the house—as I’d recently learned. I’d love it if she invited me over every week to cook for me. Just to spend time with me. I swear to god, she was born yesterday, but now she was seven—going on eight. I only had ten years left.
It’d pass in the blink of an eye.
I would cherish every moment, even more now than before.
We finished dinner, and I set Beatrice’s meal aside.
Claire was happy to do the dishes, moving her bench over so she could rinse all the plates. We had a system, where she rinsed everything and then handed it to me so I could place it in the dishwasher. I didn’t have to make her do chores because she was happy to do anything with me.
I hoped that lasted a long time.
When the dishes were done, she got ready for bed, washing her face, brushing her teeth, and putting on her pajamas. Her vanity was white, French craftsmanship, and her bedspread was rose pink. Posters of ponies were on the walls. Her room reflected her personality to a T.
I sat at the edge of the bed and tucked her in. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” I leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.
Her eyes were heavy, like it took all her energy to keep them open, to pretend she wasn’t exhausted. “What are we doing tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. Something fun.”
“Okay…” She closed her eyes.
I just sat there and looked at her, seeing her tug the blanket a little higher, so angelic with those cheeks. It had been hard for me to come in here after she was gone, and now I was back, looking at her just the way I used to.
I loved her so much it hurt.
