One More Time | ✓

Chapter Three

"You're not," she encourages me quietly. "If you feel ready, it's not too late. I know that Dad would love that. You can't have missed the way he looked at you just now."

I didn't. He was watching me carefully, but there was unmasked hope on his face as I offered to look after his new-born daughter so that they could get some extra sleep. He was looking at me like he used to, before everything went wrong. Probably, he was hoping that somewhere deep inside of me, the girl that was his daughter back then, still actually exists.

I'm not so sure that she does, but that doesn't mean I can't push myself to be better now.

"Do you... do you think we could go and see Mom later?" I ask softly.

Greta and I don't really talk about Mom. I don't think Dad does, either. Each of us have so many scars, too many awful memories, to go dredging them up all the time.

She squeezes my arm. "Of course we can. I haven't been for years."

I haven't, either, obviously. I also never really saw the point, but for some reason, I now feel a really strong pull to go. Maybe just to tell her that I want to be a better person. Maybe just to assuage some of the guilt that I've been suffocating under, all these years.

Chrissy gurgles a little in her sleep, as though she can sense we're talking about the other mother in this patchwork family.

"I just feel like we should," I continue, shifting so that Chrissy sits more comfortably.

For someone who was so furious with Dad, who said she fought for her mother, I haven't exactly done a good job at dealing with any of it. I haven't been a good daughter to her, either. I actually just haven't been a good person, full stop.

Occasionally, I think to myself that it's no wonder Theo gave up on us. It wasn't like I was any fun to be around at all, towards the end. Perhaps, I'm more to blame than I want to let on. I was so convinced that everyone was against me and I remember even before I caught him with Mavis, I would sometimes pick a fight just because I wanted to shout at someone.

The three of us sit in silence for quite a while longer, before Chrissy starts to stir with a bit more urgency. My arms are getting a bit dead, so I carefully shift her into Greta's arms, where she settles really well.

It's quite a while before Chrissy properly wakes up, and even longer until she gets hungry again. Her screams summon Debra and Dad before I can actually get upstairs to tell Debra she's needed again.

Still, the both of them press on us their gratitude that they got a bit of a longer sleep. Both of them actually look a fair bit better for it, too, so Greta and I just brush it off. For a very surreal moment, it feels like a regular family, back together for Christmas, rather than what we truly are, and I allow myself to bask in the good feeling that it brings.

***

Like the rest of Whitley, the cemetery is freezing and blanketed in snow. There are lots of footprints here, showing that other people have been here too. It is Christmas Eve, after all, so I'm not exactly surprised that people are coming around this time of year.

Mom's grave, though, lies untouched. It's hard to tell because of the snow, but I'd wager that it's been neglected for quite a long time. Not that I can complain about that, given that it's been more than three and a half years since I was last here. I'm pretty sure the last time I came to visit her grave, I didn't bring flowers or anything.

Greta's gloved hand finds mine and squeezes hard. It's difficult to tell if the gesture is because she's trying to give or gain comfort, but I appreciate it either way. I'm so grateful that she's here by my side for this whole trip, but especially this particular trip to the grave.