“But I don’t see them out there. I don’t hear them either.”
“They’re probably farther away. Down in the parking lot. Now try not to worry, Sylvie. I know it’s hard. Your sister’s behavior this evening upset me too. But difficult as it is to watch your father be so tough on her, it’s what she needs. Something has gone wrong with Rose, and we’re working hard to make it right.”
I didn’t want to turn my attention away from the world outside that window, but I forced myself. Pajamas. Hairbrush. Toothbrush. Once I pulled those things from the suitcase, I slipped into the bathroom. When I stepped out, I saw that my mother had unfolded the cot my father ordered. On account of his back, he needed his own bed. He and Rose could work out who slept where when they returned, my mother told me, and I could sleep with her.
Before pulling down the covers, she knelt and clasped her hands in prayer. When I was little, I used to kneel with her each night when she came into my room to tuck me in. No longer. And my prayers had become more of a mental wish list I ticked off with my head on the pillow. Still, I knew she expected me to join her, so I knelt on the opposite side of our hotel bed. Eyes closed, I prayed that my father and Rose would stop fighting. I prayed that whatever had gone wrong with Rose would go right, just the way my mother said. After that, I waited in silence until I heard her stand, and I stood too.
In bed with the lights off, we listened to the rise and fall of each other’s breaths. Rather than her usual milky scent, I smelled the perfumed hotel soap on her skin. How much time passed? I was not sure, but when my mind wouldn’t give itself over to sleep, I whispered, “Are you awake?”
“Yes, dear. I am.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“You know the rule.”
The rule. It had been a while since she or my father mentioned it, but this is what it was: Rose and I could ask any questions or share anything we were feeling. In return, our parents would listen and do their best to understand. Despite the rule, I felt nervous saying, “Back at the conference center . . .”
“Yes?”
“That man. That girl.”
“You mean, Albert and Abigail Lynch?” The way my mother said their names, it was as though she had been speaking of them all her life.
“Yes.”
“What about them?”
“How . . . how did you, you know, do what you did?”
My mother paused before responding. I shifted my head on the pillow so I was that much closer. At last, she said, “The most truthful answer I can give you or anyone else, Sylvie, is that I don’t know. All I can say is that it’s something I have done for a long time without understanding the whys and hows of it all.”
“How long have you done it?”
“Well, it began when I was a girl not much older than you. I find there are moments when I am overcome by certain feelings about things. You know that much already. But sometimes, what I feel most of all is another person’s need for peace. A soul can be so scared, so troubled, so lonely and sad in this world, Sylvie, and when that happens, what’s needed most is a promise of calm, of comfort, of safety. That’s what I did my best to give that girl tonight.”
“But you didn’t even speak to her.”
“It’s not about speaking. It’s about sensing what’s inside a person. Most people could do the same if they tried. I know you certainly could.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” She laughed. “There’s no one else here but us, is there?”
“But how would I do it?”
“I’m sorry to say I don’t have a set of instructions. But, well, try looking at me.”
My mother moved her pale, pretty face still closer on her pillow. In the slash of light that came through the gap in the curtains, I could see her glittery green eyes blinking. For a long while, the two of us were silent, gazing at each other, breathing softly, until at last, in her whispery voice, she said, “Tell me now. What have I been feeling as we lie here?”
I did not plan my answer, but out it came. “That you love me.”
My mother smiled. She leaned forward, kissed my forehead.
“Was I right?”
“Right that I love you? Of course.”
“No. Was I right in guessing that’s what you were thinking?”
“First of all, Sylvie, ‘guessing’ is not the word for what we are talking about.”
“Well, you know what I mean.”
“I don’t need to answer that question for you. You know the truth already. What I will say is this: each of us is born into this life with a light inside of us. Some, like yours, burn brighter than others. You don’t see that yet, but I do. What’s most important is to never let that light go out, because when you do, it means you’ve lost yourself to the darkness. It means you’ve lost your hope. And hope is what makes this world a beautiful place. Do you understand what I am trying to say?”
“I think so,” I said if only not to disappoint her.
“That’s my good girl. It won’t always be easy, but you have to believe. Okay?”