Page 18 of What We Keep
Tommy’s eyes widened a little. “Well, that’s a little sad.”
“It is. Sometimes people go through hard things,” I replied.
When Tommy had questions about what happened to his mom and dad, how I had adopted him, and how the rest of the family fit together, we’d set him up with a therapist to help us explain. The primary take-home point we learned was to share information in clear, simple terms.
Tommy, like most kids, was full of questions about everything. I didn’t know if he would bombard Elsa with them. I hoped not. Because, well, fuck. Talk about a loaded topic. Elsa’s dad had died, and Tommy’s mom had died, and both of our families lost our homes in a wildfire.
“Where are Jude, Asher, and Grady?” Cole asked as he fetched glasses from the kitchen cabinet and set them on the table.
Our family dinners tended to be slightly chaotic as to who would show up and when. “Jude texted he’d be here, but Asher and Grady are in town,” I explained.
“Right here!” Jude said in a singsong voice as he walked into the kitchen. “It’s official. I finished mounting all the bathroom cabinets. Do you think Elsa’s really going to help paint?”
Jude crossed over to sit at the table while Cole began setting plates out. That was his unofficial task most nights.
“She said she would. I don’t see why she wouldn’t,” I replied.
“Elsa’s going to paint?” Tommy looked up. “I wanted to paint.”
My mom ruffled his hair. “You have other chores. And school,” she pointed out. “Let Elsa paint.”
“Okay,” Tommy said easily. For the most part, he was an easygoing kid.
Although the rest of us all carried scars from the fire and losing Tommy’s mom and our dad, Tommy didn’t remember any of it because he was born in the midst of his mother’s passing. When it came to loss and grief, that turned out to be a blessing.
Just then, the chime for the main entrance echoed from the front into the kitchen.
“Oh, that must be Elsa!” My mom spun around, hurrying out of the kitchen toward the front.
Knowing Elsa was about to appear sent a sizzle of anticipation through me. I didn’t need to be distracted by Elsa, and I was seriously starting to doubt the wisdom of offering her a place to stay.
“Sweetie, you look so good!” My mom walked into the kitchen with Elsa a moment later. She slipped her hand through Elsa’s elbow and squeezed, smiling up at her.
“Thank you.” Elsa’s cheeks were a little pink, and she looked uncertain. An unfamiliar sense of protectiveness rose inside me.
“You know all the boys.” My mom gestured to Jude, Cole, Tommy, and me. Tommy waved as he finished chewing whatever he’d just tossed into his mouth. I’d discovered that little boys were bottomless vessels when it came to food. Tommy ate whatever was in front of him. He wasn’t picky. He liked everything. Even if he thought something was so-so, he would still eat it.
My mom released Elsa’s elbow, hurrying over to check something in the oven. “We are having spaghetti casserole tonight. Tommy loves it.”
“We all love it,” Jude said with an exaggerated brow waggle.
“It sounds delicious,” Elsa offered politely. She looked nervous, and I wanted to assure her the last thing she needed to worry about was being nervous around my family.
My mom was a collector of strays. Not too many, but she liked to mother people. Ever since Bree had died, that urge seemed to grow stronger. Maybe she couldn’t save Bree, but she wanted to take care of anyone who crossed her path and needed a little extra love.
“You can sit wherever you want, Elsa. Tommy’s in his favorite chair, and the rest of us just sit wherever,” my mom explained.
Elsa hesitated. I caught Cole’s eyes. He promptly plunked down in a chair beside Tommy. I sensed Elsa was waiting to follow our lead. I took a seat, but Elsa still waited. Jude belatedly picked up the cue and sat down beside me, and Elsa finally took the chair across from me.
“How’s Dolly?” she asked, glancing toward Tommy.
He beamed. “She’s great. I’m sure she’s sorry that she knocked you over. She was just so excited to see you the other day.”
Elsa bit her lip as she laughed. “I’m sure that was it.”
My mom clucked. “Dolly loves people, and she does get a little excited when she sees them. Tommy can take you on a tour of the rescue program. That’s where he works after school most afternoons.”
I lay in the darkness that night, feeling like the ceiling was mocking me. When we’d stayed here after the fire, my mom had put glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceilings of every bedroom, her small way of trying to find some whimsy in the midst of a tidal wave of loss. I chuckled to myself. This room had the Big Dipper twinkling in the darkness.
