Page 37 of The Dirty Saint

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

He nods.

“Of course.”

I smile, hoping it conceals the pain. “Do you talk about Dad with your classmates at school? It’s okay if you do.”

Noah ponders that for a moment.

“Sometimes. The other day, we were learning about family trees. I told Mrs.Vera that I don’t have a dad, only a mom. Andsince some of the kids were confused, I explained that my dad lives in the sky. With God. They didn’t believe me.”

“Why didn’t they believe you?”

He shrugs.

“They said God lives alone, but I told them what you told me when Dad died.”

I press my back to the door and close my eyes, silently screaming inside of myself.

How am I supposed to tell my son that his father is dead? This isn’t in the manuals and parenting books I have read. No one talks about what it will be like to raise a child on your own.

I hope that I had done a good job of shielding Noah from Christian’s body. The last thing I would want is for that image to be imprinted in his tiny, underdeveloped mind.

No kid should be subjected to such a horrific sight.

I rub my eyes and then push off the door to Noah’s room, where I find him reading a book with Beatrice. He looks so innocent.

Who am I to take that away?

“Mom, you’re home!”

I nod.

“How was Aunt Beatrice?”

“It was SO much fun! We even gotta talk to Kylie.”

“I’m so happy for you. Um, Bea,” I look at my sister, “do you mind—”

She nods, tears in her eyes.

“Of course.”

Beatrice scooches over, and together we grab one of Noah’s hands. I then take a deep breath.

“Noah, baby, do you know what it means when someone passes away?”

He shakes his head.

“Well, it means that they live in the sky. With God. They no longer live on earth.”

The wheels suddenly turn in my son’s head. “Is that where Dad went?”

“Um—” My mouth dries.

God, how did we get here?

How is this fair?

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