Page 9 of Hollow Child

Remy left early in the morning, and for the first time ever, the lioness stayed behind. Ripley hardly left my side, other than running to hunt me down a squirrel or a rabbit, and while I appreciated her intentions, it was overwhelming.

It was all overwhelming, honestly.

I could feel the baby moving inside me, and sometimes kicking me in the ribs. My stomach stretched out, feeling odd and distended. Headaches came and went without warning, and sometimes fear overtook me so hard that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from sobbing.

The only thing I could really do in the face of all that was try to stay calm and relax.Relax, everyone would tell me with terror in their eyes.

And so I did the best I could. I sat in the room I’d inherited from Avalyn on her plush little bed with Ripley snoring on the floor and a stack of books on the bedside table.

I read to escape. I read to run from the afflictions and fear of my body. I read because there was nothing else to do.

“How are you?” Max asked, and he stood in the doorway to my room. His face was nearly gaunt. He’d lost weight where I’d gained it, and his eyes appeared even larger.

“Good,” I lied, because there was no point intelling him I was sick and terrified. He already knew.

“How’s the baby?” he asked.

“Feisty today.”

“Just like their mama.” He smiled and sat on the bed beside me, and he put his hand on my belly. “Will you tell me how you’re really doing?”

I set aside my book and sighed. “It wouldn’t do you any good to worry.”

He grimaced. “You know that only makes me worry more.”

“Today me and the baby are alive and well.” I put my hand over his, much smaller but just as calloused. “But the baby won’t settle down, and I am tired and want to sleep.”

“Maybe I can help with that.” He brightened, then bent over and rested his cheek against my belly and started singing. It was an old lullaby that his mother used to sing him called, “À la Claire Fontaine.”

“It’s still so weird to me that you remember all the words but not what they mean,” I said when he finished.

“I never really knew French, not fluently. I only know the song because my mom would sing it to me every night,” he explained. “She was from France, and she spoke with an accent.”

“An accent?” I asked. “What did she sound like?”

He changed his voice to have soft, nasally intonations and exaggerated melody when he said, “Yoo arr so byoo-tee-ful.”

“I haven’t heard that many accents, not that I remember anyway,” I said, trying to think. “There was that one guy a couple years back who stayed with us a night and stole Serg’s moonshine.”

“Oh, yeah. That guy was Russian, according to Boden,” Max recalled. “He was the one who gave me the brass knuckles.”

From downstairs, Boden yelled, “Remy’s comingup the driveway!”

“Already?” I asked in surprise, because we hadn’t expected her to return for another three days.

Max got up and went over to the window, peeling back the curtains so he could see the driveway. Ripley joined him in staring outside, watching his sister.

“How does she seem?” I asked, since I couldn’t see from my spot propped up with pillows on the bed.

“She’s too far away still, but she’s walking okay, and she’s alone.”

A few minutes later, Boden yelled up the stairs for us. “Remy is calling a family meeting!”

Max and I exchanged a look, then he helped me up, and we made our way downstairs.

Even though she had to be tired from walking, Remy was pacing in front of the fireplace in the living room. Ripley ran over to sniff and chuff at her, but Remy kept pacing.

It wasn’t until we were already settled – me, Max, and Serg on the couch, and Boden sitting in the chair – that she finally stopped and looked at us.

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