I Held Lily On The Snowy Sidewalk While Grandma Closed The Door...

The snow soaked straight through the knees of my dark pants. I could feel it melting cold against my skin, and I didn't move because Lily was so heavy against me. She wasn't holding herself up anymore. Her whole weight was on my chest, her forehead pressed into the front of my maroon coat, her breath coming in short, wet pulls.

I had my arms locked around her. My gray gloves were damp and her blue snowsuit squeaked a little every time she breathed. The bunny was smashed between us. Its tan ear was bent back and I could feel its little stuffed head under my chin.

My face was wet. I kept trying to stop crying because I didn't want Lily to hear it and get more scared, but my throat kept shaking. The sidewalk was white on both sides where nobody had shoveled. The street was gray and slushy. The sky was getting lower and darker, that flat Christmas Eve gray that made everything look the same.

Lily whimpered and shifted. "Emma," she mumbled into my coat. It wasn't even a word, really. Just my name with a cry under it.

"I'm here," I whispered. "I'm right here, Lily. I got you."

I looked down at the top of her cream hat. The pom on top was wet and stuck together. Snow had melted on her cheeks and mixed with tears. Her gray mittens were holding the bunny so tight her little hands were shaking.

That was when it came out of me. I didn't mean to say it loud. I meant to just think it.

"Mommy, where are you?" My voice cracked in the middle and came out tearful and high. It sounded like a little kid. I hated how it sounded.

Lily lifted her head just enough to look at me. Her eyes were red. "Mommy?" she repeated, hopeful.

I swallowed hard. The cold burned my nose when I breathed in. "She's — she's coming," I said. I didn't know if that was true. I said it because Lily was watching my mouth.

I wiped my face with the back of my glove. The fabric was rough and cold. I made myself look up the street.

I knew what Mom's car looked like. It had a crack in the back bumper and a sticker from Lily's daycare on the window. I stared past the parked cars covered in snow, past the mailboxes with red bows on them, all the way to the stop sign at the end of the block. I kept waiting to see headlights. I kept listening for the sound her tires made on slush.

There was nothing. No familiar car. No engine. Just wind pushing a thin sheet of snow across the road and a dog barking somewhere far away behind a fence.

My stomach dropped. Mom wasn't coming down this street. She didn't know we were here on the sidewalk. She didn't know Grandma had said what she said at the door.

I looked back the way we had come. I could still see the brick houses, smoke coming out of chimneys, Christmas lights in windows. I couldn't see Grandma's doorway from where we were kneeling. That door was closed. I knew it was closed.

Lily started to shiver harder. I could feel it through both our coats, little jerks in her shoulders and legs. Her lips looked pale. She tucked her face back into me and her knees buckled a little, like she was going to lie down right there on the sidewalk.

"No, no, Lily, we can't sit here," I said quickly. I shifted my weight, trying to get my boots under me. The snow squeaked. "We gotta get up. It's too cold here."

She shook her head against me. The pom on her hat rubbed my chin. "Tired," she cried.

"I know," I said. "I know you're tired. Just — let me get us warm, okay? Look."

I turned her a little so she could see what I was seeing. Down the block, past two more houses, there was a porch light on, bright yellow, and next to it a big lit-up snowman in the yard. Further past that, I could see the top of the church with the white steeple. I remembered the church parking lot from the fall festival. It was close. People would be there for Christmas Eve.

"We're gonna go there," I told her, pointing with my glove. My hand was shaking. "See the lights? We're gonna walk to the lights and get inside where it's warm. Can you walk with me if I hold you real tight?"

Lily didn't answer. She just stared at the lights and breathed.

I pushed myself up first, pulling her with me. My knees screamed from the cold. I got my boots flat on the sidewalk and locked my arms under her arms, hauling her up against my side. She was heavier than I thought. I staggered and almost went back down.

Then I got her. I got her up and pulled her close into my side, her blue snowsuit pressed against my coat, my arm tight around her shoulders. I bent my knees a little so she could lean all her weight on me.

"Hold your bunny," I whispered. "Hold on to me, too."