Chapter 16
Hands planted on my hips, I glare at up at Grover. “Where’ve you been? I was five seconds away from sending out a search party.”
He blows by me and grunts. “Huh. You and everyone else. How’s she doing?” He stops short. Takes in the neat and tidy area for a split second, then sinks to his knees beside Mommy. He places his big hand on her head, runs a thumb over her temple. He raises his head. “How’d you manage this?” he asks.
“I mean…we kind of had a bonding moment? Maybe?”
“Sorry I missed it.” He laughs a little.
Amelia shuffles over—still walking weird from her leg—but so much better. “That’s not all you missed. Tell him, Darcie.”
I stuff my hands into my coat pockets; my stomach gurgles, more from nerves than hunger. What if he’s mad? He said he’d take us home today. What if he doesn’t now?
“I…uh…I told her everything you told me—about the cabin, the foster thing, and that you came back to take care of her when you turned eighteen.”
Grover opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. His mouth stays open and he just stares past me.
“She heard me, Grover. She understood. I just hope she remembers when she wakes up—but even if she doesn’t—I promise, she got it. She gets that you’re her son.”
He nods once, clearing his throat to hold back the emotion.
Mommy stirs and opens her eyes. They lock onto Grover, who doesn’t move. Amelia grabs my hand, and we watch, hopeful that there’s a connection. I bite my lip. Please, please let her know him.
I really want this for him. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t—not after everything he did. But now that I know his story…their story…I sort of get why he did what he did.
As her shoulders relax and his fists slowly unclench, they’re not strangers to me anymore. Just people.
Finally, her eyes light up. She knows him, and her smile is all rotten teeth and gums. Grover smiles back, tears making tracks down his wind-burned face.
“My… baby’s… come… home.” Her breaths are shallow and quick—like her lungs are barely getting any air before she exhales. No one has ever worked so hard to get four words out.
Grover’s lips pull tight with emotion. He looks at me for half a second—like he sees everything I did for her—but then he clears his throat and pulls Old Man’s Beard from his pocket. “Brew some tea for her, will ya, Darcie?”
But Mommy’s having none of it. She shakes her head, then lays it against Grover’s chest. “Sing,” she whispers, gesturing for us to come close.
Amelia and I move forward. I scoop up Andrew, who hangs limply, still sound asleep; slobber leaking from the corner of his mouth. We gather around Mommy’s bed, and the cave suddenly feels cozy. No longer claustrophobic, or oppressive, or even scary. Just…peaceful—
We sing, Silent Night. Holy night. All is calm, all is bright.
The fire flickers, throwing shadows across Mommy’s face. And for a moment, I see her. The person she was. The person she might have been if life hadn’t gone and chewed her up.
Round yon virgin, mother and child—Holy infant, so tender and mild.
Mommy’s chest rises—just barely—as she pulls in a breath. A smile spreads across her lips, and she’s actually…beautiful.
Sleep in heavenly peace; sleep in heavenly peace.