Savi comes first. Her daughter always comes first.
On her way back down the hall, she peeks into Savi’s room, but she’s already asleep. She pulls her comforter over her shoulders and kisses her forehead. Despite all that’s happened, Savi is still the best thing in her world.
Nothing lasts.
The truth is harsh and quick and sends a physical stab of pain through her heart. Tears quickly splash onto her lap at the thought of losing Savi—of something tragic happening to her too. While all parents have that fear, it used to be a hypothetical worry. Now, after what she’s been through, that worry has roots.
“I love you,” she whispers. “No matter what.” She tiptoes back downstairs. In the kitchen, she pours herself a glass of wine. Outside, the heat is still stifling. The ugly charred earth stares back at her, and the stench of burned plastic and cardboard lingers in the air. She’ll have to re-sod that area or do something creative to cover it up. The dollar signs collect in her mind.
She doesn’t want to think about that now. On a whim, she sets her glass down on the table, undresses to her bra and panties, and dives into the tepid water. She stays under until she’s straining for breath. She thinks of Rebecca—how terrifying it must have been to dive into a pool because she feared her child was drowning. And then she thinks of Savi—how unhappy Crystal must really appear for her own daughter to set fire to her father’s belongings just so she can move on.
My dear girl.
Crystal claws to the surface and once again bursts into tears. She swims to the edge of the pool and clings to the hard cement. Parenthood is so hard, swinging constantly between joy and terror … all of this pressure as the only living parent. While she worries about something happening to Savi, what if something happens to her? Who would take care of Savi? She cries harder, not knowing if she’s crying for Savi, herself, her poor, dead ex-husband, or the uncertain future.
Paul.
She squeezes her eyes shut. All of Paul’s boxes, gone. His memory, gone. They’ve been sitting in her living room for months and now they literally went up in flames.
Agitated, Crystal pushes off the edge of the pool and plummets to the bottom. She doesn’t want to think about Paul. She has to move on.
After a minute, Crystal resurfaces and begins swimming laps. Her breath is choppy and unpracticed, but she doesn’t care. She keeps swimming—five laps, then ten, then fifteen. Her shoulders burn, her lungs scream. Her thighs quiver from the exertion.
At twenty laps, she hoists herself up on the pool’s edge, her heart rate dangerously high. Her chest shudders, but she wants to capture this feeling of being so very alive and wet.
“Mama?”
She turns, suddenly embarrassed to be caught in her bra and underwear. Savi hasn’t called her Mama in years. “Yeah, baby?”
“What are you doing?” Savi rubs her swollen eyes. Apparently, she’s not the only one who’s been crying.
“Swimming.” She laughs. She’s still breathless and is afraid she might burst into tears again. “I was hot.”
Savi looks at the water and back at her mother, gauging if she’s still in trouble or if the storm has temporarily passed. “Can I?”
Crystal thinks about saying no, that they need to talk, but honestly, she doesn’t feel like talking. And isn’t this why they have the privacy fence? “Sure.”
Savi excitedly strips down to just her flower underwear. “Can I jump in?”
“Wait.” Crystal stands, legs aching, and trots over to join her at the deep end. She grabs her daughter’s small hand. “On the count of three.”
Savi’s face lights up in a way she hasn’t seen in months. In that single look is the little girl whose spirit could never be diminished. Not by death. Not by crushing disappointment. Not by anything.
“One,” Crystal counts.
“Two,” Savi says.
“Three!” They jump into the pool together, their hands clasped.
They plummet down and then break to the surface, spewing, treading, and giggling.
“Can we do it again?” she asks. She slices her arms in a sloppy freestyle toward the edge. She’s already pulling her light body to the surface and waiting for her mother. A real smile overrides the incident from earlier.
She joins her daughter and doesn’t let go of her hand.
15
BEC
This is not my child.
The truth sizzles inside my skull. I lean over the crib again. My fingers reach for him, but the baby shrieks and his entire body arches backward, as if