I will always put them first.
Quickly, I go to Rose beside the door. “Something’s in the closet.” Before I even suggest it, Rose is already speaking.
“Boys, stay in the hallway.” She ushers Beckett and Charlie back, and then her eyes flame against mine. “Is it a squirrel?”
“It might be.”
Rose rubs Jane’s back and whispers something in her ear.
Jane nods and sniffs loudly.
I pry my daughter off my chest and set her beside her brothers, my heart remaining with them and with her…I watch Rose clasp the doorknob.
She inhales, hesitant for a second. “It’s most likely a rat or a roach…”
“That’s a possibility too.” I can’t be sure what it is until I at least hear it.
“Do you need a baseball bat?” she asks, her voice higher-pitched in concern for my safety. “Pepper spray, a knife—”
I kiss her on the lips and murmur against them, “Je t’aime.” I love you.
Rose is frozen for a moment, but then she reciprocates. Warmth floods me, and when we tear apart, she says, “If you need backup, I’ll be in there in less than a second.”
I know she would. “I’ll keep this in mind, darling.” I clutch the other knob, on the other side of the door. The last thing Rose sees is my mounting grin.
The last thing I see is her sweltering glare.
And we shut one another out. The door clicks closed, and I focus my attention on Jane’s closet. What’s wrong, Jane?
The irrational side still believes a person has broken into her room.
The rational side is telling that side to stay fucking quiet.
I’m confident about my approach to the closet. I’m empty-handed, but the situation calls for less than my fists. I flick on the closet lights and then clasp both door handles. Swiftly, I pull them apart. Jane’s dresses and shirts and skirts are hung neatly throughout the walk-in.
I see it.
Instantly, I see.
I bottle my sentiments. Regardless, I’m not entirely sure what I feel at the moment. I just stoically approach the large woolen pillow that Jane keeps tucked by the floor-length mirror, towards the back.
Then I set a knee on the floor and find myself sitting next to this white pillow, a ball of orange fur in the center. I rub my lips, my tabby cat curled up and lifeless beside me. I’ve met death one other time in my life, and the emotions I grapple with still warp me, confuse me—bear against me.
Once upon a time, as the way most tales are told, I found this abandoned kitten. Sadie has been with me through years and years’ worth of time, but here, right here, the tale ends.
I whisper, “Adieu.” Farewell.
In the mirror, I catch sight of my features. If my eyes weren’t reddened, you’d think nothing was different, that nothing had changed.
Jane must’ve found the cat like this.
Sadie was fifteen and weak enough that she was ready to go—and she chose Jane’s closet because, like people, animals seek comfort at the sight of their end.
She sought comfort near Jane.
I stand and by the time I swing the door open, Rose is already halfway doing the same. She nearly falls towards me, but I clasp her hip and hold her close. Our children are seated patiently, huddled around Jane as she flips through a photo-book of countries and their capitals. She still silently cries, and her brothers try to cheer her up by pointing to the book.
“Look, Jane,” Beckett says until he catches her attention.
“Connor?” Rose stands rigid and alarmed. “Tell me I just need to call an exterminator or buy a rat trap—”
“Sadie is dead,” I whisper.
Her mouth falls. “What?”
“She’s not moving. I think she must’ve felt that she was going to go.” I swallow this strange lump in my throat.
Rose touches her lips, eyes widened in shock. “…in Jane’s closet?”
I nod. “I’ll carry the cat out.”
Rose holds onto my bicep, partially for support, I can tell. “She deserves more than a shoebox burial. She’s a Cobalt.” Rose fights tears and raises her chin to combat any waterworks.
“I agree,” I say softly, “but we still have an issue.”
Rose follows my gaze to our daughter, and with one knowing exchange, Rose and I take a seat in front of our four children. I help my wife ease down, and she lets out another long breath.
I don’t ask if she’s okay. Her glare says don’t talk about it, Richard and I only listen because she leans her weight against me. I wrap my arm around her waist.
“Jane,” Rose says, “what do you think you saw in your closet?”
Jane wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Sadie…she’s not well. She won’t move.” Jane bursts into tears again.
I bring her onto my lap, and she calms a little. The boys aren’t at a developmental age where they’ll be able to understand what this means, so they take more interest in the way we speak and the picture book.
“Will you make her better?” Jane croaks.
Rose looks pained, but I can say it all. I can speak as bluntly and as honestly as they need to hear. I wouldn’t sugarcoat life for a teenager or a one-year-old. So I don’t start now.
“No,” I say.
Jane’s chin trembles and her sadness flares into tearful anger. “Why not?!”
“She can’t be healed, Jane,” I say. “Sadie has died.”
Jane looks heartbroken, but she argues, “She can return again.”
“Once something or someone has died, it can never return.”
“Liar!” Jane wails like she never has before, tears splotching her cheeks. “You’re lying!”
Rose distracts the boys by sliding between them, lifting Eliot on her stomach.
My voice never changes octaves. “I would never lie to you, Jane, and if you don’t see this now, you will in time.”
Jane exhaustedly falls against my chest. Sobbing, she cries, “…I don’t want Sadie to die.”
In a hushed voice, Rose asks, “How much did you love Sadie, Jane?”
“So terribly much,” she mumbles into my chest.
Rose says, “Sadie felt all of your love. She lived with more affection because of your kindness and your heart.”
Our daughter’s big tearful eyes drift between her mother and me.
“You can be sad because she’s gone,” I whisper, “but you can also be happy because she existed.”
“You,” Rose says, “Jane Eleanor Cobalt had the honor of meeting Sadie Cobalt while she was still here.” Jane begins to nod, as though she had the good fortune to see Sadie when others didn’t. I tuck a piece of hair behind Jane’s ear.
“When you grow older,” Rose continues, “what will you tell all of your brothers about Sadie?”
Another tear rolls down Jane’s cheek. “How sweet she was.”
Rose and I exchange a look, and I nearly grin. I could call Sadie many things, but sweet would be far, far down the list.
Rose mouths, don’t correct her.
I mouth back, I won’t. I adore her opinion, no matter if it differs from mine. Beckett yawns, then Charlie. I say to them, “C'est l'heure d'aller au lit, mes chéris.” Time for bed, my darlings.
Jane flinches at the idea of returning to her bed, in her room, where Sadie is dead.
Rose is the first to say, “You’ll be sleeping in our bed, little gremlin.”
Jane relaxes at the thought. I stand up and set Jane on her feet. I clasp Rose’s hand and her waist, helping her rise.
Standing, Rose swats her hair out of her face and then plants her hands on her hips. Color suddenly drains from her cheeks and horror flits in her eyes.
Then I notice water gushing between her legs.
“No,” Rose mutters.
Her word doesn’t match the reality.
The world is very much saying yes.
Yes, Rose is giving birth the same day Sadie died.
We’re prepared. We always are, but the next ten minutes is still mayhem with four kids under four, a dead cat in a closet, and Rose obsessing over the dirtied hallway.
“Call my sisters,” is her first command.
I already called Lo, who then looped Ryke into the conversation. Lo and Lily are coming over to take Jane for the night while Ryke and Daisy take our younger children.