Page 13 of This Broken Heart
Erin scoops her up, studying Maven’s scribbles with a serious eye. “Is this for me?”
Maven nods, wrapping her fingers around Erin’s braid. “My hair.”
She pats her own head, tugging violently on Erin’s braid.
Erin just grins. “You want a braid, too?”
Maven nods.
Erin glances at me. “Do you have any hair ties?”
“I know where they are!” Trace shouts, disappearing down the hallway. He sprints back, a brush and one of Ana’s hair ties in his hand.
A pang of loss shoots through my chest. I don’t like having Ana’s stuff disturbed, but it surprises me that Trace knew where to find her things. Ana’s been gone for two years, and I’ve started wondering how much Trace actually remembers. Sometimes, I forget Ana is gone. I’ll think of things I want to tell her, only to remember she isn’t here anymore. It hurts my heart to think Maven won’t remember her at all. But maybe Trace is holding on to more memories than I realized.
Erin sets Maven down on a kitchen chair and starts brushing her hair, starting at the tips and working her way up. I watch, realizing I’ve been brushing their hair all wrong. I always start at the top, wrestling with the rat’s nests that form on the way down. No wonder it gets so tangled.
Maven doesn’t have enough hair for a braid, but Erin puts it in a little ponytail on top. “It’s a cute little pumpkin stem.”
It’s amazing how the little rubber band instantly transformed Maven from a feral toddler into a little grown up. As her chubby little hands feel the way her hair is gathered at the top of her head, I can’t help but realize how big she’s getting.
How did that happen?
Life has been stuck in a holding pattern for me ever since Ana got sick. Maven was just a few months old. Trace was the same age Maven is now. Time is moving on, tearing me in two. Sometimes, I miss Ana so much it overwhelms me. Feeling my throat getting thick again, I cough and scoop Trace up.
He tries to make a case for staying home from preschool. It’s Erin’s first day. He claims she’s going to need him to show her around.
But his teacher is a stickler and would not approve. After a bit of a debate, he lets me drag him to the truck.
He sits in his car seat, watching the frozen fields blur by. “Is Erin going to be home when I get back from school?”
I’m not sure. If I fire her first, she’ll be long gone. “Maybe.”
“Is she going to live with us now?”
“We’ll see, bud.”
He’s quiet for a bit. “I hope she does.”
“You do?”
I glance at him in the rearview. He nods. “We need a mom in our house.”
I wince. “She wouldn’t be your mom, bud. You already have a mom.”
“Not around, though.” Trace says. “I like her. She’s pretty.”
“Is she?”
He nods. “Like a Disney princess. Do you think she sings?”
I laugh. “I’m not sure, bud.”
“I hope she does. Princesses are supposed to sing.”
9.
Erin