should be. I think you’d like him. I’ll make sure to introduce you.”
“Sure.”
His eyebrows furrow in confusion. He opens his mouth, likely to ask me why I’m being short about it, but Zoey’s soft voice interrupts us. “Beau?”
With one last look at me, he bends low, crouching down so he’s eye level with Zoey. He lifts a hand and brushes the hair out of her face. “What are you doing out of bed, Squirt?”
“You left.”
“I didn’t leave, honey. I was just out here in the kitchen.”
Her chin quivers and she lifts her stuffed donkey close to her cheek, rubbing the soft fabric against her skin, something she does when she’s needing comfort. “I woketed up and you weren’t there.”
I had hoped she was getting through this fear of abandonment but it seems that we aren’t quite there yet. I’ve wondered if being so close to Beau is a good thing for her, as whenever we spend time with him, she seems to almost regress. If he’s around when she falls asleep, he’d better be there when she wakes up or the floodgates open.
“Remember what we’ve talked about? Uncle Beau has a different home.”
“But Daddy had a different home, too.”
Oh.
Understanding dawns for me but Beau looks at me curiously when she launches her little body into his arms. He doesn’t realize that she overheard Max and Peter saying something about Chris dying in his house.
He runs a soothing hand up and down her back and she settles into his lap, wrapping her arms around him with her little donkey smooshed between them. I don’t know if he knows what to say to her, but it looks like she only needs his comfort. To know that he’s there and… alive. Oh, damn shit hell. They didn’t cover this in the parenting books I read when I was pregnant with her. How to heal her broken heart. How to help her understand why her father is never coming back.
I sit down beside them, my eyes meeting Beau’s over Zoey’s head. His are filled with tears, either from sadness or anger, I don’t know. But the hard set in his jaw tells me anger. At who, I’m not sure. Though, I’d gather the anger isn’t necessarily directed at a who, rather than at his niece’s heartache.
He whispers to her assurances that he’s here and not going anywhere, even though he’d planned on going to his parents’ house to sleep tonight. It’s obvious that he’d do anything for Zoey, though.
After several minutes, Zoey’s breathing evens out and her body seems to go limp in Beau’s arms.
“Here, I’ll take her.”
He shakes his head. “No. I’ve got her.”
In a swift move I’d never in a million years be able to manage, he stands with Zoey in his arms. He walks her to her bedroom and I follow as he lays her down and I move to cover her.
We quietly make our way to the living room and he drops down onto the couch and I sit next to him, my body angled toward him and my legs tucked under my butt.
“What did she mean?”
I don’t have to ask him what he’s talking about because I understand.
“She overheard your brother and dad talking. They don’t know she heard, and I don’t want them to because I know they’d feel terrible. She asked me later that night when we were here at home. It was wildly mature of her and shocked me. She said, ‘Mommy, did Daddy die at his house?’ and I almost fainted.”
“Shit. How did you respond?”
“With the truth. I explained that we didn’t know — that nobody knew — he was sick, even him, and that he went to sleep and didn’t wake up. I’m afraid I made things worse and that it was the wrong thing to say. She’s been afraid of the people she loves falling asleep ever since.”
“You think that’s why she’s so scared every time I leave.” He isn’t asking, he’s already come to the realization.
“I’m sure of it,” I admit, my face downturned and eyes focused on my fingers threaded together. When he makes a grunting noise, I lift my head and take him in. He looks exhausted. So weary and tired. The same as I feel. He mentioned that I was losing weight and looked tired — and as hard as it was to hear, he’s right. I barely manage a few hours of sleep at night, constantly getting woken up by nightmares of how I’m going to fail as