Chapter 1
The mud made a soft sucking sound every time someone shifted their weight. I felt it under my Mary Janes and tried not to move. My sisters stood pressed against me on the narrow path between the folding chairs and the fresh earth, and my arms were going numb from holding Mom's picture against my chest. The gold frame was cold even through my gloves. Behind us, the chairs were still full. People were watching.
Grandpa Charles and Dad stood face to face a few feet away. I could see Grandpa's short gray hair and the stubble on his cheek and the way his black coat hung open over his vest. He wasn't raising his voice. Dad wasn't either. Dad had his hands in the pockets of his gray suit and his white shirt was clean and his black tie was straight. I saw the shine of his watch when he moved his wrist. They were talking like they didn't want the mourners to hear them, but we were close enough that we heard everything.
My name is Sophie and I was twelve that afternoon and I was holding my mother's photograph so tight my fingers hurt.
It was right after they lowered her. The oak branches were low over us with that gray moss hanging down and the sky was flat and white and the air smelled like wet grass and turned-over dirt. Someone had left white lilies on the casket and then the casket was gone. A woman in the second row kept dabbing her eyes. Lily stood on my left with her ponytail coming loose under her black headband, staring at nothing the way she had for three days. Grace was on my right with both hands clamped over her mouth, trying not to make a sound, her long hair damp at the ends from the mist.
Dad was talking first. He didn't look at us when he said it.
"They're going into foster care. I deserve a fresh start."
Grandpa's head came up a little. I saw his jaw tighten and the small breath he took before he answered. His voice was low and even.
"Your own daughters?"
Dad shrugged once, quick, like someone had asked him about traffic. He didn't take his hands out of his pockets.
"If they matter that much to you, take them."
I felt Lily flinch next to me. Grace made a small noise behind her hands. The mud had splashed up onto the hem of my black dress and onto their tights and I couldn't tell if my chest was beating too fast or not at all. Grandpa didn't answer Dad right away. He looked past Dad for a second toward the white car parked under the big oak by the gate, then he looked at us. Really looked at us.
Then he knelt down.
His knees went right into the wet grass and the mud. He didn't seem to care. He put his hands out toward us, palms up, not grabbing, just open. His coat brushed the ground. I could see every line on his face that close, and the way his breathing was slow like he was trying to keep it steady for us.
"You're coming home with me, all three of you."
Behind him, Dad was already turning away. I watched the back of his gray suit as he walked up the path toward that white car. He didn't look back. His shoes left clean prints in the mud that filled in with water after each step. The mourners were getting up from their chairs now, some of them glancing over, not sure if they should come closer or give us space.
Grandpa was still kneeling. Grace dropped her hands from her mouth and grabbed onto his sleeve. Lily didn't move, but her eyes finally flicked down to his face. I was still holding the frame with both hands. Mom's picture was against my sweater, her long brown hair just like I remembered. My throat felt too tight to swallow.
I leaned forward a little so only he would hear me. The mist was on my cheeks and I could hear Grace breathing hard next to my ear.
"She left a notebook, recordings and an envelope."
Grandpa's eyes stayed on mine. He gave the smallest nod for me to keep going. The words felt risky to say out loud with Dad still within earshot, even with his back to us.
May you like
"Dad doesn't know we hid them."
We stayed like that on the muddy path, Grandpa on one knee in front of us, the three of us clustered together with the gold frame between us and him, while Dad kept walking toward the oak tree and the people around the grave kept pretending not to stare, and no one had yet said what would happen when we tried to leave the cemetery together.
