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An unexplainable foreboding stirred inside Gabe. Two and a half. A.J.’s age. He battled the strong compunction to grab his son and both of his girls and run far and fast to spare them pain. His girls. One child, one woman. Both beautiful blue-eyed blondes who were hurting.
“What happened?” Macy asked, sniffing. “Something bad?”
“Something very bad.” Brooke laced her fingers together, the pinky finally healed and unwrapped, though now the skin was white with pressure. “You know that creek behind my house? The one I won’t ever take you to?”
Macy nodded.
Dread grew in Gabe’s belly, heavy and dark. He didn’t want to hear this story.
“Her name was Lucy. She was pretty like you, with lots of curls and a big, sweet smile. We all loved her but sometimes I got mad because people loved her best. Before she was born, I was the baby. I got the attention. Sometimes I wished she wasn’t there.”
“Brooke,” he said, aching from the regret in her voice. “All kids are jealous of their siblings sometimes.”
“And all kids say things and think things they don’t mean.” She drew in a deep breath and gazed into the distance as though seeing events play out inside her head. “My mother asked me to play with Lucy while she did laundry. I was supposed to be watching her. I was mad because I wanted to watch cartoons. She wandered down to the creek and fell in.”
“Did she drown?” Macy whispered.
Brooke pressed her lips tightly together as fat tears shimmered on her eyelids. When she spoke the words were pained. “Yes. She drowned.”
Gabe’s heart fell to the bottom of his shoes and stayed there. The thought of losing A.J. was more than he could bear. The thought of what eight-year-old Brooke had seen and suffered was every bit as painful. Nothing he could do or say could erase the memory or the heartache.
He hated when he couldn’t fix things.
He hugged A.J. closer, thankful for the warm, living child that he could just as easily have lost and almost had. As though he knew the seriousness of the conversation, A.J. leaned into his father and sat very still.
“You must have been really sad,” Macy said.
“Sad. Scared. Guilty. Terribly guilty. I thought her death was my fault. I thought maybe I’d caused her death with my jealousy.” Her fingers fiddled with a hair barrette, opening and closing and opening again. “I let that one memory hurt me for a long time. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
“When did you start feeling better?”
Brooke lay the barrette aside and pulled Macy into a hug. Over the child’s head, her gaze locked with his. “Today.”
Gabe’s stomach lurched. She’d carried the guilt of her sister’s death all these years. No wonder she’d resisted caring for A.J. It wasn’t that she didn’t like kids. Fear and guilt stood in the way.
“See, sweetie,” Brooke went on. “I know how you feel, but I don’t want you to carry this worry as long as I have. I want you to understand that you did nothing wrong. You did not cause your mother’s illness. No matter what you said to her, she’ll forgive you and love you forever. And you have to forgive yourself. Got it?”
“I’ll tell her I’m sorry today.”
“Great idea.” Brooke stroked a long length of Macy’s hair, letting her fingers linger on the ends. “We’ll take her some pretty flowers, too, as an apology gift. How does that sound?”
“Okay, but—” She paused, fiddled with a pink hair band and then blurted, “Do you think my mama is going to die?”
Brooke lifted the child’s chin. “We’ll pray she won’t. We’ll pray every day.”
“But what if she does?”
“Hey.” Gabe could contain his compassion no longer. Arms around both, he drew them to his sides. They sat on the rug in a bundle of arms and snuggles, a foursome drawing comfort from one another. “She knows Jesus. She’ll be okay, no matter what.”
The answer didn’t seem to be enough, but it was all he had.
After a long, throbbing time while the breakfast chilled and three hearts ached, Macy whispered the question swirling in Gabe’s head. “If my mama dies, what’s going to happen to me?”
