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“Miss Philia?” She snuggles closer to me, still half-asleep.
“Hey, munchkin.” I smooth back the loose spray of curls lining her brow. “Decided to take a nap before dinner?”
“Mm-hmm.” Closing her eyes, she noses into my shoulder with a slow yawn. “You looked sad. Mr. Pickle said I should keep you company.”
“Did I? Well, that was very nice of Mr. Pickle. Your unicorn’s a sensitive guy.” I certainlyfeelsad, weighting my smile as I try to force it for her sake. “I’m okay, kiddo. But you can hang around any time.”
She hesitates, then peeks one eye open. “...what about when I’m sad?”
“Of course when you’re sad, too!” I wrap my arms around her. “Are you sad right now, Nell? It’s okay if you are.”
Her mouth quivers as she lowers her eyes.
“I... I miss Miss Ros. You look so much like her, just a little older,” she whispers. “She doesn’t play with me anymore. You’re her sister, huh?”
“I am.” My heart feels like it’s splitting in two. I kiss the top of Nell’s head. “I miss her, too, hon. She doesn’t play with me much anymore, either. She’s been going through a lot. Did you two hang out a lot?”
“Uh-huh.” Nell nods, burrowing into me. “She cleaned up Mr. Pickle for me. He used to smell like smoke. Really bad. Like all the bad burning things. Oh, plus she’d let me come play in the store. She showed me how to make honey candy.”
All the bad burning things.
It takes a minute for it to sink in.
Then I remember Grant telling me how Nell’s parents died, and how Mr. Pickle was practically the only thing that survived the fire...
“Oh. Oh, sweetie.” I feel like I’m going to crush her with how tight I’m holding her. She squeaks, but clutches back just as tightly. “Don’t you worry. Ros is just going through some things, sweetheart. She’s still your friend and still my sister. She’s just having a hard time, but I know she’ll pull herself together soon. She’ll have time for you again.”
Nell goes quiet against me before she asks, “...is it because of your mom, Miss Philia?”
Holy hell.
She’s too good at strumming all my heartstrings.
My breath catches.
“You... you know about that, huh?”
“I—yeah. Sorry. I heard when you and Uncle Grant were talking.”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” I stroke a hand over her hair. “Yeah, it’s true. Our mom’s really sick, but I hope she’ll get better. I’m going to go see her tomorrow morning.”
“Can I come with?”
I don’t answer at first, biting my lip.
The medical center seems like such a dreary place for a little girl.
Especially when my mother’s in the shape she’s in. No innocent kid her age should have to see anyone busted up like that, barely kept alive by machines and drugs that feel like a final Hail Mary.
God, it’s hard formeto see it.
But there’s something sparking in her eyes when I look down at her.
That’s when it hits me.
She never got to see her parents before they died, did she?
For little Nell, death had no gentle introductions.
