Page 17 of Nicoli

I turn onto my other side, my legs tangled up in the sheets. “Dammit.” I grab the fabric and yank it free, jerking it up and over my shoulders, fluffing up my pillow and trying to get comfortable.

Another half hour passes before I finally feel my body get heavier, weighing into the mattress. I’m drifting off when the sheets move, and a tiny human slips in behind me.

My eyes widen when I realize it’s her. Mirabella, snuggling with her back against mine. I’m about to say something when I hear her sniff and feel her tiny body shaking.

Is she…crying?

“I miss Mommy,” she says, sniffing again, short and quick. “I miss Daddy.”

There’s a voice whispering to me to keep quiet and let her speak, so I don’t make a sound. I don’t even move.

“Mommy cried. I think it hurt.”

My stomach turns inside out.

“The men hurt her.”

I tighten the sheet around my shoulders.

“I…um…Mommy told me to hide under the bed. Said I have to keep quiet. She made me promise.” Her soft voice quivers more, and more with every word, and it’s like glass splintering inside my heart.

“I didn’t make a noise.” Sniff. “When she fell, I didn’t make a noise.” Sniff. “When she looked at me, I didn’t make a noise.”

It physically hurts to imagine a little girl hiding underneath the bed while her mother is being slaughtered.

“She told me to close my eyes. But I didn't. I wonder if she’d be angry with me if she knew I didn’t.” Mira moves, tugging on the sheets. “I wish I was older. Eight. I’d be strong enough to help her if I was eight. Do you like the color red?”

I don’t answer.

“I like it. Mommy’s blood was red. It’s a pretty color. Did you know that when a person dies, their eyes change? Mommy’s eyes changed. Not the color. Just the way they look.”

The lump in my throat grows thicker.

“When she fell, she looked at me. Her lips moved. I think she said she loves me. Then she didn’t look at me anymore. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t see me. I think that’s when she died.”

Soft little sobs jab knives into my chest, and I can tell she’s trying not to cry. It sounds like she’s smothering them into the pillow. I don’t know what to do. I should probably comfort her, but I have no idea how. Do I turn around and hug her? Do I go to the kitchen and get her some milk and cookies? Do I call my mom? Yeah, I should probably do that. She’ll know what to do.

“You remember the day I knocked the cake pan off the kitchen table before Mommy could put it in the oven? How the thick chocolate batter spread on the floor?” Sniff. “That’s what it looked like.”

How what looked like?

“The blood that came out of her neck. It was thick. It spread slowly, too. But I wasn’t allowed to move. I promised her I’d keep still. So, I watched it come closer. I wanted to scream then. I really did. But Mommy says you should never break a promise. A promise is…a promise is expensiver than the biggest pot of gold. She says every time you make a promise, God writes it down in His book. And if…if you break it, He has to tear out the page, and we don’t want Him to do that, no.”

My eyes start to sting, and I clench my jaw, and it’s like my chest has been hacked wide open.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

I move my head in a gentle nod even though she can’t see it.

“God had to tear a page from his book the night Mommy and Daddy died because…” her gentle sob penetrates my bones, “because I did make a noise. I broke my promise. Mommy’s blood touched my sleeve, and I screamed. I think I made God angry because loud sounds exploded and hurt my ears.”

Gunshots.

“Do you think God is still angry…” she chokes on a sob “…still angry with me.”

God, no.

“I hope not. I don’t want Him to be angry with me because then I won’t go to Heaven and see Mommy again.” More cries, more heart-wrenching tears that sound like they’re cutting through her heart. “I’m sorry I screamed,” she whispers through sobs. “I’m sorry I screamed.”

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