“You start, Daddy. Your stories are better than mine,” I said, protected and comforted in the warmth of his presence.
He pointed overhead to the brightest start in the sky. “That’s Emma. She’s sad. Her parents don’t love her anymore so she decided to run away from home. She doesn’t have a mom and dad like you do. No one loves her.” I cuddled into my father’s side, confident and sure of his affection. Affection he didn’t even give to Matty.
It was mine.
Only mine.
“Why’s Emma sad?” I asked him; squinting up at the night sky as I tried to imagine the sad girl Daddy was telling me about.
“No one loves her, Layna. She has no one,” Daddy answered, his deep voice rumbling in his chest beneath my ear.
Poor Emma.
“But she has pretty eyes and a nice smile. And she trusts far too easily…” He drifted off, and I wished he’d tell me more about Emma, the sad but bright star.
He didn’t say anything again and the silence made me angry. I wanted my father’s words so seldom given. Not his quiet.
“That one’s Bubba!” I called out, maybe a little too loud.
My daddy laughed. “Tell me about Bubba,” he said.
“Bubba thinks he’s really smart but he’s not. One day, he’s walking in the woods and he gets his foot caught in a bear trap.”
Daddy squeezed my hand. “And then what happens, Layna?”
“He bleeds. A lot. And then he dies.”
My morbid imagination had always worried my teachers. Mom had been called into the school several times because of my drawings and stories. There was always blood.
Lots and lots of blood.
But it didn’t bother my father. He made me feel like my stories were perfect. That I was perfect.
“I love that story, Lay. It sounds like one of mine,” he said, kissing the top of my head. Daddy so rarely exhibited any physical affection so I wrapped myself up in the glow of his approval and held it close.
I smiled wide, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world to have a daddy like him.
I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more than to be just like my father.
His love mattered more because it hurt him so much to give it.
I couldn’t breathe.
I was sick inside.
The father and his son were gone, and I realized it was now dark.
When had that happened?
Where did the hours go? The sun had left me all alone.
My vision became fuzzy and my heart thudded painfully in my ears.
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.
The beast raged. The darkness invaded. The force of a thousand suppressed thoughts and emotions threatened to take me under.
I found my phone and dialed the number I knew by heart, knowing exactly what I needed.
The only thing that could pull me back from the edge that I was dangling over.
Ring, ring, ring.
The phone trilled shrilly in my ear.
The blood.
So much blood.
Scratching, groaning, aching silence.
Almost there…
“Hello?”
The air left my lungs in a violent whoosh.
I sagged to the ground, my chin pulled into my chest, the phone clutched to my ear.
I breathed. That’s all I could do.
“Hello?”
I didn’t say anything.
I just kept breathing.
“Layna,” the familiar voice said softly in my ear, recognition instant.
I wanted to smile but my face had forgotten how. I wanted to wallow in the blissful wretchedness of his voice.
“Bad day, huh?” he asked, knowing I couldn’t answer. Not right now.
But he gave me what I needed anyway. He always did.
“It’s one day at a time. That’s all we can do. But you being out there, that’s amazing. Your strength inspires me, Lay. It always has. And you’re nothing like him.” I wanted to sob and to scream.
More than anything, I wanted him to be right.
I wanted him to be wrong.
“You’re not him, Lay. You’re not him. You’re not him,” he chanted over and over again, giving me everything and nothing.
“I’m not him,” I finally said softly, my voice the barest breath of a whisper.
“You’re not him,” my brother promised.