Night Road(85)

“We could talk about Mia.”

“No,” Jude said sharply. She’d learned a long time ago that talking about Mia only sharpened the pain.

“You need to talk about her. You need to remember her and grieve.”

“I do nothing but grieve.”

“No. Your grief is an artery that’s been clamped off. If you don’t take that clamp off and let it flow, you’ll never heal.”

“So I won’t heal,” Jude said tiredly, leaning back into the sofa. “Big surprise. How about if we talk about Miles? We made love last week. That’s a good sign, don’t you think?”

Harriet sighed and made a notation on her pad. “Yes, Jude. That’s a good sign.”

*

Every day after kindergarten was over, Grace went to the Silly Bear Day Care until Daddy got home from big-boy school.

On good days, like today, they all got to play outside, but Mrs. Skitter made them walk from the day care to the beach holding a scratchy yellow rope. Like they were babies.

As usual, Grace was at the very front of the line, right behind the teacher. She could hear the other kids laughing and talking and horsing around. She didn’t join in; she just followed along behind, staring at the big pillows of her teacher’s butt.

When they reached the beach park, Mrs. Skitter gathered the ten of them in a circle in front of her. “You know the rules. No going in the water. No fighting. Today we’re going to play hopscotch in the sand. Who wants to help me make the squares?”

Hands went up, kids started yelling, “Me, me, me!” and bouncing up and down. It reminded Grace of the baby birds she’d seen at the newborns exhibit her dad had taken her to. Chirp, chirp.

She walked over to her usual spot. Everyone knew she liked it here. She sat on a log in the sand, way out of the waves’ reach. Sometimes, if she was lucky, she saw a crab or a sand dollar. Mostly, she just talked to her best friend.

She stared down at the pink band she wore on her wrist. On its center, where there used to be a Minnie Mouse watch, her daddy had placed a small round mirror, about the size of her palm. It was the best present she’d ever gotten. It had allowed her to leave her bedroom. Before the wrist mirror, she’d spent hours standing in front of her bedroom mirror, talking to her friend, Ariel, who was a princess on another planet.

Grace wasn’t stupid. She knew that some of the other kids made fun of her for having an invisible friend, but she didn’t care. The kids in her class were stupid anyway.

None of them knew how quiet this planet could be, so they hadn’t learned to listen like she had. She was used to quiet. Her grandparents’ house was like a library sometimes.

There was something wrong with Grace. She’d known that her whole life, even if she didn’t know what it was. People didn’t like her, not even her grandma. Grace tried to be likable and nice and quiet, she really did, but none of it ever worked, and things just went wrong for her, no matter how hard she tried. She broke things and tripped over stuff and couldn’t seem to learn her letters.

Hey, Gracerina, Ariel said.

Grace looked down at the circle of glass. She couldn’t really see Ariel. It wasn’t like that. She just knew her friend was there now, and she could hear the voice in her head.

Grownups always asked Grace how she knew when Ariel was around or what her best friend looked like. Grace told them Ariel looked exactly like Cinderella.

It was sort of true.

She couldn’t actually see Ariel, but she knew when her best friend was in the mirror and when she was gone. And she did look like Cinderella. Grace would swear it.

She still remembered the first time Ariel had shown up.

Grace had been a baby, still in diapers. She’d been home with Nana, who used to babysit sometimes when Daddy was busy with school. All Grace remembered about those days was the sound of Nana crying. Everything made Nana sad: the music on the radio, the color pink, the dumb old green sweater hanging in the entry, the closed door upstairs. And Grace.

Just looking at Grace made Nana cry.

One day, Grace had done something wrong. She didn’t know what it was. All she knew was that one minute she was standing there with a stuffed pink puppy that she’d found in her grandparents’ room, and the next minute Nana was yanking the puppy out of her hands so hard Grace stumbled sideways and plopped onto her butt.

Nana burst into tears and so did Grace. She waited for her daddy, but no one came to get her, and finally she just sat there alone, sucking her thumb.

Then she’d heard someone say her name.

Gracie, come here … follow me …

She’d wiped her slimy nose and stood up. Holding her yellow blanket, she followed the voice up the stairs to the door that was always shut. No one ever played in this room.

Inside, it was like something out of a fairy tale, all pink and yellow and perfect.

Over by the dresser was a big mirror that was shaped sort of like a football, with a red and gold flag stuck into the hinge. A bunch of glittery gold stuff framed the oval mirror—bracelets and metal flowers and sparkly rainbows.

Gracerina?

She remembered peering into the mirror, seeing a flash of yellow and smear of pink.

You okay?

Grace frowned, looked harder, seeing … something. A girl, maybe, a little older than her. Are you okay? the girl asked.

“I’m bad,” Grace said, feeling tears start again. “Grace bad.”