Page 126 of The Holiday Fakers
“Don’t be scared of Mommy,” Martha says in a matter-of-fact voice. “She’s just making sure we keep the hall tidy.”
I take off my boots and line them up on the mat, then Ethan takes my coat and hangs it up, brushing his hand down the sleeves to make sure they’re hanging straight.
He leads me into the family room. It’s immaculate. Martha’s coloring books and pens are on a low table. The pens are stored nib-down in a pot, and the books are stacked neatly in a pile. Toys are in a woven basket to one side. There’s a modest Christmas tree, but it looks like it was trimmed by an anally retentive elf. Photos of Olivia are everywhere. You can’t turn without seeing her face.
It’s been four years since her death, and it’s clear Ethan has no intention of moving on.
“We’re having pizza!” Martha exclaims. “Now come see my bedroom!”
Without waiting for a reply, she takes my hand and pulls me out of the room, leading me up a flight of stairs, Olivia watching my every step.
“It’s okay,” Martha says gently.
But I don’t feel okay. If I feel overwhelmed by guilt after less than five minutes here, how must Ethan feel living in this houseevery day? Is this his way of punishing himself for not saving her from sepsis?
Martha stops outside a door with her name on it in bright wooden letters. “Yesterday, Papa told Nana our house is a …” She wrinkles her button nose, thinking hard. Then she beams: “A shine!”
“A shine?”
She nods.
“Did they maybe say ashrine?”
Her eyes light up. “Yes, that.”
She pauses, frowning again. “Uncle Brody, is that a cuss word?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I don’t think I was meant to hear it.”
I crouch down. “It’s not a cuss word, sweetie, but …”
Damn. How do I explain something this complicated to a five-year-old?
Martha waits patiently, her big blue eyes locked on mine.
“Your Nana and Papa, they’re your mommy’s parents, right?”
“Yes. They look after me with Grandma and Grandpa when Daddy has to work.”
So even Olivia’s folks think Ethan’s taken the self-flagellation too far.
“You know how churches have a special place where people light candles?”
She nods.
“That’s a shrine.”
“But my mommy isn’t Jesus.”
“I know, sweetie, but your daddy doesn’t want to forget her.”
“How can he when she’s always here?” She points at her heart.
My hand rubs the center of my chest, trying to soothe the ache there. It’s not just for Olivia, but for the pain Ethan endures every day.
“That’s true. But this is just what your daddy needs right now.”
