THE TROUBLE WITH PAPER PLANES(79)

Oh God. The café. I hadn’t even given it a second thought. I bet Bridget hadn’t either. “I don’t know. Maybe we should just put a sign up on the door – closed due to family bereavement, or something.”

“Good idea.”

She pulled away, looking up at me with her beautiful hazel eyes, creased with concern. “You look like you could do with something strong to drink.”

I huffed out a laugh. “You’re not wrong. But it’s not even nine yet, and I don’t want to tempt Alex.”

“Good point,” she sighed. “I never even thought of that.”

I rested my hands on her shoulders, tears building behind my eyes. “The only thing I really need right now is you.”

“Well then, you’re in luck. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

I drew her into my arms again as the tears threatened to fall. I didn’t want to lose it, not yet, not while there were still things to do. The longer I could hold off feeling – anything – the better it would be for all of us.

“We need to seriously do something about finding out about your past,” I said. “We need to start the process, at least. Ask questions, research – whatever it takes.”

It kept playing on my mind, the fact that Henry might’ve died not knowing that Maia was Emily and that she was home with us finally. It wasn’t fair.

Either she was Emily, or she wasn’t. If she wasn’t, that would answer that question. Then all we had to do was find out who she was. It was a massive undertaking, and one I still wasn’t sure we could accomplish, but we didn’t have a choice. Maia needed answers, and so did we.

I heard footsteps down the hall, and Alex came up behind us, walking over to the sink. He stood at the window, peering out through the net curtains into the backyard. Maia carefully pulled away from me, sitting herself down at the table beside me instead.

“How’s your Mum?” I asked quietly.

Maia was right. Why do people even ask that? Maybe it’s because we don’t really know what else to say.

He shrugged, his back to us still.

“Do you want a cup of tea or a glass of water or something?” Maia asked, standing up. “People drink tea at times like this don’t they? Come on, give me something to do. I can’t sit around here doing nothing anymore.”

I hesitated for a moment, but she was right. It was good to keep busy. This sitting around, waiting, staring at each other, wasn’t helping.

“Okay. Thanks.”

Alex turned around and leaned back against the bench. “Alright. Can I give you a hand?”

“That’d be great,” she smiled. “I don’t know where anything is.”

Alex walked over to the kettle, checked the water level and switched it on. He looked like he was moving through quicksand. I could definitely relate. Just standing up from the table was an effort.

Maia began opening cupboards. “Where does he keep the tea?”

Keep, not kept. Like he’d just stepped out of the room, not gone forever. Here, but not here.

I pointed to the far right-hand cupboard. “In there, the second shelf.”

She opened it and brought the box of tea-leaves over to the bench. She picked up the oversized teaspoon he kept in the box. “How many of these spoons?”

“Two,” Alex said immediately.

I watched her carefully spoon two shovels of tea-leaves into the pot, just as I’d watched Henry do a million times before. I got up and grabbed mugs for the four of us out of the cupboard on the other side of the kitchen, putting them on the bench.

“Do you think Bridget would like one?” she asked.

“Make one anyway,” Alex said. “She might drink it if it’s there.”

Maia nodded, leaning against the kitchen bench and waiting for the kettle to boil. Alex and I sat down at the table again. The noise of the boiling kettle echoed through the house, and it felt wrong, out of place.

Not right, just like this whole surreal morning.

“Does it freak you out?” Alex asked, as if reading my mind. “That he’s still in the living room?”

I tried to think straight even though I was exhausted from doing nothing but thinking this past hour or so.

“No, not really,” I said, as the kettle cranked up a notch. “I mean, it’s not really him, is it.” I looked back towards the living room, where Bridget sat with Henry. “I mean, it’s his body, but you can tell he’s not in there anymore.”