Dangerous because as much as I lied to myself that we could run fast enough if we ever got caught, I knew the reality of that happening was slim.
When she was away from me, anything could happen, and I wouldn’t be there to stop it.
I wanted to hate that cute red and white uniform with its dark grey pinafore, frilly socks, and black shiny buckle up shoes, but I couldn’t.
I could only love it because it gave her access to a piece of life I’d been denied, and I wanted her to have it all.
From that day on, red was her favourite colour with only one exception.
Her ribbon.
Every morning, without fail, she’d have me plait or ponytail her hair and thread or bow her favourite blue ribbon. And every evening before bed, she’d have me free it and fall asleep with it wrapped around her fist.
I’d given her stolen teddy bears before. A stuffed unicorn. A talking hamster. But she wasn’t interested in any of them—stuffed or plastic. Nothing, apart from that damn ribbon.
That first week, as we repeated the routine of the day before and I dropped her off to strangers while forcing myself not to threaten them not to touch her, was the hardest week of my life.
I lost weight because I stopped eating while wedged in my tree.
I grew cranky because I didn’t sleep at night listening for noises of people sniffing around our house.
But as the days turned to weeks and Della returned time after time in her red and white uniform with pictures of smiling sunshines and squiggly writing as she learned more than I could teach her, I was forced to learn something, too.
I had to let go.
I had to allow life to take her the way she was meant to be taken and stop fighting the inevitable.
That was until everything changed.
Until the ninth week of school, when autumn arrived with bronze leaves and blustery chill and our time at Polcart Farm came to a sudden end.
Just like I knew it would.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DELLA
* * * * * *
Present Day
THIS IS WHERE the assignment gets hard, Professor Baxter.
I can tell you right now that there are things in my life—sorry, my story—that won’t be approved by some, won’t be believed by others, and will be judged as downright idiotic by most.
You see, if you ask someone how many birthday parties they’ve had, they’d most likely list the number of years they’ve been alive. If you inquired how many pets they had, they could probably give you a definite answer.
I have definite answers, just not on those subjects.
My subjects are strange.
Such as I hear you asking…
Well, I can tell you that there were four times that Ren and I separated. Only four, but they were the worst times of my life.
The first was his fault.
The second was mine.
The third and fourth…well, I’ll save those for another chapter.
Other topics that I have definite answers for are on trickier subjects than birthdays and pets. They are what you’d call confessions, I suppose.
Confessions of things I did because of hurt feelings and broken promises. Things he did because of loyalty and propriety and his unbreakable sense of honour. But again, I’m getting ahead of myself.
What I wanted to write today was the second time we separated, and how it was entirely my fault. He’d warned me what would happen if I went to school, but as a bold, invincible five-year-old, I didn’t believe him.
I teased him for being such a worrier. I made jokes at his ever vigilante watching, and even went so far as to yell at him for never relaxing and trusting other people.
He was right.
I was wrong.
It all started on a Wednesday morning I believe.
Ren dropped me off and I went to class, I smiled at Jimmy who loved dinosaurs, I drank my carton of milk even though it tasted like paper and glue compared to the freshly milked stuff from Snowflake, and I enjoyed yet another day of education.
My teacher—I can’t remember her name—made us copy a few math equations, and I think we did a science experiment…again, I can’t remember, but what I do remember—and this isn’t because Ren told me this story because he wasn’t there—but after lunch we had Show and Tell.
I didn’t know what that was to start with until other kids stood, talked about a toy or special possession, then sat down with praise from the teacher.
Sounds easy, right?
Yeah, I thought so too.
Seeing as I hadn’t brought anything to school with me, I asked if I could borrow Frosty the rabbit, and beamed as the teacher carried the white rabbit’s cage to the front of the class and smiled at me encouragingly.
I pulled Frosty from her hutch and held her tight just the way Ren taught me.
And then I told them what he’d told me.