Page 90 of Everything We Left Unsaid

Jacob

We leave thehouse early the next morning to head into D.C. since Abby’s never been to the capital and is dying to explore the city and all its landmarks. We start at the Washington monument and go from there. Abby looks on in wonderment as we take in the national treasures.

Before heading for Pennsylvania Avenue to check out the White House, we hit up one of my favorite restaurants for lunch. We used to meet Dad here all the time when the Senate was in session. He’d let us order any dessert we wanted just so he could steal a bite. I miss those days. Now, our schedules rarely match up to allow for such luxuries.

On our way back home, we stop at Arlington National Cemetery to watch the changing of the guard. “That was amazing,” Abby exclaims breathlessly, falling into the passenger seat after wrestling Chloe into her car seat. “That was choreographed better than a Beyoncé video.” I laugh at her comparison. I don’t know if the soldiers of the U.S. Army would take that as an insult or a compliment. “Seriously, how do they time those clicks out so perfectly?”

“I have no idea,” I answer honestly. “But it’s certainly impressive.”

Chloe’s asleep within minutes, her early wake-up call wearing her out before her usual nap time. Abby lowers her gently into her crib and follows me to the kitchen with the video monitor in hand in case she wakes up. After helping me make lemonade, we head out to the back patio with two tall glasses filled to the brim and soak up the last of the warm sunshine for the year. Dad joins us, plopping down next to me with the newspaper in his hand.

“Where’s Mom? I haven’t seen her since the party last night.”

“She’s fighting off a migraine,” he replies, flipping to the next page. “You know how she gets when she’s under a lot of stress. I think the party did her in. I keep telling her not to make such a fuss over my birthday, but she won’t listen.”

I have a feeling her avoidance has more to do with our conversation yesterday than a migraine. I may have been a bit harsh on her, but I made it clear that Abby is here to stay and so is Chloe. She teared up a little when we started talking about Chloe. She’s so damn afraid to get attached to her that she’s pushing them both away. I know it must hurt, having another little girl in the house when she still can’t say Peyton’s name after all these years, but she needs to find a way to move past the pain so she doesn’t miss out on getting to know her grandchild.

My dad, on the other hand, took to Chloe just as fiercely and passionately as I expected. Once we returned to the party, it was all I could do to keep him from stealing her away while I tried to introduce Abby and Chloe to our guests and friends. Mom warmed up a bit as the party wound to a close, holding her and feeding her a piece of cake. She was Chloe’s new favorite person after that. She even kissed Chloe’s temple, closing her eyes and basking in the moment when she thought nobody was looking.

When Chloe wakes up, we feed her a snack and let her play in the garden for a while before we take her back inside. She goes straight to her books when we enter the nursery. Abby and I take turns reading to her until we’ve been through all of them. Twice.

“More books,” she demands, and when I try to open one we’ve already read, she shoves it out of my hands and says, “No!”

“Do you have any other books?” Abby asks.

“I don’t,” I reply, downtrodden. Then an idea comes to me. “Wait a minute.” I jump up and run from the room.

“Where are you going?” Abby calls after me.

“I’ll be right back.”

I rush down the stairs, through the kitchen, and throw open the door to the housekeeper’s closet. “Ah ha!” Snatching the keyring from its hook, I jog back up the stairs two at a time. “Come on,” I instruct and Abby follows, Chloe perched on her hip. I know Mom will be pissed if she finds out, but she’ll be holed up in her room the rest of the day, unable to tolerate noise or light.

I locate the right key and unlock the door, pushing it open. The room looks exactly the same as it did thirteen years ago. If it weren’t for the housekeepers coming in here once a month to clean, I’d say it hadn’t been touched in all that time, either.

“Oh my God, is this...?” Abby lets her question trail off as she takes in the room. The white canopy bed draped in a pink and purple bedspread dotted with butterflies rests against the wall on the left. A tall white dresser that I suspect still holds all my little sister’s clothes lines the opposite wall. Her bookshelf, which houses all her precious fairytales, is angled in the corner.

“Should we be in here?”

“Why not?” I ask, conviction coating my throat. Or maybe that’s grief. “There’s no reason not to use this stuff. It’s been sitting here for years, just waiting for another little girl to pick it up and play with it. Well, there’s a little girl here now who would really enjoy all these toys and books.”

“I just don’t want to upset your parents.” She means my mom. Dad would be okay with this. Heck, he’d probably encourage it.

“It’ll be fine. Let’s find her a book to read.” I walk Chloe over to the bookshelf and let her make her selection. “Little Red Riding Hood. Good choice.” She claps and sits down on the rug. I read to her, holding her rapt attention as I do all the voices the way Nell used to. We read The Princess and The Pea next, followed by Where the Wild Things Are. Abby takes over reading, her fingers gliding over the pages of Charlotte’s Web as I stand up from the floor to stretch my legs. I walk around the room, taking in all the details, remembering my baby sister. I feel like somehow, her spirit lives on through Chloe. She even bears her name, even if it’s just her middle name.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing in here?” my mother screeches from the doorway. Abby and Chloe both look up, stunned. Guilt washes over Abby’s features.

“I’m so sorry. I thought-” She swallows back her words when my mother marches toward her and rips the book from her hands.

“How dare you?” she seethes.

“That’s enough!” I clip, and her gaze snaps to me. She hadn’t even seen me. She didn’t know I was in the room because all her focus and hatred was aimed at Abby.

“Did you do this? Was this your idea?” Her eyes water, the anger replaced with hurt and sorrow.

“Mom,” I begin, approaching her like one would a cornered animal. “It’s alright. We’re just reading books.”

“But they’re...” Her lip quivers. She can’t even say her name. “Her books,” she sobs.

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