She nodded and flopped down onto her pillow. I stepped up to the bed and took a few seconds to sort out the sheets and the blanket and to get them pulled over her. Once that was done, she said, “Would you like to read me a story?”
Mouse’s tail thumped enthusiastically against the wall.
“Sure,” I said. And we read Where the Wild Things Are.
When I finished, she said, “You didn’t do the voices right.”
“Hmmm,” I said. “Maybe I’ll do better next time.”
“I don’t know,” she said dubiously. “I guess you can try.” She looked at my face searchingly for a moment and then said, in a tiny voice, “Do you want to be my dad?”
I went blind for a few seconds, until I blinked the tears away.
“Sure,” I said. It came out in a tight croak, but when I said it she smiled at me.
*
By the time I’d finished the second run-through of Sendak’s opus, she was asleep.
I made sure the blankets had her all covered up, and kissed her hair, and then crouched down beside Mouse and put my arms around him.
“Thank you, boy,” I said. “Thank you for taking care of her.”
He leaned against me, tail wagging, and snuggled his huge head into my ribs. I petted him some more. “I have to go soon. But I need you to keep her safe. The Carpenters, too. Okay?”
He chuffed and snuggled a little closer.
“Missed you too, boy,” I said, rubbing his ears. “I just need a little time to figure this out. To figure out what comes next.”
Had I decided that I was going to be a dad to Maggie now? I examined myself and realized that indeed I had. When did that happen? And why hadn’t anyone kept me in the loop?
It had happened, I thought, the moment I had seen her, talked to her.
Oh my God.
That was terrifying.
And . . . exciting?
All things considered, I wasn’t sure I could put a lot of trust in my emotions at the moment. But one thing was certain.
If I wanted to keep my word to my daughter, I’d have to come back. That meant staying alive tomorrow.
I got up, gave Mouse a final round of petting and scratching, and padded quietly from the room into the upstairs hallway. The lights in the other rooms were out—except for the one in Michael and Charity’s room. A light burned there. The door was slightly open.
And I could see Charity, sitting on the edge of the bed in flannel pajamas, a tall blond woman with an excellent physique, whose hair was threading through with silver in style as she aged. Her tearstained face was miserable, as she spoke, presumably, to her husband, seated on the bed beside her. I couldn’t see him from there.
Obviously Michael had intended that talk to take place in private.
I turned away from it and went back down the stairs. I sat down on the bottom steps and tried to clear my head.
A few minutes later, Charity came down the stairs and sat down next to me. I made room.
“Where’s Michael?” I asked.
“Praying over the children,” she answered. “He always does that before he leaves. In case . . .”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You know,” Charity said, “I had intended to punch you in the nose, twice, the moment I saw you again. Once to make it bleed, once to break it.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm-hmm. The first time for trying to kill yourself. The second for using my daughter to do it.”
“You, uh. You know about that? How?”
“I watch. I listen. Her reaction to reports of your death was . . . too much. It took time, but I eventually worked out why she was so furious at herself.”
“You can hit me right now, if you think it would help,” I said.
“No,” she said tiredly. “I just wanted to tell you something.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “Kids need their father to come home safe, Harry. Make sure it happens.”
“I’ll bring him back to you or die trying. I promise.”
Charity glanced at me and then shook her head with a weary smile. “I wasn’t talking about Michael, Harry. I meant you.” She glanced back up the stairs, toward Maggie’s room. “That child has lost everyone she’s ever loved. Did you notice how close she stays to Mouse? Without him, I wonder if she’d be functioning at all. If anything should happen to you . . .”
“Ah,” I said quietly.
“Maggie doesn’t need to feel that pain again. Don’t let her down.”
I chewed on my lip and nodded with my watery eyes closed. “Right.”
“And . . . please remember that Michael has children who need him, too. Please.”
“I’ll bring him back or die trying,” I repeated.
Charity exhaled a shaky breath, and then touched my shoulder gently. “Thank you. God be with you and bring you home safe, Harry. Both of you.”