Page 38 of Bone Dust

Ian looks over to spy what’s inside, then talks to Gigi with an almost equally breathless expectation. “There’s a miniature world inside this big, grassy patch. Every night they come out and put on a show. Maybe you and your mom can come here again while it’s still light out. The three of us can come to the field and watch as they appear.” There’s a childlike tone to his excitement and a sense of wonder which almost matches Gigi’s.

“Can we, Momma? Peeeeeease?”

Her plea is so sweet and hopeful that I feel my heart puddling. I release her hands and crouch down to her level. “We can, but for now, you have to let this little guy go. He has to fly back to his family.”

Her brows pinch and her smile flips upside down. “No, momma,” she protests. “I don’t want to.”

I look into her eyes, almost feeling the heartbreak I see there. “Gigi, you have to let him fly, baby. That’s what he was born to do. He works with his friends to light up the night. You don’t want to stop him, do you?”

Ian, sensing the sensitivity of the moment, meanders away from us, affording me a bit of privacy with my girl. I watch him, the distance great enough to fade him into a shadow, and then, once again, I cover Gigi’s hands with my own. “You like Dominoes, right? The ones we stand up, then tip over?”

She answers me with a nod and a pout.

“Every living thing has a connection, just like the Dominoes. When one falls, it affects all the others. Somewhere, this little bug has a family and they help him light up the sky. When you take one away, a light goes out. I promise, if we let him go, his family will be happy to see him—just like you are to see me when I pick you up from Cora’s. If you don’t release him, they’ll be sad. So, it’s your choice, baby. I’m going to let you decide. Which do you pick? Keep him, or let him go?”

The gentle hum of crickets fills the air as Gigi’s chin drops to her chest. She mulls over her decision for a bit, then mumbles sadly. “Let him go.”

I kiss the top of her head as I stand. “You have a good heart, my sweet girl.” With my thumbs on top of hers, I gently press and enlarge the gap. “We can let him go together.”

The scene becomes dramatic as Gigi’s bottom lip quivers. Her tears glisten amidst a sea of blue and my heart aches for the loss she feels. With a sad expression, she looks down to the place where our hands are joined and her body shudders as she heaves a sorrowful sigh. “No, Momma. I do it myself.”

Oh, my heart. I take a step back, watching as she ever so slowly opens her hands. The bug’s head pops out. Gigi gives him a sad smile. “Fie away, buggie. Go back home.”

The back end of the bug in her palm, its delicate body now visible as it creeps up and over her fingers, steadily blinks its light as it cautiously moves about. The fragile creature navigates the treacherous world of a tiny tot’s fingers and, as it does, Gigi goes completely still. I know her heart. It’s tender. The last thing she would want to do is to cause any living creature harm. The descent from Gigi’s palm to her fingers is tentative, but the slight wind around us sifts through her hand and, when it reaches the tip of her thumb, its wings fully extend. It flutters, as if testing the appendages to assure a successful flight, and then, with a puff of breeze, it turns, catches the air, and is gone.

Gigi’s head drops back, and I spy a duet of tears trailing over her cheeks as she follows the bug’s flight into the sky. The instant loss of a newfound friend gives her a stab of pain and she throws herself at my belly and hides her face in my skirt. Ian appears behind her, closing the distance he placed between us. My heart pinches as I take in his expression. He looks as sad as Gigi.

“It’s okay, baby. You did the right thing and I’m proud of you.” I rub soothing circles on her back, as she quietly cries. “It’s time to go home. It’s past your bedtime.”

She leans back and looks up, sniffing back her sadness. “A few more minutes, Momma, peease?”

I can’t deny her. At the age of three, given a choice to make her own decision, instead of my telling her what to do, is a big deal—and she made the right decision, which is huge to me. “One more minute while I talk to Ian—but when I call you, we have to go, got it?”

She nods, then spies another amber bug. “Wook, Momma! It’s Blinky’s fwiend.” Blinky? Skipping away, she follows its light.

Ian watches her. “I hope she’s had fun, despite having to let the bug go.”

“She definitely has.” I nod.

“That was big of you. Giving her a choice and all.”

“She has to learn. If I give her room to make decisions while she’s little, hopefully, she’ll make decent choices when she’s older.”

“I’ve never thought about it. I did what I was told. Then I screwed up my life.”

“Even if you’d had choices, there’s no guarantee you would have made ones different than you did when you got older.”

“I’d like to think I would have, but then, maybe not.” He reasons. “I don’t know why I made it through the overdose. Buying this place was the first, decent, decision I ever made. It was a good one. At least, I’m sure of that.”

His sincerity and transparency moves me. “Everything happens for a reason. I truly believe that. You’ve made other decisions—BIG decisions. You could have checked yourself out of rehab. You didn’t, and you got clean. You stepped away from the spotlight, knowing you’d fall back into unhealthy patterns. That’s a big deal. You bought this place, true, but you could have hired people to take on this place. Instead, you worked it. That garden is amazing. I’m sure I could find some other examples but, what I’m getting at is, that your decisions, past and present, brought you here. To this moment.” I look in the distance at the massive space. “And, here, doesn’t look so bad to me.” I drop the subject and glimpse over at Gigi who is sweetly sitting on the grass, staring up at the sky. Emotion hits me. The way the moonlight hits her serene expression is a picture I’ll never forget. “Thank you, Ian.”

His forehead wrinkles. “For?”

“For this.” I nod toward Gigi. “For sharing this with us. For giving my daughter an experience she’ll never forget. I mean, look at her. This is a side of Gigi I’ve not seen. She’s so full of wonder. A few minutes ago, she was a little wildling running about, and now she’s the picture of serenity. There’s so much light pollution in our development and very few trees. All of this is new to her. And, in case you have any doubt because of her crying over the bug, she loves it. So, thank you.”

A gentle smile fills his lips as a tender look reflects in his eyes. “You’re welcome. You can bring Gigi any time. You’re always welcome. There’s a horse in the barn. I got her from a rescue. I also rescued a cat not long ago. I didn’t know it at the time but she was pregnant so, now, I’ve got a bunch of kittens.”

“Oh, she would love that.” I pause, feeling a sudden wave of vulnerability. “You know, I get so caught up in all the mothering stuff— making sure she has healthy food, gets enough sleep, correcting her grammar ... all of that kind of stuff … but, seeing her like this is new. It takes me back to when my mom did things like this with me. It’s so different when you have a kid. You see things again for the first time. Seriously, look at her. She looks like one of the little woodland fairies.”

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