Page 16 of Then Came the Fall
“He’s sad now.”
I press my lips together into a line. “I’m sorry,” I offer.
“It’s because Mommy’s away, I think. And I get it. I’m sad too.”
“You’re a sweet girl, you know that?”
This information elicits the hint of a smile. “Thank you.”
“Do you like to read?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
Brett nods. “Do you know the book about Greta?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“She saves the forest from the giants,” Brett explains. “The giants build and build and take away the habitat from the animals there. But Greta works to save them.”
“I’ll have to look that one up,” I say.
“It’s based on a real person. My teacher said so. Greta wants to save the whole world,” Brett continues. “If she can do all that, and she’s just a teenager, then I can save my dad.”
I stay quiet so that Brett can elaborate. But she says nothing more.
I finish the dishes and pour a glass of milk for Brett, feeling all too aware of my status as an invited intruder busily moving about some other woman’s kitchen.
A buzz on my phone tells me the Uber Eats driver has left our food on the stoop. “Pizza’s here,” Iannounce.
I retrieve the box and set it on the table, pulling out a slice for each of us. Brett folds the triangle in half and takes a voracious bite.
After a slice of pizza and a cup of milk, Brett rubs her eyes and resumes clutching Velveteen.
“Let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted,” I offer.
“’Kay.” Brett pads back down the hall, but instead of making a right into her bedroom, she goes left, into what could only be Matt’s room.
“Wait,” I whisper. “Isn’t your room this way?” I point.
“I sleep with Daddy,” Brett explains. “I’m keeping Mommy’s spot warm till she comes back.” Her face is stoic, and she leans into me as if to tell me a secret. “It’s all part of my plan.”
I place my hand on her head and run it down her silky ponytail. “Your daddy is so lucky to have you as his daughter,” I whisper.
Brett smiles before turning to head into Matt’s room. I wordlessly watch the child climb through the darkness into the messy folds of covers in a room that holds the faint scent of cheap beer and sweat mixed with Lysol spray. My eyes adjust to the lack of light in time to see Brett curl up along Matt’s back, a tiny body trying to spoon a six-foot giant.
“Good night,” I breathe into the air, unsure of whether any sound has escaped my lips at all.
Matt,
I’m sorry you weren’t feeling well today. I ordered pizza for Brett and put the leftovers in the fridge in case you’d like some for lunch tomorrow. I did the best I could to get her ready for bed—I’m not sure what kinds of routines you guys follow but she was beat by the time she went down, which was after nine. I hope you feel better in the morning. Please shoot me a text to let me know you’re okay.
Taylor
Chaptereight
19 Years Ago
Things shifted the summer when Matt and I were twelve.
“You put them on like this,” Lisa explained, holding the fake eyelashes parallel to her eye and gliding a thin line of glue onto her real eyelashes with her other hand. She made a face that looked like she just stuck her finger in an electrical socket. She blinked hard and pressed the strip of lashes against her own. Then, she waved her hand frantically in front of her eye, willing the glue to dry. She continued this motion while I watched, horrified, over the line of sinks in the girls’ washhouse.
