Page 29 of Sacrifice
“I thought maybe it would be fun. We haven’t painted in a while.”
“I love to paint,” she says, dipping her brush into the tub of yellow.
She swirls it around on the page. “At school, Mrs. Yeryar painted a tree. And we all put our thumbs in paint and put them on the tree like leaves. You know what I mean?”
I nod, watching her rinse the brush off in the cup of water I placed between us.
“It’s really cool. It’s like a rainbow tree! Mrs. Yeryar says it’s our class family tree. It’s very pretty.”
“I bet it is.”
She sets the paper aside and gets out a fresh sheet. Carefully, she draws a brown line in the middle of the page and then thickens it. Her tongue sticks out the side of her mouth in concentration while she drags her brush out to the sides.
She drops it and dips her thumb into the yellow jar. She presses it very lightly against the paper. I hand her a tissue and she wipes off her thumb, appreciating her work. “Now your turn, Mommy.”
I dip my thumb into the red paint and press it against the paper on the other side.
Ever studies the paper. She grabs her brush and dips it in the blue paint. Her eyes are narrowed in total concentration as she draws a blue swirl at the top of the page.
“That’s Daddy,” she says. “I made him a cloud so he’s high in the sky and can watch us.”
My heart can’t take it.
I stand up, kiss the top of her head, then lay the sheet by the stove to dry. My chest has a complete hole gaping in the center of it, like my entire soul is bleeding out. Everyone I’ve loved in my life has left me or been taken away from me. My daughter should be an exception to the rule.
“I’m going to paint a monkey,” Ever says, a laugh in her voice. “That’s what Uncle Crew calls me. Maybe I’ll give this to him!”
“That would be nice.”
Crew.
I haven’t seen him since I left him in Ever’s bed on Friday night. He called yesterday, but Ever was standing next to me and I didn’t want to answer his questions in front of her. I was also embarrassed about having broken down in front of him and needed space between us again.
He hasn’t called again or come by.
This is exactly why I have to handle this on my own. Crew’s Crew. I know this. He might be here today and gone tomorrow . . .
I know I can’t lean on him, but damn it if it didn’t feel good to be able to lean on him momentarily. Every day for the past two years has felt like I’m in a war against the world on my own. The war just escalated to nuclear level. If I let Crew in, it’ll set up Ever . . . and me . . . for a letdown later.
“Where’s Uncle Crew?”
Exactly.
“He’s probably working, baby girl.”
She paints away, her knees tucked up under her. “I bet he misses me.”
A knock on the door saves me from having to respond. I walk to it and peek out the window. Hands in his pockets, jacket open, Crew’s twisting a toothpick around his lips.
I open the door and step to the side. He walks in without a word or a glance in my direction.
“Uncle Crew,” Ever squeals and runs to him. He picks her up and hugs her tight, looking at me finally with curious eyes.
“How are ya, monkey?” He sounds like he hasn’t slept much. His voice is gravelly, even for him. His knuckle is sliced and slightly swollen. He catches me looking at it and glares. I glare right back. He better not be coming by here because he’s in trouble or because he’s leaving town. I swear to God, I’ll never forgive him. Screw family, screw blood. If he’s done or is doing something stupid, that’s it. I’m done even entertaining the idea that he can be a part of our lives.
“I’m good. Come see my painting. I painted something for you.” She kicks her legs and he lets her down. Ever takes his hand and leads him to the table. He takes the toothpick out of his mouth and sticks it in his pocket.
“That looks like a monkey,” he says, sitting at a chair.
