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I stare out at the sea. George is by my side, his arm around me, not letting me fall again. He called Eliza, told her he couldn’t tell her much but that we’ll be back as soon as we can. I can’t imagine she thinks anything good is coming. I don’t know what she’s telling the kids.
Thoughts like these pass through my mind, but only fleetingly. They float away on the blue wings of the butterflies that keep flying past, there one moment and gone the next. But as they flit away, they are replaced by something darker, heavier. How am I going to do this alone. All of it. Any of it. How am I going to tell the kids. Fresh tears sting my eyes. I scrunch them closed against reality. A fresh scream lodges itself in my throat. I choke it down into a sob that racks my entire body.
The note burns a hole in my pocket. I haven’t wanted to risk taking it out when I am close enough to the police that they could see it and confiscate it, but every once in a while, I run my finger-tips over it. I feel the crisp edges, and it calms me, knowing that I will eventually find out somethingabout what happened.
Finally, the police come over to get my statement, and George’s. As they begin to speak, more butterflies swirl around me and land on my hands and legs. I try to ignore them and focus on the words coming from the policeman, but it’s hard. The insects should be too light to feel, but I do feel them. Every one of their tiny feet are sending electrical pulses through me. I focus as hard as I can on the policeman’s words. He asks me to stick around town until tomorrow in case they have any more questions or want to talk to anyone else at the house, but after a preliminary examination of the scene, of his body, they don’t suspect foul play.
I want to scoff but sniff and nod instead.
They don’t know what’s out there.
When we get to the house, the kids are sitting somberly in the living room. I’ve never seen them so still and quiet.
Eliza picks Tabby up from her playpen and hands her to Rory, pointing to the stairs with a quick bounce of her eyebrows. As he crosses in front of the couches my kids jump a little.
One by one, they turn around to see what changed in the room that prompted Rory to leave. When they realize I’m back, Sammy and Natalie go up on their knees to watch me over the back of the couch. Jessie and Phoebe stand and turn. Jessie’s eyes get wide as they scan the sand still clinging to my body and clothes from the crawl I made to my husband. I burst out in fresh sobs when I realize that was the last time that I’ll touch him. The kids look at me and all their faces crumble.
They know immediately what I have to tell them. There can be no doubt, not with the state I am in. Jessie and Phoebe hold on to each other, as much to keep each other upright as for the comfort, as sobs shake their bodies and wails escape their throats. Natalie’s eyebrows arch up in confusion. She knows but doesn’t really understand what it means. Her face pinches in like she just smelled a pinch of black pepper and is trying to avoid a sneeze, but it’s tears that come out instead. Sammy is looking from sister to sister to sister, not knowing what to expect or what to say. He’s too young to truly understand what this all means. They’re all too young to have to know this pain.
At some point during all this, Benjamin and Joanna appear in the kitchen doorway. Benjamin is in a flour dusted apron. Joanna has her hand over her mouth, trying not to pull attention away from my family’s open display of pain. Eliza is still standing near Tabby’s play pen, jaw slack.
Eliza doesn’t complain when I track sand across her floor and collapse on the couch. The house is silent, except for my sobs that slowly merge with my children’s. Jake’s children’s sobs for the father they no longer have. They join me on the couch or the floor in front of me, all of us touching the rest of us. We have to be one right now. It is the only way we will get through this.
Eliza, Joanna, and the docents leave the room. George and Benjamin talk in the kitchen, but I don’t know what they’re saying. Everything is a blur.
After some time, things quiet down. I look at my children, who have fallen asleep around me. I wonder what they are dreaming about. I wonder if they are having nightmares about what they’ve had to endure today, or sweet dreams in which Jake comes home again. I hope it’s not the latter. If they dream that then they’ll have to suffer the loss all over again when they wake up. I remember the folded-up piece of paper. Slowly and carefully, I extricate myself and drag my feet to the kitchen.
George, Benjamin, and Joanna are on stools at the counter, each with a mug. George jumps up and signals to me to take his stool. Then he prepares a cup of coffee for me. While he’s putting the half and half back in the fridge, I slam the note on the counter, making all three of them jump a little.
“What’s that?” Joanna asks, breaking the silence.
“It was in Jake’s breast pocket. I don’t know how it was still crisp when they found him face down in the water. It was almost like magic.” I say the last word with a dry sarcasm, my eyes squinting. I know it is something related to being the Guardian, and I’m pissed the fuck off because of it. I stare at the note, angry at its existence. I don’t want to have a note, I want to have my husband.
I stare at each of my friends in turn. They look at me with big eyes, as if they’re worried I’m cracking up. So am I.
Benjamin reaches out, snatches the piece of paper, and unfolds it. After holding the note at arm’s length with his chin tucked to his chest and his eyes squinted, he pulls a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and clears his throat. After a moment though, he changes his mind. “You should read this yourself.” He puts the page in front of me. George places my mug of coffee to my side and rests his hand on my shoulder so I know he’s there.
I look down at the note and read silently.
Guardian,
Now your children know how it feels to lose their father. The question is: How long can they keep their mother?
See you soon.
Epilogue
Thislastmonthhasbeen hard for Miranda and the kids. First losing Jake, in that horrible way, and then, for Miranda, having to read that note and try to figure out what it means.
I don’t ever again want to see Miranda the way she was when we found Jake. My stomach churns every time I think about that note. Whatever happened to Jake happened because Miranda is the Guardian. There is no question there. But beyond that, I’m at a loss.
I do have to admit, as hard as he made my job for those few months, he was too good a guy for the ending he got. And too good a father. Those kids needed him, need him. And now, he’s not there.
After they laid Jake to rest, I offered for Miranda and the kids to move in with me. I figured it was a win-win-win-win. I have way too many rooms for just me. Miranda wouldn’t have to worry about how to pay for the house. I could keep an eye on her and the kids, and they could all train whenever they wanted. Miranda said she’ll think about it. I think she’ll come around to seeing how much sense it makes soon.
She has been handling all of this with aplomb, which surprises no one. She has been open with all the kids about everything Guardian related and started them training with me, mainly learning self-defense techniques. Miranda wants them to have as much of my attention as possible when they’re training, so we don’t have everyone here together. Jessie and Phoebe train together. Similarly, we paired up Natalie and Sammy. It seems to be working well so far.
In a conversation that should not have caught me off guard nearly as much as it did, Jessie and Phoebe expressed some worries and told me in no uncertain terms that they want to learn even more. So now, they’re basically learning everything Miranda has learned. And they’re good. Better than I could have expected.
