Page 220 of Ice Darling
“Daddy said Delia wasn’t coming for dinner. And I wanted to see her.”
“You went under the table to see me?” Cordelia repeats breathlessly.
“This was not an episode,” Mrs. Raina explains. “It was more like”—she rubs Gordie’s head—“the scheme of an incredibly intelligent little girl.”
I’m so astonished, I can’t even speak.
“So she was putting on an act?” Cordelia explains hesitantly.
“Yes.”
Cordelia blows out a breath, and the shaky sound perfectly sums up what I’m feeling.
“Daddy, are you mad?” Gordie asks in a tiny voice.
“No, sweetie.” I shake my head. “I’m really happy that you weren’t in a bad place.”
Gordie runs up and hugs me around my neck. “I wasn’t sad. I promise. I just wanted Delia to come.”
I engulf her in a hug, being extra careful not to squeeze too tight this time.
“Thank you, Gordie,” Mrs. Raina says with a proud smile aimed in my direction. “You can finish coloring while I talk to your dad and?—”
“My new mommy!” Gordie fills in.
Cordelia’s eyes widen while I internally face-palm. I’ve talked to Gordie about this and was hoping that she’d never blurt that out in front of Cordelia. So much for hoping.
Mrs. Raina smiles in a way that tells me this isn’t her first time hearing it either.
“G-Gordie, I’m not—” Cordelia shoots me a quick look as if to check that this language is okay with me. “The thing is…um…your first mommy; I mean, your, um…”
“Gordie and I have talked about this at length,” Mrs. Raina explains. My eyebrows hike because that’s news to me. “But when it comes to mommies, Gordie has a preference.”
Gordie nods firmly. “Mrs. Raina wants me to talk about my mommy, but that makes me feel sad.” She beams a smile at Cordelia. “I want to talk about you because that makes me happy.”
Cordelia’s jaw drops even farther.
“Gordie, go ahead and finish coloring while the adults talk.”
When my daughter’s occupied, I pretend I didn’t hear Gordie’s parting words and ask, “Was she really not having an episode? Is Gordie truly okay?”
“Rather than tell you, I’ll show you.” Mrs. Raina hands over Gordie’s old journal. “You can take a look too, Miss…”
“Cordelia.”
Mrs. Raina dips her head in acknowledgement.
I hold the book where both Cordelia and I can see it and turn the page. The first picture is of a lone figure with pigtails. She’s colored in hard crayon scratches. Whoever did this was pressing very hard on the page. The second picture is of a man in a hockey jersey far away and a woman with a giant X crossed over her.
I wince.
The pictures follow the same pattern of hard crayon scratches, lots of black, dark blues, and nighttime scenes. But eventually, a motorcycle appears in one of the pictures.
“That looks like my bike,” Cordelia says.
Mrs. Raina smiles as if her words just confirmed something.
The picture journal continues, and the bike image starts popping up more. At first, it’s parked in front of a creatively pink house with a red roof. And then, a small girl is riding on it. Eventually, both I and a woman in a square jacket—an imitation of Cordelia’s leather jacket—appear on every single page.
