After several seconds, Katherine continued.
Her voice became rougher near the final page, but she finished every sentence.
When the little fox finally found home beneath the roots of an old tree, Katherine closed the cover.
Nobody spoke.
Then Amelia leaned forward.
“So that’s what your voice sounds like.”
Her voice became rougher near the final page.
Katherine’s lower lip moved once.
She pressed two fingers against it, but the first sob escaped anyway.
Greta did not comfort her.
Neither did I.
Some pain shouldn’t be hurried simply because it’s hard to watch.
Greta did not comfort her.
After a while, Greta asked, “Did you think about us on our birthdays?”
Katherine wiped beneath one eye.
“Yes.”
“Every birthday?”
A pause.
“No.”
Greta nodded slowly, accepting the truth instead of the answer she wanted.
“Did you think about us on our birthdays?”
Amelia looked at the taped spine.
“Did you keep pictures of us?”
“At first,” Katherine said.
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Why only three?”
“Did you keep pictures of us?”
Katherine looked down at the book.
“Because seeing them made it harder to pretend I hadn’t done something terrible.”
The honesty changed the room.
Not enough to heal it.
Enough to keep the questions coming.
“Did you know I was scared of thunderstorms?” Greta asked.
“No.”
The honesty changed the room.
“Did you ever wonder if we looked like you?”
“No.”
Amelia pulled one sleeve over her hand.
“Did you ever plan to come back before tonight?”
Katherine forced a dry swallow.
“Many times.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
The girls asked until there were no easy questions left.
“But you didn’t.”
Katherine did not blame fear, poverty, my accident, or the wealthy man who later ruined her.
For once, she stayed inside the consequences of her own choices and listened.
***
Near midnight, she looked toward me.
“I thought I came here asking for money.” Her palm rested on the closed book. “Instead, you showed me everything I can never buy back.”
She stayed inside the consequences of her own choices.
“That was always the debt, ” I replied, handing her an envelope.
Inside was enough for a deposit, groceries, and three months in a modest apartment.
She stared at the amount.
“Why?”
“Because the girls watched tonight.” I looked toward them. “I want them to understand compassion does not require pretending the past was acceptable.”
“Because the girls watched tonight.”
Katherine folded the envelope carefully.
At the door, Amelia hurried to the bookshelf.
She picked up the old storybook and placed it in Katherine’s hands.
Katherine held it against her chest.
“She’ll have something to remember us by,” I said.
Greta shook her head.
“No, Dad.” She looked at her mother. “So she can finally finish reading it.”
Katherine held it against her chest.
After Katherine left, the empty space on the shelf looked larger than one book should have made it.
Greta noticed me staring.
“Dad, what do we read now?”
I rested both hands on my wheels.
“I think we’ve reached the end of that story.”
Amelia chose another book from the shelf and placed it in my lap.
“Then let’s start a new one.”
“I think we’ve reached the end of that story.”
They settled beside me as they had for years.
Outside, Katherine paused near her car, the taped book held beneath one arm.
