Page 111 of Caller Unknown
‘Anyway,’ Lucy says, turning away from the window and getting into bed. ‘Just for tonight,’ she murmurs, close to sleep already, her body full of the dopamine and tryptophan in the food that Simone made. ‘Thank you for the leftovers.’
‘Always.’
‘They were what gave me the idea – for save the day – in the desert. We’d been doing it all along,’ Lucy says, sleepy.
Simone is too touched to reply.
They say you never know when the last time you hold your child might be, before they grow out of it. But, Simone thinks, as she climbs into bed next to her daughter and feels her warmth, smells her sunshine hair, that she does know, and it’s all the sweeter for it. This is it. The final time. After this, Lucy will leave and grow and spread her wings.
Simone closes her eyes. So be it.
And even though Lucy’s still leaving, even though Simone must let her go, it doesn’t feel this way. It feels a little like the real truth: if you let your kids go, they come back to you. In a different way, maybe, but they will come back. They are still yours. On loan, but forever.
