I Clutched My Mom's Silver Frame While Dad Asked Me To Call Her Mom...

The next morning I learned how to make her see me better.

Dad had left the silver frame on my pillow after he tucked me in. I woke up and it was still there, pressed against my cheek, cold at the edge where the metal had been against my skin all night. The light coming through my curtains was gray and thin. I could hear Dad in the kitchen and the woman's voice, low, talking about coffee.

I sat up and picked up the frame with both hands. Mom and I were inside it, on the porch at my grandma's, Mom holding me on her hip. In the picture I had my head tipped into her shoulder. I remembered the day because the sun had been warm and I'd been sleepy.

I slid off my bed and carried it to the bookcase. The white shelves were the tallest thing in my room, and the top shelf was above my head. The bottom shelf was where I could reach. My bunnies were there, the one with the blue ears tipped over on its side. I moved the bunny.

I put the frame on the second shelf, the one level with my mattress. I turned it so it faced my bed directly. I stepped back to my bed and looked at it. From where my pillow was, Mom's face in the photo lined up so she would be looking right at me when I slept. I nodded once. That was right.

I didn't tell anyone I'd done it. I just got dressed and left it there.

Jenna noticed first. I knew she had because when she came in to tell me breakfast was ready, she stopped in the doorway. She didn't come straight to me. She looked at the bookcase.

I watched her eyes move from the frame to my bed and back to the frame. She stood there a second longer than she needed to. I thought she might pick it up and move it back to the dresser where Dad had kept it before, where grown-ups keep things neat. She didn't.

She just said, "Okay, sweet pea, eggs are getting cold," and held out her hand. She didn't touch the frame on her way out. On her way past it she even shifted a little to the side so her sweater wouldn't brush it.

At lunch I did it again. Dad had put me down for quiet time because I didn't nap easily anymore. He closed the curtains most of the way so the room went dim. He said, "Just rest your eyes for a little, Sof," and pulled the door halfway shut. The house was quiet except for the dishwasher humming.

I didn't get in bed right away. I went to the bookcase and took the frame down and held it close. I whispered to it the way I'd whispered that night when Dad was kneeling next to me.

I said, "Are you seeing me?"

I turned the frame a little to the left so the light didn't glare on the glass.

I said, "I'm right here."

I didn't know Dad had come back to check on me until I heard his watch tick. He stood in the doorway, his hand on the doorknob, not pushing it open any wider. He had his gray pants on still and his navy sweater pushed up at the sleeves. I could see his wedding band when his hand tightened on the door.

He watched me talk to the photo. I had my back to him, but I saw his reflection in the glass of the frame, blurred behind Mom's face.

I waited for him to say that Mom couldn't hear me, or that I should get in bed, or to use his Dad voice. He didn't. He breathed in and held it.

I whispered, "Mommy said it so she can still see me," not to him, just to her. It was the same way I'd said it that night, quiet and earnest, because it was true and I needed the person in front of me to understand.

Dad's shoulders dropped a little. He didn't correct me. He didn't say "your mom's gone" or "that's just a picture." He just stood there and then he tapped his knuckles very lightly on the doorframe, so I'd know he was there without startling me.

"Hey," he said softly.

I turned around, still holding the frame with both hands.

He knelt down where he was, not coming all the way into the room, so he was nearer to my height but still by the door.

"Did you find a good spot for her?" he asked.

I nodded and pointed to the shelf where I'd had it. "So she can see my bed."

He looked at the shelf, at the empty space where the frame had been, then back at me.

"That's a good spot," he said, and his voice caught a little on the word good. He swallowed. "You want to put her back there for your rest?"

I carried it back carefully and set it exactly where it had been, angled toward the pillow. I patted the top of the frame once.

Dad didn't move it. He didn't tell me I was too old to talk to a picture. He just said, "I'll keep the hall light on if you want," and left the door where it was.

Later, when I pretended to be asleep, I heard Jenna's steps come close and stop. I kept my eyes shut and breathed slow. I heard her whisper to Dad out in the hall, "She moved it to watch her sleep. I left it."