The girls miss you. Even with all the things I am angry about, I cannot take away the fact that you were a wonderful father. Hannah has stopped asking for you daily. It was hard on Leah, but it’s getting better. Our life is permanently altered now. And if it ever comes out that you chose this path, I will never forgive you.
I heal a little every day. I finally fixed the broken spindle in the banister. I replaced the doorknob in Hannah’s room. I’m learning to do your household chores. It’s tough work, being you and me at the same time, but I’m stronger than I ever imagined.
Love, Claire.
I opened one eye. Hannah stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed in fury. I closed my eyes and prayed for it to be a dream. Will I ever sleep past seven again?
“Mommy, this is ’portant. Leah said that she wants to be Rapunzel, too. Today is trick or treat, and Leah’s gonna ruin it. Wake up!”
“I’m awake, Han. I’m awake.” I sat up and blinked. Geesh, the bedroom was a mess. “Well, Hannah, we have two Rapunzel dresses somewhere, I think, in the playroom. If Leah wants to be Rapunzel, too, I don’t see why not.”
“Because. The movie did not have two Rapunzels.” She held up one finger an inch from my face. “It had one Rapunzel. And that’s me. Because I have long blond hair, and Leah has curly brown hair. She can be Belle.”
It was easily the fourth Halloween discussion that week.
“I am not Belle. I don’t even like Belle. She wears ugly yellow. I want to be Rapunzel,” Leah said from the doorway.
Hannah turned to her. “Leah, you are the little sister. You have to do what I tell you to do. And I say you have to be Belle.”
I held up my hand. “Hannah, you know as well as I do that no one tells Leah what to do. Now listen. We have two trick or treat nights. One tonight here, and one tomorrow in Nanny and Pop-pop’s neighborhood. You can be Rapunzel tonight, and Leah can be Rapunzel tomorrow.”
“But—” two voices cried in unison.
“That’s it. Take it or leave it,” I commanded.
They filed out of the bedroom, angry at each other, but angrier at me. Newly joined in solidarity against a common enemy, they huddled in Hannah’s room. I heard whispering. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I looked at the clock. Six thirty. Good grief.
That evening, I escorted two Rapunzels up and down the neighborhood streets. I made small talk with the neighbors and visited briefly with Robin and Rob Masters who, prior to Greg’s memorial service, I hadn’t seen in months.
“How are you holding up?” Robin asked, pouring me a cup of hot apple cider.
I shrugged. “Better every day,” I said truthfully.
Robin and Rob had no children, but were about ten years older than I was. I never knew if they couldn’t conceive or if they chose not to. They seemed to love children. I heard Hannah in the living room, explaining hers and Leah’s costumes to Rob.
“I am Rapunzel, and this is Rapunzel’s little sister,” she said proudly.
“Oh, wow!” Rob exclaimed. “What is her name?”
“Rapunzel!” Leah replied, indignant.
I smiled at their ingenious solution.
“I can’t imagine, Claire. I’m so sorry for this year. I know I’ve said it to you a few times, but if you ever need anything, we’re always here.”
I did know that, and I appreciated it. I briefly wondered why Greg and I hadn’t become closer to the Masters than just sharing friendly neighborhood banter. We should have done dinners, picnics, or neighborly things. I made a mental note to try harder, to connect. Small ripples. So many things seemed like small ripples, minor effects of Greg’s disappearance.
We drank our apple cider, traded small talk, and then waved goodbye as the girls and I continued on the very important business of Trick-or-Treating.
Chapter 26
I sucked it up and made plans to visit Drew the second weekend in November. I got the girls all hyped up to spend the night at Nanny and Pop-pop’s and dropped them off Saturday afternoon.
I took the train from Annandale into Manhattan, where Drew would pick me up. I hadn’t seen him since the memorial service and had only spoken to him once. Our friendship had changed over the past year. I didn’t know if it was because I had needed him so much or because Greg was technically no longer in the picture. Our past few encounters had fallen into one of two categories: fraught with tension, or formal and distant.