Chapter 3 - The Weight of Her Bunny
The sidewalk did not get any drier the farther we went. It stayed wet under the thin snow, the kind that soaked through if you stood still too long. I kept my arm around Lily and tried to match my steps to hers, but she kept falling out of rhythm.
Her boots made a soft scraping sound instead of lifting. I felt it through my hand on her back before I really saw it. She was leaning harder into me, and her cream pom hat had slipped down a little over one eye. She did not push it back up.
I stopped pulling her forward and just stood with her for a second. The cold got into my gray gloves right away when I wasn't moving. My fingers felt stiff. The houses on both sides were quiet. Nobody had their door open. Christmas lights were on in a window across the street, but the shades were pulled down.
Lily's head tipped forward. The tan bunny was mashed between her chest and her gray mittens, and she was holding it so tight her arms were shaking. I thought at first she was just crying again. Then I saw the shake was different. It was coming from her shoulders and her legs at the same time.
I bent a little and tried to look at her face. Her cheeks were bright red and wet, and her breath was coming fast in little puffs. Her nose was running and she wiped it with the back of her mitten and got the bunny's ear wet. She stared down at the sidewalk like she could not figure out where to put her feet next.
We had only gone a short way from Grandma's brick doorway. I could still see the street corner behind us if I turned. Ahead, the sidewalk kept going, white on the edges and dark and slick in the middle where people had walked. I kept thinking we should keep going because stopping felt worse. Stopping meant the cold settled in.
I tried to get her started again. I squeezed her shoulder and took a step, thinking she would follow. She did, but her knee buckled a little and she dragged her black boot. Snow got up over the toe. She made a tired sound, not quite a cry, and pressed her face into the bunny.
That was when I got scared for real. It wasn't like at the doorway when Grandma's voice was hard and Lily was asking for Dad. This was smaller and closer. I could feel Lily getting heavier against my side. Her mittens kept slipping on the bunny's fur. I had to hold her up with my whole arm or she swayed.
"Emma, I'm tired."
She said it crying, turned toward me, her voice thin and exhausted. She wasn't trying to whine. She just ran out of anything else to say. Her eyes were half closed and tears kept coming down over the red in her cheeks.
I did not answer right away. I could hear my own breathing too loud inside my hood. I moved behind her without thinking about it and put both my arms around her middle to keep her upright. My maroon coat bunched up against her light blue snowsuit. Her pom hat brushed my chin. She was shivering so hard I could feel it through both our coats.
From behind, I could feel every breath she took. Short and shaky. Her boots were planted wide apart on the wet concrete, like she was afraid her legs would fold if she put them together. Snow was sticking to the bottoms of her pants. The bunny hung down from one mitten now because she didn't have the strength to hold it up.
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I looked ahead again at the empty sidewalk. I told myself we could rest for a minute and then go. I told myself Mom would want me to keep Lily warm first, not tired and walking. But mostly I just knew we could not keep doing what we were doing. If I pulled her another block, she would fall.
So I stopped trying to move her forward. I locked my feet and held her steady from behind, taking her weight while she leaned back into me. The cold came up through my own boots while we stood there. I did not let go.
