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I stared at the door at the far end of the hallway. Behind it, I could easily picture the turned staircase that led up to the attic. Earlier this week, Dez had showed me the space, which had been designed for maximum storage. During my brief tour, I hadn’t seen any sign of sparrows. Or the light I’d seen in the dark. Or anything that would explain a bump in the night. But there had been plenty of footprints in the dust.
Currently, aside from my hammering pulse, I didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. No footsteps. No squeaking. No nothing. Dez had been taking boxes down from the attic all week, so it was likely something that had been nudged off-balance by him had finally given in to gravity. I should probably check it out, but I’d seen enough horror movies to know that I wasn’t going anywhere near that door. Certainly not when I was here alone, at night, in the dark. No. Nope. No way.
Leaving the seaweed scent behind, I scurried back into the bedroom, closed the door, and locked the handle. I grabbedthe carpetbag with Junebear in it, and as I carried it to the bed, a paw reached out from behind the dust ruffle and grabbed my ankle. Sharp nails sank into my skin.
“Hey now!” I jumped back. “That’s not nice. That noise scared me as much as you.”
Molly’s paw darted out again, swatting blindly.
Apparently, she wasn’t one to see reason. Also, winning her affection was proving to be harder than I thought. I glanced at my ankle, happy not to see any blood. I fairly leaped into the bed to avoid another attack and settled on top of the fluffy duvet, sitting cross-legged.
As my heart rate returned to normal, I used the remote to turn on the TV that sat on a high chest of drawers in front of the bed and logged into my Netflix account. I clicked through movie options and settled onMy Fair Lady,a movie I’d seen at least a dozen times.
As Henry Higgins sang about people speaking English correctly, I carefully laid out Junebear’s pieces on the bed, along with all the supplies Estrelle had provided. I’d start with the easiest mending, the simple whipstitches that would close the slightest of Junebear’s injuries. I looked through the spools of thread Estrelle had provided, my hand closing on the brown before setting it back into its place in the box. I then picked up a Cinderella-blue color instead. If Junebear was going to have scars, I might as well make them pretty ones.
I grabbed the thimble Maggie had given me to have at the ready, and as I sewed, I wondered once again, for what felt like the hundredth time, why Estrelle had given me this task. I wasn’t sure, but I was grateful she had, knowing how happy Hannah would be to have her favorite teddy with her on a scary day.
I’d spent many days and nights in the hospital, and it never got easier to be poked and prodded or to sleep in a strange room with people coming in at all hours. It had always helped me to have a familiar stuffed animal to hold on to, to keep at my side, a reminder of home.
On a whim, I took a picture of the flotsam on the bed and sent it to my mom with a text.
Me:Working on project *Fix Junebear*. Trying to get her finished in time for her sweet owner’s hospital visit on Friday.
Little bubbles popped up on my screen, then my mom’s message came in.
Mom:Whoa. What happened?
Me:A four-year-old with kitchen shears
Mom:Say no more. Bunny would be so proud of you tackling a project like that. I have complete faith that Junebear will be back in her girl’s hands soon
A sudden rush of emotion took me by surprise.
Me:Thanks, Mom. I should get back to it. Love you.
Mom:Love you too.
I set the phone down and looked up to see Molly, now sitting on the bed, batting around Junebear’s ear. I didn’t really think she could cause it any more harm, so I let her have her fun as I got back to work.
The next time I looked up, the movie was almost over, Molly was asleep on one of my pillows, and I was yawning so widely that my eyes watered.
In fact, I could hardly keep my eyes open. I packed up the carpetbag and quickly got ready for bed in the attached bathroom. Molly was still on the pillow, and I didn’t dare try to kick her out. I unlocked the bedroom door and opened it just enough so that Molly could leave when she wanted. I turned off the light and climbed into bed, listening for any noises from above, but there was nothing to be heard.
Molly hissed as I settled in next to her, but she didn’t bat at me or hop off the bed. I wanted desperately to reach over toscratch her ears, to get her purring, but kept my hands to myself so I didn’t lose any fingers.
The rhythmic crashing of the waves was lulling me to sleep when a new sound registered. I leaned up on my elbow, listening intently. It took me a second to realize that it was the electric whine of a keyboard, and I smiled in the darkness as I recognized the song being played. I drifted off to sleep, listening to Sam playing Brahms’s lullaby.
Early the next morning, I woke in a blind panic, hearing a sickening crunch, smelling smoke. A scream stuck in my throat.
I bolted upright in bed, my hands pressed to my chest as I glanced around, grateful for the night-light I’d plugged in before I went to sleep.
Curtains puffed lazily, the air humid. Molly was nowhere in sight. The hallway was dark. I glanced at the time on my phone. Almost four.
I took a deep, shuddering breath and willed my heartbeat to slow. Tears gathered.
I’d been dreaming about Alexander, about the accident that had cut his life so tragically short.
Sulfur had hung in the air that night as a storm front neared. It was late when he’d shown up at my apartment unannounced, past ten. I’d already been in bed, tucked in and binge-watching TV. I’d startled when he’d knocked loudly on my door, nearly jumping out of my skin.
