Cal made a noise behind me, something deep and guttural, and I spun, my heart hammering in my throat. He’d slid down onto the floor, his back against the now-closed front door, hands held out in front of him, cupping something invisible.
“Remember when she was born?” he asked. He didn’t take his eyes from his hands, couldn’t see me nod. Of course I do, I wanted to shout. How could I ever forget? But I reminded myself that he was grieving, too. That although the loss of Junie was something I wanted to clutch tight in my palm, whisper mine through bared teeth, such selfishness would be unfair. She loved Cal, and he loved her. He had a right to his sorrow, but I couldn’t find room inside myself to care about his pain. Not now. Not yet. “She fit right here,” he said, lifting his palms. “She was tiny. I mean, I’d seen babies before, but not like that. Not so new and small and fragile.”
I’d had the same thoughts the first time I’d held her. I’d wanted to roll her into a ball and pop her into my mouth, swallow her back down into my belly, where she’d been protected. Keep her there, where I could stand between her and the world’s shadows. Maybe somehow I’d known, even then, what was waiting for her. Or maybe I just didn’t know how to hope for the best. God knows I’d never been taught.
“I told her I was her Uncle Cal and she was my Junie-bug. I’d always love her and I’d always take care of her.” He paused, a sob sliding out of his mouth. “I promised her she’d always be safe.”
“You did take care of her,” I managed. “You kept her safe.”
“Before.” His hands dropped to his sides. “But then today came along and made a liar out of me.”
And what could I say to that? We hadn’t kept her safe and there was no arguing the fact. Junie’s split-open body was the undeniable proof. “Are you going to find out who did it? Are you going to catch him?” I paused. “Or her?”
Cal looked at me, and I saw the truth swirling in his tear-bright eyes. This is a slippery part of the world. People dart in and out of existence like minnows in a shadowy pool. It’s not uncommon for someone to show up in town who everyone thought was dead, it’s been so long since they’ve been around. Folks here are hard to pin down, even harder to catch. The land itself serves as its own kind of hiding place, full of nooks and valleys, tucked-away places where no one would ever think to look. It’s a place for people who don’t want to be found. But Cal nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Of course. We’ll get him.” The vow came too fast, too easily. The kind of promise it’s easy to make because you’ve already broken it before the words are even spoken.
It was the first time he’d ever lied to me.
* * *
• • •
Cal woke me in the morning, bright sun streaming in from behind my pale curtains. “What time is it?” I muttered, putting one hand over my aching eyes. I still hadn’t cried, not a single tear, and my lids throbbed. My whole face felt swollen with unshed grief, like an overfilled balloon waiting to pop.
“Almost eight,” Cal said, holding out a mug of coffee that I waved away. “I called and talked to Thomas, told him you wouldn’t be in for a while.”
I shoved myself up onto my elbows. “I can’t miss work.”
Cal shook his head. “I’ll cover you if you need some money. Thomas said he’d help, too. You can’t go to work, Evie. Come on, you know that.”
He was right, of course. I could imagine what a mood killer I’d be. No one wanted to eat pie and shoot the shit with a murdered girl’s mother hovering around, eyes red-rimmed and soul cut out.
“I’ve gotta go in, though,” Cal said. “But I’ll come back tonight.” He paused, looked away. “Can I trust you alone?” he asked quietly. “Trust you not to do anything crazy?”
“Are you asking me if I’m going to kill myself?” I asked, voice even. I waited until he looked at me, his brow knotted up with worry. “No,” I said. “I won’t do anything crazy. Not today.” That’s all I could give him. One day. I didn’t know about tomorrow. I was done making promises. I’d made Junie a thousand and not one of them had mattered in the end.
“Okay,” Cal said, blowing out a breath. He kissed my cheek and set the mug on my bedside table. “I left the sheets and blankets on the sofa,” he said from the doorway. “I’m staying here again tonight. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I told him. “Always.”
After he left, I burrowed back under the covers, breathed in my own unwashed smell. Closed my eyes and sank into oblivion. Going, going. Gone.
* * *
• • •
Three days passed before I got out of bed for more than a trip to the toilet. Three days where the only person I talked to was Cal and one quick call with the funeral director. Cremation, I told him. Plain urn. No funeral. He paused after that last instruction, cleared his throat. Asked me to repeat. “No funeral,” I said again, louder. Later, when Cal walked through the door, I knew the two of them had talked.
“I heard you don’t want a funeral,” he said. He put a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich and a small bunch of grapes on my bedside table. Picked up the one holding a blueberry muffin, uneaten, that he’d put there this morning. I wasn’t sure why he was bothering.
“I don’t want a funeral,” I confirmed.
Cal sat on the edge of my bed, slid his fingers through my greasy, matted hair. “Evie, honey, a funeral is everyone’s chance to say good-bye. To celebrate Junie’s life.”
“She didn’t have a life,” I told him. “She lived twelve years. That’s it. Twelve.” The number sounded even worse out loud. Twelve summers, twelve Christmases, twelve trips around the sun. It was nothing in the scheme of things. Nothing.
“She had a life,” Cal said. “She lived.”
I shrugged out from under his hand, turned away. “I didn’t say never. I said not now.”
“What are you waiting for?”
To know who did it. To say good-bye to my daughter with at least the knowledge that whoever killed her wasn’t still walking around, thinking they got away with it. “I’m not sure. But when the time is right, I’ll let you know.”
FOUR
The next morning I waited until Cal was gone and then I unfurled from my cocoon. My legs were weak from being in bed for days. I stunk of sweat, and there were purple bruises under my eyes even though all I’d done for three days was sleep. I didn’t want to move, but grief was a luxury I couldn’t wallow in forever. I stood under a scalding-hot shower until my skin turned a bright lobster pink, and I scrubbed at my hair until my scalp screamed.