Chapter 10
On Nora’s seventh birthday, Ivy woke me before sunrise.
“We have to start the cake,” she whispered.
“It’s six in the morning.”
“Then we’re late.”
I followed her to the kitchen. Rosa was already there, wearing an apron. Maya had promised to come later with decorations.
Nora was asleep upstairs. She had asked for a small party at home, a strawberry cake, and a seat beside the window where she could watch everyone arrive.
We had checked with her three times.
Each time, she gave the same answer.
“I want people who know me.”
By noon, the reading nook was filled with paper stars. Rosa set Grace’s photograph on a shelf near Nora’s favorite books. It was Nora’s choice to have her mother there for the day.
Friends from school arrived. Maya brought too many balloons. Ivy guarded the cake until Nora was ready to see it.
When Nora came downstairs, she stopped in the doorway.
“You made the stars yellow,” she said.
“Your favorite,” Ivy replied.
“I thought yours was blue.”
“Today I like yellow.”
Nora hugged her.
I watched them move around the house together. One year earlier, Ivy had slipped bread through a gap because she knew someone on the other side was hungry.
Now she carried plates with Nora and introduced her to friends as “my big sister.”
I had spent months trying to make both girls feel safe. They kept showing me how much they could give one another too.
After the guests left, Rosa and Maya stayed for dinner. Nora brought out her memory box and asked Rosa to tell a story about Grace.
Rosa told us about a day Grace took Nora to the beach when she was three. The wind kept blowing their picnic blanket away, so Grace sat on one corner and Nora sat on the other.
“I refused to move,” Nora said. “I remember.”
“You did,” Rosa replied. “Your mom had to bring the sandwiches to you.”
Nora laughed.
I had not known Grace as a mother. I learned about her one story at a time, from Nora and Rosa. I did not rush them. Each story gave Nora more of the life she had before she came to us.
When Rosa finished, Nora turned to me.
“Tell the fair story.”
I took the old photograph from the box.
“Your mom beat me at every game except the one where you throw rings over bottles,” I said. “I won a stuffed bear. I acted like I’d done something amazing.”
“She thought you had,” Rosa said.
“She laughed at me for carrying it all afternoon.”
Nora leaned against my shoulder.
“You both look happy.”
“We were.”
We put the photograph back beside Grace’s.
Later, after Rosa and Maya went home, I helped Nora into bed. Ivy climbed up beside her, holding Button.
“Can Button stay here?” she asked.
“He lives here,” Nora said.
I tucked the blanket around both of them.
Nora looked up at me.
“Are you staying?”
“I’ll be downstairs cleaning up, and then I’ll be in my room.”
“If I call?”
“I’ll come.”
She nodded.
“Grandma said Mom loved me before she knew what I’d look like.”
“She did.”
“Did you?”
I felt the weight of all the years I had lost. I would not tell Nora I had loved a child I did not know existed. She deserved words she could trust.
“I didn’t know about you then,” I said. “I love you now. I’m glad I get to know you more every day.”
She reached for my hand.
“That’s a good answer.”
Ivy took my other hand.
“You loved me before you saw me,” she said.
“Yes, I did.”
Nora smiled at her.
“You got a head start.”
“You can catch up,” Ivy said.
I kissed both their foreheads and turned off the lamp. The hall light remained on, the way Nora liked it.
Downstairs, I washed the cake plates. I could see the open reading nook from the kitchen. No hidden panel stood between it and the rest of the house.
There were shelves, yellow stars, and two books the girls had left on the floor.
I went to put the books away, then stopped.
I would ask them to help me in the morning. They would complain a little, and we would do it together.
From upstairs came Nora’s sleepy voice.
“Daddy?”
I took the stairs two at a time.
“I’m here,” I said from the doorway.
“I know.” She smiled without opening her eyes. “I just wanted to say good night again.”
“Good night, Nora.”
“Good night, Daddy.”
I stayed until her breathing grew steady. Ivy slept beside her, one hand curled around the rabbit they had shared.
The house was quiet.
May you like
Both my daughters were safe in it.
I left the hall light on and went to bed.
