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I park the truck right in the front and lean back with a sigh. At last. I stare at the house, at the front porch, the rosebushes Mary and Cole planted, the tree under which I talked to Mary on Friday, the overgrown lawn.
I should cut the grass. Repaint the house. Fix the fence, where a rotten plank is sagging. I should have done this long ago, but somehow never found the time.
Like I didn’t find time to talk to Mary before the morning of our departure.
Another thing I need to fix.
Octavia is still out, fast asleep, and I climb out of the truck and go around to get her. She barely stirs when I haul her out and swing her up in my arms.
She mumbles something, smiles, and throws her arms around my neck.
It feels awesome to have her snuggled up against me, her weight counterbalancing the weight in my chest, evening it out.
Making me feel light.
Through the drizzle, I walk slowly toward the house, not to wake her up, and I’m halfway down the path when the door flies open, and Mary walks out, her dark hair tumbling around her small face.
She’s here. My little girl is fine. I take her in, the pressure in my chest easing.
She stares at us for a long moment—and then starts running toward us, screaming.
Why is she screaming?
I stop, startled, as she streaks down the wet path, and then slips down to her knees and covers her head with her hands.
What the hell’s happening?
“Mary?” I hurry toward her, and stand over her, not sure how to get down on my knees while holding Octavia who’s blinking sleepy eyes at me. “What’s wrong?”
“I knew this would happen,” my daughter wails, “I knew it. Stupid baby. I hate babies. Always killing.”
Killing?
“Put me down,” Octavia whispers, and I comply, mystified, in shock.
I let her slide down. “Any idea what is going on?”
“No, but I’m going to find out.” She kneels on the paved path, wet seeping into her dress. “Mary. Come here.”
Mary looks up, eyes huge in her face, and launches herself at Octavia. Fuck, she should be more careful, and God, what have I done? Why is Mary in such a state?
Going to my knees beside them, barely feeling the humidity soaking through my pants, I gather both of them to me. “We’re here.”
“I thought you were dead,” Mary whispers. “Tati, I thought you were dead.”
“Why would you think that?” Octavia asks, voice hushed.
“The baby will kill you. It killed my mom. After she had Cole, she died.”
My jaw goes slack. You’re kidding me? That’s what’s been on her mind all this time, what gave her nightmares?
The fuck. I sure as hell didn’t see this one coming.
* * *
By the time Octavia’s mom comes out to see where my daughter is, I’ve decided my family needs some alone time to talk and sort things out. So I thank her, and she must see something on my face because she doesn’t even ask. She kisses Octavia, ruffles Mary’s hair, and then goes away with the reminder that Cole is inside his room, playing.
Bringing my girls inside the house, I escort them to the bathroom and wait outside as they shower together. I sit on the bed and scrub my hands over my face, wondering for how long Mary has believed that Octavia would die once the baby came.
