Chapter 2
The mud made a sound when we walked. Not a squelch, just this soft sucking every time Charles lifted his shoes, and I kept my eyes on it so I wouldn't have to look at the other cars leaving.
Arthur's white SUV was still parked under the oak tree. He didn't turn around when Charles said, "Sophie, you three with me." He just kept walking. I felt Lily's hand find the back of my dress and Grace pressed into my side so hard her shoulder shook.
I didn't let go of the frame. My fingers had gone white around the gold edge and the glass was warm from where I'd held it against my chest.
Charles's car was old, a dark blue sedan with a dent in the passenger door. He opened the back door for us and the air inside smelled like coffee and old leather.
"You all together in the back," he said quietly. "Can you make it fit?"
We did. I slid in first to the middle, Lily next to me on the left, Grace on my right. Our dresses were the same black, our tights already snagged, our shoes muddy. Charles had to push the front seat forward a little so Grace's knees wouldn't hit it. He shut the door soft, like he was afraid to slam it.
Through the window I watched Arthur. He got to his SUV, checked his watch, that luxury watch on his left wrist, and got in without looking at the grave or at us. The engine started. He backed out, tires spitting a little mud, and turned onto the county road without his lights even though the sky was still that flat gray.
He left first. We didn't.
Charles got in the front seat and didn't start the car right away. His hands stayed on the wheel. I could see his short gray hair in the rearview and the stubble on his neck. He took a breath you could hear.
"You okay back there?" he asked, looking at us in the mirror.
Lily nodded. Grace didn't. She stared at the photo in my lap. Mom's long brown hair was blurred a little behind the glass.
"Yeah," I said, because someone had to answer. My voice sounded small.
He pulled out slow. The cemetery parking lot was mostly empty, just a few people standing under umbrellas by the oak trees. Nobody stopped us.
On the county road the rain had stopped but the ditches were full. The wipers made a squeak every other swipe even though Charles had them on low. None of us talked. Grace leaned her head on my arm and I could feel her breathing fast. Lily kept picking at a loose thread on her dress. At a stop sign Charles glanced back again.
"You girls hungry?" he asked.
No one answered.
My phone buzzed. It wasn't my phone, it was Charles's. It was in the cup holder and the screen lit up with Arthur. Charles picked it up at the next red light and put it on speaker before I could say not to.
"Charles," Arthur's voice said, thin and clipped. "I'm at the apartment. Look, I'll sign whatever temporary paper your county wants. Just so they don't call me for foster intake. That's it. This keeps it off my record."
Charles's jaw tightened. He held the wheel tighter.
"You'll sign a temporary kinship care authorization," Charles said. It wasn't a question. "All three. No foster care."
A pause. I could hear traffic behind Arthur, like he was near the highway.
"Yeah. Temporary. I'll sign it and send it over. My lawyer can email it. Don't make this more than it is," Arthur said. "I have a life to get to."
Grace whimpered a little at his voice and I put my hand over hers.
"Send it tonight," Charles said, and hung up before Arthur could add anything. He set the phone back down hard.
We turned off the highway onto his street. His house was small, one story, pale siding with a little porch and a dead garden bed out front. I remembered it from before Mom got sick, when we'd visit and he'd make us grilled cheese. It had never had three kids in it.
He got out and came around to open our door, and we all just sat there for a second.
"Okay," he said, trying to sound normal. "It's not ready. I know it's not ready."
Inside it smelled like dust and laundry soap. The living room had one couch and a recliner. Down the short hall there was his bedroom, a small spare room with a desk and no bed, and a bathroom with a chipped sink.
He stood in the hallway rubbing the back of his neck.
"I have one bed made up in my room," he said. "And the spare room — I can push the desk against the wall. Let me —"
He went to the linen closet and pulled out sheets that didn't match, a quilt, a couple of blankets, and a sleeping bag that still had a tag on it from a hardware store. His hands moved fast, like if he kept moving he wouldn't have to think.
Lily helped without being asked. She took a pillow and put it on the floor for Grace. I stayed in the doorway holding the frame.
"I can make dinner," Charles said. "I don't have much. I have eggs. And bread. Is eggs okay?"
Grace nodded into my side. Lily said, "Yeah."
He made scrambled eggs in a pan that was too big, and toast that got a little burned because he was watching us instead of the toaster. We sat at his small kitchen table, three in a row on one side, him on the other. The eggs were salty and soft. Grace ate with her left hand and held my right hand under the table.
After dinner he made the beds. The spare room got the quilt on the floor for Lily and the sleeping bag for me, because I said I wanted to stay with them. His bed, which he said was ours for now, got Grace, with his extra blanket folded under her because she was so small. I put Mom's photo on the desk where I could see it, leaning against the wall.
When the lights went out, the house was too quiet. County road quiet, not cemetery quiet. Lily whispered, "Is Dad coming back?"
May you like
"No," I whispered back. I could see the faint light from the hall where Charles had left it on for us. He was sitting on the couch in the living room, not sleeping, just sitting with his hands together.
Grace was already asleep, breathing through her mouth, her black dress folded neatly on the chair where Charles had told us to put our clothes. Our tights were in a pile by the door. I didn't take my eyes off the photo until my own eyes closed.
