Page 43 of Keepsake
My family. A small, mythical crew of people who got excited when I came in the front door from work.
Pretty hard to envision, really.
Griff shut off the gas line and we tore out the stove next. “I’ll haul these away later,” he said after we’d set the stove next to fridge in the driveway. “I need to do some cider pressing before lunch.”
“How about I take the hardware off these cabinets?” Lark offered as we got back to the kitchen. “Got a screwdriver?”
“In the basement,” Griff said.
“I’ll get it for her,” I offered, picturing Griff’s basement. The place resembled a torture chamber. I didn’t know if Lark’s nightmares could be cued by basements, but it was better if we never found out.
Griff put his hand on Lark’s shoulder. “Thanks for your help, Wild Child.” He checked his watch. “Gonna be a long day until Audrey texts me.”
“She’ll be fine,” Lark said. “Flying to Paris is no more dangerous than driving to Boston.”
Griff scowled.
“Hey,” I offered. “It’s not gonna happen like in Castaway. Audrey is not going to crash-land on a desert island just because you got engaged last night.”
His face only became grumpier. “Get out of my brain,” he grumbled before exiting the house.
When I turned around, Lark was smiling at me. “Okay—how did you know he was thinking about a fifteen-year-old Tom Hanks movie?”
I shrugged. “We watched it a couple of months ago. And I listen to the man quote movies all day long.”
“You are adorable,” she said.
I liked the sound of that for a few seconds until I realized that she’d said the same thing to a puppy we met at the Hanover market the week before.
Ah, well. I went to the creepy basement to fetch Griff’s toolbox, and she was singing to herself by the time I came back.
Two nights later, I came to consciousness in the dark because I heard her voice. It wasn’t singing. Not this time.
“What the fuck is that?” Griffin slurred.
The next shriek woke me up fast. I lurched from the bed and beat a fast path to Lark’s room.
“Stop!” she yelled as I opened her door.
“Shh, shh!” I whispered. “Hey, it’s okay.” I eased the door shut behind me and sat down on the edge of the bed. When I put a hand on her arm, she jerked with surprise. “You’re fine,” I said in a low voice. “Shh.” I pushed the hair out of her face and used the same clucking sound with my tongue as I used with the dairy cows when they got spooked.
It worked, too, which never failed to amaze me. Even though Lark didn’t always wake up, she calmed right down when I spoke to her in the night. As her face relaxed and her breathing evened out, I felt a surge of warmth in my chest. Even though I knew I my role was coincidental,Icomforted her. Not someone else.
The door to her room opened slowly, and I turned my head to see Griff standing there in his sleep pants frowning at me.
For a second, a fear borne of my former life froze me in place as I pictured the scene from Griff’s perspective—me hovering over a girl’s bed in the dead of night.
“Everything okay here?” he whispered.
I nodded, my mouth dry. My heart hammered against my ribcage.
But Griff only stared at me a moment longer before turning to go. He closed Lark’s door gently behind him.
With my pulse still racing, I sat there for a while, worrying. Lark still had trouble sleeping, and now Griff was going to know she was suffering. She hadn’t wanted to worry anyone. It embarrassed her.
Lark rolled over in her sleep, muttering something unintelligible, and I reviewed my choices. I could go back to my own bed, which would look less weird to Griff. But she might start yelling again.
And she was holding my hand. I didn’t want to take it away.
