Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2)(61)

“Very tired. She needs a lot of rest, lots of fluids, but once the antibiotics kick in, the infection in her lungs should start to clear soon.”

The nurse walks to the door, turning to give me one last instruction.

“Just don’t wake her. Sleep will help her recover better than anything else.”

Don’t wake her. I can manage that. After the fight it’s taken to find her, to get to her, it feels anti-climactic to just sit here and wait for her to wake up. I feel pretty damn helpless. This feels completely useless to her, but for me, it’s everything. Seeing the steady rise and fall of her chest. Knowing she’s going to be okay. Getting to hold her small fingers between mine on the sheets, it’s everything.

She’s everything.

Seeing her crumble to that stage only solidified that. She’s the one thing in my life worth protecting. All the money, the fame, the career, my ambitions—it can all go to hell.

This—she—is the one thing I must have. The one thing I must keep.





“MAMA, GET UP.”

I don’t say it loud enough to wake her. I just have to say it. She hasn’t left the bed in two days. Not since Daddy left. No one told me he’s gone, but I know. Even if I hadn’t overheard Aunt Ruthie talking about it, even if I hadn’t heard Mama crying, I would know. The house is too quiet. His big laugh isn’t filling every room at once. There’s a certain way he clears his throat when he’s studying, and I haven’t heard it in days. His office is empty, his Bible left open to the last passage he taught me about a deep love.

He’s never missed a recital because he loves to see me dance, but for the first time, he wasn’t there. I didn’t know until the end when Mama met me backstage, wearing her worry face, as Daddy always called it.

“Where’s Daddy?” I had looked past her and all around at the other girls whose mamas were taking pictures of them in their tutus and ballet slippers.

“He must have gotten held up at the church.” Mama grabbed my hand and started toward the exit.

Only he hadn’t come home for supper. And when I went into their bedroom, their closet door stood open, half the space empty where his clothes had been.

He’s gone. And Mama’s gone, too, even though she’s huddled under the covers.

A noise from the kitchen makes me jump. A door closing and heavy steps.

Daddy!

It has to be. He’s back. He’s come home. Mama can get out of bed and cook dinner. I’ve had nothing but cereal for the last two days. Everything can go back to the way it was. I rush to the kitchen, smiling ‘til my eyes squinch at the sides. I round the corner, ready to throw myself up and into his big arms.

Only it’s not him.

I skid to a stop at the kitchen door. Aunt Ruthie hangs her coat over the chair at the table and pulls off her work boots, the ones she uses to go out in the garden. She drops a bushel of collard greens into the sink.

“You remember how to clean greens, Kai Anne?” Her voice is quiet, her eyes sadder than I’ve ever seen.

“Yes, ma’am.” I drag one of the chairs over to the sink and climb up onto it.

She reaches into the drawer, searching through the utensils until she finds the dullest knife.

“You remember how we cut ‘em off the stem?” She hands me the knife. “Be careful with that.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I bite my lip, not wanting to ask the question. Not wanting to be a bother. “Am I going to dance class today?”

Aunt Ruthie frowns, her eyes going to the door.

“Where’s your mama?”

“Um, she’s still in bed.”

Her eyes get narrow.

“How was school today?”

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t go to school.” I look down at the dull knife in my hand. “I stayed here. How was church Sunday?”

For the first time in all my years, we didn’t go to church on a Sunday. We’ve never missed except for snow. Once I was sick and I still went. Mama said Jesus died for the sick and the weary. I was sick and she was weary, so we were both dragging ourselves to church. Mama never wanted to miss one of Daddy’s sermons. And even though we missed church, she didn’t miss his sermon. Because for the first time, Daddy missed church, too.

Where is he? The idea that he actually left us, left me, is too big for my head, so I just start cutting leaves off the stem in the sink.

“Don’t you worry about church for a while now, Kai Anne.” Aunt Ruthie rubs my hair, straightening out one of the glittery bows still in my hair from Saturday’s recital. “Did you take your bath last night, child?”

“No, ma’am.” I shake my head. I haven’t had a bath since right before Saturday’s recital. Not since Daddy left.

Her eyes drift over to the table where my box of Fruit Loops is still open on the table.

“What’d you have for lunch, honey?”

“Cereal,” I answer quietly. “It’s all right. I love Fruit Loops, Aunt Ruthie.”

Even at eight, I know it’s not good. I know something’s mighty wrong with Mama if I’m eating cereal for every meal, not bathing, and still have bows in my hair from two days ago. Mama’s picky about most things, but most of all about me. And for the last two days, she forgot I was even here because Daddy’s not.