Page 78 of Quiet Beautiful Things

Sierra: Mom wants me to thank you. She admitted to me on the drive that she has been contemplating suicide for a while. She said I was the only reason she hadn’t gone through with it. She was waiting for me to get older so I would be able to deal with it better. She told herself that every time she thought of it. It makes me wonder if we got to her just in time. How can I ever thank you, Ellie?

Me: Not so fast. We still have a lot of work to do.

Sierra: Whatever happens, we’re both grateful that you had the guts to make this a reality.

Me: It’s the least I can do for family. You’re my relative, and she’s yours. That qualifies us all as family in my book.

Tara, who has been reading our texts over Sierra’s shoulder, comes around behind me and wraps me in a hug. It’s long and hard and full of unspoken sentiment. This is one of those times when words just aren’t needed.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Blake

In Maisy’s IEP meeting a few weeks ago, it was decided she’s coming along so well she doesn’t need three home visits a week anymore. While that means progress, I wasn’t exactly excited to find out Ellie would only be coming over once a week.

Add that to the fact that Maisy doesn’t want me walking in to pick her up anymore—a request she was actually able to convey—and I haven’t seen Ellie nearly as much as I’d like lately.

Not to mention she postponed our dancing date.Twice.

Something’s been going on with her, and I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with the guy at Donovan’s that night.

Bolt rubs against my leg as Maisy finishes her dinner. Then he hobbles over to his food dish, gives it a sniff, and walks away. I regard him for a minute. Does he know he’s different? Does he see other cats walking around gracefully and get upset that he doesn’t have four fully functioning legs?

My focus shifts to Maisy. I’ve spent many sleepless nights wondering similar things about her. Does she know what Lucinda did to her was wrong? That kids shouldn’t be locked up and hidden away just because they aren’t perfect in their mother’s eyes?

We’ve been communicating a lot more, and not just through drawings, but signs. Short and simple conversations.

I give the table a little shake—my way of getting Maisy’s attention—and point to Bolt. “He’s hungry.”

She hops off the chair, takes her plate to the sink, then feeds Bolt and plops down next to him while he eats. She always sits next to him while he eats, protectively hovering.

I know the feeling.

When the house lights flash five times, Maisy stands and runs for the front door. She knows Allie is coming. I stride behind her and undo the upper lock.

“Cool,” Allie says, accepting Maisy’s hug. “I saw the lights from out here. Doorbell strobe lights.”

“I had them installed last week.”

Allie looks intrigued. “You’re really in this for the long haul, aren’t you?”

I snort. “What gave it away? The cat that has become a permanent fixture in this house? Or the playground cemented into the back yard?” I see the way she’s staring at me. “Wait. Do you think I’m not cut out for this or something? Is that what people are saying behind my back?”

Maisy drags Allie over to the kitchen where Bolt is still eating.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Allie says over her shoulder.

I follow them in. “Whatarepeople saying?”

“Do you remember the gossip that went around when Hawk McQuaid found out he had a kid?”

I stiffen, feeling a bit green. “Yeah.”

“Well, it’s nothing like that.” She giggles at her attempt at a prank. “In fact everyone is impressed with how you’ve stood up and taken responsibility.”

She turns to Maisy. “Show me drawings,” she signs.

Maisy claps and races into the dining room to collect them.

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