I’m thinking about how things are changing.
I’m thinking about how we’re having a kid.
I’m thinking about how I would go to the ends of the earth for the man standing in the living room.
I’m thinking about my brother, who is finally coming home.
I’m thinking about his boyfriend, who I think knows the surprise Otter and I have, even though we’ve been trying to keep it a secret.
I’m thinking about my best friend and his wife. How happy they’re going to be for us.
I’m thinking about their parents, who will love this kid so much that he’ll never be alone.
I’m thinking about a lovely, crazy, beautiful old woman who had gathered us up in her arms and did her best to shelter us from the sharp edges of the world.
I’m thinking about everything we’ve gone through to get to this point.
But I’m not thinking about her. Even though she was the catalyst for it all, never her.
She’s no longer part of my vocabulary. She doesn’t have the right to be.
Maybe there are days when she’s there, just skirting the edges of my thoughts. But I don’t ever allow myself to focus on her. Not now. Not after all she’s done. Not since the Kid came home from his wayward journey in Idaho to see for himself what she’d become.
So, no.
I’m not expecting this.
There’s a little girl standing on the porch of the Green Monstrosity. And maybe I’m a little distracted, trying to half listen to Otter on the phone behind me, but there’s something about her, with her dark hair braided down the back of her head, loose little wisps hanging around her face. There’s a smudge of dirt on her nose. She’s got a backpack slung over her shoulder, her hand tight on the strap. Her eyes are wide as she stares up at me. She looks exhausted, and there’s something familiar about her that I can’t quite place.
“Can I help you?” I ask, trying not to show this little girl that I’m pretty much a fucking lunatic who is capable of impregnating a woman with a serial killer baby who could be born with a tail.
“Slow down, slow down,” Otter says into the phone. “Say that again, Megan.”
“Man,” the little girl on the porch says. “He sure wasn’t kidding. The color of this house is like an abomination against Mother Nature.”
A buzzing starts in my ears. “Who wasn’t kidding?”
She rolls her eyes, and I take a step back as if I’ve been shoved. I know that look. “Tyson,” she says. “You must be Bear. Derrick.”
“Wait,” Otter says. His voice sounds rough, like he’s having trouble speaking. “What?”
“How do you know my name?” I ask the girl, gripping the door tightly.
She fidgets on the porch. Looks away. Back at me, then away again. She opens her mouth, then closes it. She sniffs and grips the strap to her backpack even tighter. “Ty said if I ever needed help, I could find him here.”
“He’s on a trip,” I say dumbly. “He’ll be back this afternoon.”
“You’re shorter than I thought you’d be,” she says as if it’s nothing. “How disappointing to know that’s what I’ve got ahead of me.” She takes a deep breath. It comes out shaky.
“I don’t…,” Otter says, and he sounds so unsure that I want to go to him, but I can’t seem to make my feet move. “What do you mean hidden behind the other one?”
It hits me then. This little girl. Even though I probably knew as soon as I opened the door and saw her eyes that looked so much like my brother’s, so much like my own, so much like hers, it still takes me by surprise, and it’s like the Kid and I are standing in the kitchen picking ourselves back up again. That’s what we do. We get knocked down, we spit the blood out onto the ground, and we push ourselves back up. That’s what we’ve always done. That’s who we are.
She’s lost, Bear. And I don’t think she’s ever going to be found. Nothing’s changed. But….
What?
I met Izzie.