Page 48 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
He looks down at the horse, tilts his art pad. “Really?”
“I probably should’ve gotten you something more advanced,” I say, and he beams again.
On the TV, a corpse dressed as a golfer explains to Bill Murray that he’s about to be visited by three ghosts. That old shtick.
“He’s kinda scary,” says Bella. “I don’t like him.”
Grace pulls her close. “It’s all pretend. Just an actor wearing scary makeup.”
Then a sound comes from the kitchen: a metal clank and a burst of rustling panic. Grace and I look at each other; the kids look at Grace.
“Um,” I say.
By the time Grace and I make it onto our feet and into the kitchen, Ian, Bella, and Harry Styles are already there on the floor peering into the trap.
“Look!” says Bella.
“Oh my god,” says Ian.
“Did we get one?” I ask.
“Two,” says Ian.
“They’re so little,” says Bella.
I pick up the trap and set it on the counter. I guess I figured days would pass—a week, even—before this worked, but now we’re being stared at by two frightened animals.
“Don’t hurt them, Henry!” Bella says.
When Grace told me she couldn’t kill the mice I chalked it up to kid stuff. I get it now. One mouse hides behind the other. They’re both terrified because they know they’re trapped, and I have to force myself to breathe as I think about, for the thousandth time this year,what Brynn’s last moments must’ve been like—knowing what was happening, knowing she couldn’t get out.
I clear my throat. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”
One of the mice eats peanut butter off its paws. Harry Styles whines. Bill Murray shouts from the TV room because none of us hit Pause. Then Grace asks what I’m pretty sure the mice are also wondering.
“Soooo, um, now what?”
I don’t often find myself an authority figure in practical situations. Today, though, I know what I’m talking about. “We need to take them somewhere.”
“Like out for drinks?” asks Grace.
“No. Just somewhere other than here.”
“But this is where they live,” says Bella.
“I know,” I say. “But they can’t stay here. We need to release them. Somewhere safe. Somewhere they’ll be happy.”
“You’re not gonna hurt them?” Bella asks.
“Nope.”
“You promise?”
Grace and I look at each other, because promises are, at best, just wishes.
“Promise,” I say.
“I know where we can go,” says Ian.
