Page 80 of For Fox Sake

We head back home, Finley and Archer disappear upstairs—as they often do—and I’m sitting on the couch in the living room staring at Ryan’s number, wondering if I should call her, when the little chat bubbles appear on the screen. Then my phone pings with an incoming text.

I can’t find Shirley.

I frown and hit the call button.

Ryan answers on the first ring. “She can’t sleep without it. I think today was a little too exciting and now she’s so tired she’s almost hyper.”

“It’s not in Ari’s bunk bed somewhere? She had it last night.”

She sighs. “No. We looked in there, under all the blankets on the top and bottom bunk, plus underneath the whole thing. I’m sure it’s here somewhere, I just have no idea where.”

Ari’s voice escalates in the background. “Mommaaaa.”

Ryan sighs. “I’m sorry to bother you. I can take care of this. She’s being stubborn.”

“Um, listen, we might have another Velveteen Rabbit here. It’s older and dustier, but I’ll bring it over if I can find it. Gimme a couple minutes and I’ll let you know.”

We hang up and I lift my gaze toward her room on the second floor, as if I can see through the walls into the space. I haven’t gone in Aria’s room since she died. I always knew part of my recovery would mean confronting the remnants of her life, everything she left behind, the room she occupied, decorated, and made her own.

Trudging up the stairs, my feet are like cement blocks. Each step clangs louder and louder.

My hands are shaking. This sucks. My therapist would be so proud of me right now though.

I stop at the top of the stairs. Faint illumination paints the floor of the hallway in a buttery glow. It’s coming from a Minnie Mouse nightlight, plugged into the wall by the bathroom door. I stare at the faded Disney character. It was Aria’s. When we were five, she insisted on moving it from her room to the hallway because I was scared of the dark. It probably hasn’t been touched since.

I can do this, for Ari. And for myself.

Pushing open the door, I flick on the light.

A lamp in the corner brightens to life, casting a faded glow over the musty room. The Velveteen Rabbit is still here, sitting on her pillow.

I stare at it. I just need to grab it and leave.

But I can’t move.

The world comes to a screeching halt.

Memories engulf me, running through my mind like a movie on fast-forward. Childhood laughter and games, playing with dolls and having tea parties, which I pretended to hate but truly didn’t mind one bit. The tears and drama and struggles of middle school, of new friends and fights and first crushes.

All of it, cut short too soon. Before she really had a chance to experience life.

I walk inside, taking a few steps before my legs give out, and I drop to a seat on the bed, running my fingers over the black and white bedspread.

Around freshman year, Aria decided she liked dark colors. Really, anything but pink. Her whole room transformed from Barbies and pastels to dark purples and blacks and pops of yellow.

I’m surprised there isn’t an inch of dirt over everything.

Finley’s probably been keeping it clean.

My gaze snags on a photo on the dresser of Aria with her best friend from school, Willow. Their arms are around each other, heads pressed together, bright smiles on both of their faces.

I saw Willow a couple years ago. Her parents own the hardware store in town. She wanted to meet up for coffee or dinner, to chat.

To chat about Aria.

I made up some lame excuse to avoid it, as one does.

My eyes trail over other relics from the past, a paperweight that Piper fashioned in the shape of a golden retriever and then painted in gold. Prince. The dog from The 10th Kingdom. Aria loved animals. Any animals. All animals.

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