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At first, all she could hear was the rain. In the old days—before the bad thing—she’d loved that sound, the way it rattled on the roof. She looked out the window, disappointed to see nothing out there but pink and yellow sunlight. No rain.
Mommy?
There was no answer, just the creaking sound of the house. Izzy slipped on her favorite bunny slippers and crept out of her bedroom. She moved silently down the stairs, hoping not to wake her daddy. He was asleep on the couch, with one arm flung across the coffee table and his bare feet sticking out from the end of his blue blanket.
She tiptoed past him, her heart thudding in her chest as she eased the front door open and closed it silently behind her. She stood on the porch, looking out. A pink mist floated across the lake. Mommy?
She walked through the grass, to the edge of the lake. She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured her mommy. When she opened her eyes, her mommy was there, standing in the middle of the water, too far away for Izzy’s hands to reach.
Mommy didn’t seem to move, but all at once, she was beside Izzy, so close that Izzy could smell her perfume.
It’s okay now, Izzy. Her mom’s voice mingled with the breeze. Somewhere, a bird squawked and flew up from the brush, flapping its wings as it rose into the sky.
It started to rain for real, a slow pattering shower that kissed Izzy’s hair and fell on her lips. She saw that the rain was tinted, a million rainbow-hued flecks landing on the surface of the lake. But on the other side of the water, it wasn’t raining.
It’s okay now, Mommy said again. I have to go.
Izzy panicked. It felt as if she were losing her mommy all over again. Don’t go, Mommy. I’m disappearin’as fast as I can.
But her mommy was already gone. The multicolored rain stopped falling and the mist went away.
Izzy waited and waited, but nothing happened. Finally, she went back into the house. Crossing the living room, she wandered into the kitchen and started making herself breakfast. She got out the Frosted Flakes and the milk all by herself.
In the other room, she heard her daddy wake up. She’d seen it a bunch of times, and it was always worse when he fell asleep in the living room. First he’d sit up on the sofa, then he’d grab his head and make a little moaning sound. When he stood up, he always hit his shin on the coffee table and yelled a bad word. Today was no different.
“Shit!”
Izzy hurried to put the pink tablecloth on the table—the one her mommy always used for breakfast. She wanted her daddy to notice how smart she was, how grown up. Maybe then he’d finally look at her, touch her . . . maybe he’d even say, Heya, Sunshine, how did you sleep? That’s what he used to say in the mornings, and if he talked to her, maybe she could find her own voice, answer, I’m fine, Daddy-O, and make him laugh again. She missed hearing him laugh.
That’s all she really wanted. She had given up on lots of the other things that used to matter. She didn’t care if he told her he loved her. She didn’t care if he kissed her good night on the forehead, or took her on picnics, or twirled her around in his big, strong arms until she squealed. She just wanted him to look at her the way he used to, as if she were the most important person in the world.
Now, he hardly ever looked at her. Sometimes, he looked away so fast, she’d get scared and think she had finally disappeared. But it was never true; she was always there, most of her anyway, except her hand and a few fingers. He just didn’t like to look at her anymore.
He stumbled into the kitchen and came to an unsteady stop. “Izzy. What are you doing up?”
She blinked at him in surprise. You c’n do it, she thought. Just answer him. I’m makin’you breakfast, Daddy. But the words tangled in her throat and disappeared.
“Frosted Flakes,” he said with a thin smile. “Annie will love that. ” He went to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of orange juice.
He headed toward her. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought he was going to pat her shoulder and tell her she’d set the table real pretty. Or that she looked pretty— just like she used to look, with her hair all braided. She even leaned slightly toward him.
But he moved on past, and she had to squeeze back tears.
He looked at the table again. Not at her. “I don’t have time for breakfast, Izzy-bear. ” He touched his forehead and closed his eyes.
She knew he had a headache again—the same one he’d had ever since Mommy went to heaven. It scared her, thinking about that. It always scared her to see how sick her daddy looked in the mornings. She wanted to tell him that she would try harder to be a good girl, that she’d stop disappearing and start talking, and eat her vegetables and everything.
Her daddy smiled—only it wasn’t his real smile. It was the tired, shaky smile that belonged to the silver-haired daddy—the one who never looked at her. “Did you have a good time with Annie yesterday?”
Izzy tried and tried but she couldn’t answer. She saw how her daddy looked at her, like he was gonna cry, and it made her ashamed of herself.
Finally, he sighed. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Annie should be here any minute. ”
He waited a second—as if she were going to answer— but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Instead, she just stood there, holding two bowls, and watched him walk away.
Later, long after he’d left for work, Izzy sat down on the sofa, her knees pressed together and Miss Jemmie asleep in her lap. Annie came bright and early and started cleaning the house again. All the time Annie was working, she talked to Izzy. She talked so much that sometimes Izzy couldn’t listen to it all.
Izzy liked the way her house looked now, after Annie had finished cleaning it up.
