“It’s him!” Violet said.
I buzzed you in and opened the door. A few minutes later, you arrived in my living room. The first thing I noticed was that you’d shaved your head. Violet noticed too.
“Where’s . . . where’s your hair?” she asked, her tiny brow furrowed. It was the one expression that made her look like Darren.
Your eyes went quickly to me and then back to her. “It’s . . . in the laundry,” you told her.
“The laundry?” she echoed.
You shrugged, your dimple making a brief appearance. “Don’t you wash your hair when it gets dirty?”
Violet nodded. “But in the bath!”
You put the bags you were holding down onto the floor. “I thought the laundry would be easier.”
Violet looked up at me. “Can I wash my hair in the laundry?” she asked.
“We’ll talk about it later,” I told her.
She took off into the kitchen, assuming you’d follow, reciting the cookie-baking plans. But you stopped next to me. I held out my arms, and you fell into them. I felt your tears on my neck. “Why’d you shave your head?” I asked, quietly.
You straightened up and rubbed a hand over your eyes. “It’s a mourning ritual,” you said. “It felt right. Do I look that different?”
“Different, but still like you,” I said. “Are you sure you’re okay enough to make some cookies?”
“Of course,” you said. “And thank you. For having such a sweet daughter. For indulging her desire to cheer up a sad old man. For being there for me. It may sound absurd, but part of how I made it through everything in Arizona was by looking forward to today.”
After we mixed the dough and dropped it in different shapes on the cookie tray, after I slipped the tray into the oven, Violet got out a pasta pot.
“This is what we do so we don’t burn ourselves,” she told you. Then she turned on the oven light, put the pot in front of the oven door, and sat behind it. “We can’t reach the door now,” she said, and patted the spot next to her on the floor.
You sat there with her, the two of you watching the entire twelve minutes while the cookies baked, neither of you saying a word. I wondered what you were thinking. What she was thinking. But I didn’t ask. I watched you both, hoping that this day would help you, that Violet’s concern would mean something, that you would feel like you still had people who cared about you even though your mom was gone. I didn’t want you to feel untethered.
When the timer rang, Violet brought me the oven mitt that hung on the drawer next to the sink. “They’re ready!” she said. “And we can play Hide and Go Seek Castle while they cool.”
“Hide and Go Seek Castle?” you asked, standing up and taking the pasta pot with you.
Violet turned to you while I opened the oven door. “We dress up like people from a castle, and play hide-and-seek. You can be the king.”
I almost dropped the cookie sheet when she said that. Darren was the only person she’d ever let be the king. When Jay came over she had him be the magician. And my father and Darren’s father were always court jesters.
“Are you my queen?” you asked Violet, as she took your hand and brought you to her box of dress-up clothes.
“No!” she said, as if that were the most ludicrous idea anyone had ever come up with. “I’m the fairy! Mommy’s the queen.”
You looked over at me as I turned off the oven and walked toward you two.
After she’d put crowns on both of our heads, Violet slipped on her fairy wings and said. “Okay, king and queen, I’m hiding in your castle now! Count to twenty-three and then come find me!”
Twenty-three? you mouthed to me.
I shrugged. Violet ran off and we started counting.
“Louder!” she yelled from the hallway.
We’d gotten up to thirteen when I heard her say, “Hey! There’s a moat in this castle!”
I stopped counting. “A pretend moat?” I called.
“A real one!” she called back. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of small feet jumping in a puddle.
I ran out of the living room to the hallway. “Where are you?” I asked.
“It’s Hide and Go Seek Castle!” Violet said. “I can’t tell!”
She’d left the door to the laundry room open, though, and the puddle was expanding into the hall. “Oh, God,” I said, running toward the puddle.
You raced past me to Violet. “Found you!” you said to her. “I think this is the part where the king picks up the fairy and makes her fly!” You lifted Violet up and out of the puddle.
“Higher!” she shouted, laughing. “Fairies fly higher.”
I stood in front of the laundry room, staring. Shit, I thought, Shit, shit, shit. The water was still coming from the back of the washing machine. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed Darren.
“You okay?” he answered after the first ring.
“Me, yes,” I said. “The laundry room, no. There’s a huge puddle. I think the washing machine’s broken. Who’s our plumber?”
“Oh, hell,” he said. “I’ll e-mail you the number. Unless you want me to call?”
“No, no,” I said. “I’ll do it. Should I turn it off? Unplug it?”
“I have no idea,” Darren said. “Ask the plumber. I just e-mailed you. Let me know how it goes.”
I hung up and flicked to my e-mail. You came flying by with Violet. “Where’s your fuse box?” you said. “You need to cut the electricity to the washing machine.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, checking for Darren’s e-mail. “I was going to ask the plumber.”
“I’m sure,” you said, flying Violet in a circle. “You need to turn off the washing machine to stop the water from running, and you don’t want to deal with anything electric while standing in a puddle.”
“Oh,” I said. “That makes sense. It’s in the kitchen.”
You flew Violet into the kitchen, and then said, “Fairy coming in for a landing!” as you put her down on the countertop.
“More flying!” she said.
“The king needs to fix a few things,” you told her. You still had your crown on your head, only now it was slightly crooked.
She and I both watched as you adjusted your crown and flipped the fuse that said laundry room.