You came here a perfect soldier, she says softly. He stills and turns his head to her, curious. She swallows. Your perfection is proof of my own.
He exhales. She hears the quiver in his breath. He moves to her and presses his hands desperately, hungrily, against her face.
Then he presses his mouth to her mouth.
FEBRUARY 2018
The trip to Bellwood is especially gray today, the sky hung heavy with clouds threatening either rain or snow. I want rain, for the rain to melt the snow. I want the first signs of spring to make themselves known.
I want my bones to ache less.
Paul texts on my cab ride to the farm. Could’ve handled myself better last week. Scheduled the apology I owe you for next time we’re in the office. I want it to satisfy me, but nothing will satisfy me until I’ve put Lev’s profile on Paul’s desk and he knows exactly what he’s apologizing for. My fingers hover over my phone’s keyboard, trying to think up the perfect reply. I leave him on read instead. I let my cabdriver get me close to the house and then I make my way up, shrugging my bag over my shoulders. Foster meets me at the door.
“Lev’s upstairs, but he’s resting.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Resting?”
“He had a meeting last night,” Foster replies. “Went late. He was supposed to be up by now, but if he’s not, he needs it. I’ll give it forty minutes.”
I wonder what it’s like to have people looking out for you like that, protecting your health, making sure you get enough sleep.
I glance up the stairs and listen for any sign of Lev, but there are none.
I hear Emmy humming to herself from the next room. I turn to it, but hesitate.
“You should talk to her,” Foster says.
It’s hard to imagine talking to her.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Try to stay away from politics.” His tone is halfway between amused and sympathetic. “Her favorite color is green. If she mentions a horsey, then she’s talking about Atara.” I raise my eyebrows and Foster laughs a little. “She heard someone say Atara was as big as a horse and that’s … kids. She’s afraid of ‘grumbles,’ which—I don’t know if it’s something you need to know—that’s a thunderstorm. No clue where she got that from, though.”
I swallow and nod.
“I’ll give you some time alone,” he says and I watch as he makes his way down the hall and slips outside. I follow Emmy’s song to the living room, where she sits on the floor, drawing on a small whiteboard with markers. She stops when she sees me, stares with wide, wondering eyes—at my scar. Forever on my scar.
“Hi, Emmy.”
“You’re Lo,” she says.
It sends a jolt through me, hearing my name in her voice. I can’t remember the last time I heard a child say my name—if I’ve ever heard a child say my name. She’s staring at me expectantly, like if I’m going to be in her presence, I better have a good reason.
“What are you drawing?” I ask.
“Circles,” she says, the word somehow bigger than her mouth. I move closer to her and crouch down and I think she’s made a generous assessment of her work, but I can appreciate the attempt. She forces a marker into my hand and asks me to draw more circles for her and I oblige, then she tells me, “Needs some hair.”
“A circle with hair?”
She nods and draws clumsy lines in the circles, though I suspect she’s aiming for the top. Her hands are so small, all five of her fingers curved around the body of the marker just to draw this unsteadily. There’s something amazing about that to me—but I don’t know why.
She looks at me and points to my cheek.
“What’s that?”
It tumbles out so fast, eager and curious.
“It’s a scar,” I say, and she frowns. I can’t tell if she understands or it’s simply not the answer she wanted, so I try for a fumbling explanation.
“It’s like … have you ever got hurt?”
She points triumphantly to her knee, which is perfectly fine.
“I got a green Band-Aid.”
Her favorite color.
“Well, I got hurt but sometimes the hurt … it sticks around.”
Her eyes widen. “It still hurts?”
Foster is still on the porch. I listen, and it’s still quiet upstairs. I turn back to Emmy.
“Can I sit with you?”
She nods. “Draw me more circles, Lo!”
I draw her more circles in every color of marker that she has. Her eyes follow the