It's three o'clock in the afternoon. Stormy sits by my side on the couch, warmth emanating from her in her welcoming smile and glowing spirit. I pour us another cup of lemon tea. Clover is resting her head on her lap. Tommy and Bree are playing hide-and-seek among the oak trees.
I've just told her about the hospital, my treatment, and the medication. I've told her about Dad.
She nodded, touched my hand, sighed, and smiled with her pixie eyes, shifting closer and closer as the sun crossed the sky.
"I visit the psychiatric ward often, my brother is in there," she says and I remember how she told me about him.
"He had an accident when he was fifteen. He climbed out of his bedroom window one night, said the moon told him the world was turning flat. He says he fell off the edge of it and bumped his head."
I don't know what to say to her, so I hold her hand in mine. It's weird because she has half a muffin in there too. We both laugh at our silliness and her eyes tell me she'll be okay. We both will.
As I watch her finish her pastry, part of me realises I know little of my dear friend. I've been busy trying to stay in one piece. I knew about her brother, but not this. Guess there's time to mend that. Her gaze locks on mine, I nod, and pat Clover on the head. I rest my head on her left shoulder. She picks up her teacup and the porcelain trembles. She looks like a bright bird, striving to soar, desperate for another morning breeze to come.
"Dawn?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you, girl," she says while nudging me.
"I love you too, Stormy," I say, swallowing hard.
"The world is full of wonders. You are definitely one of them. I'm lucky to have you around." She scooches across the tiny gap between us and hugs me. She's so tiny, I would carry her in my pocket everywhere like a talisman.
Later that night, long after my friend has left and Mom has tucked me in like old times, Dad comes to me in my sleep.
I can see him in my dream and there's a peaceful sparkle around him like a huge halo. He closes the distance between us and sits by my bed. His kind eyes find mine, holding my hand he whispers, "Hi, my love. Wanna hear a story?"
My heart soars, I'm not afraid. This isn't my mind playing tricks on me. We are together in my slumber. "Sure, Daddy." I smile because I can talk to him, actual words and not thoughts.
He beams back. "This one is more of a secret than a story. The root of the root. The bud of the bud. Ready?"
"Always."
"When you were born, baby bee, I thought I would die." He blinks at me slowly, as if in slow motion. "I mean, I held you and thought I might die of love."
He scoots closer and brushes his long fingers across my forehead. I close my eyes and concentrate on the warmth of his touch.
"You were so tiny, so fragile. Mom and I knew we would do anything to keep you safe. We took turns to sing you lullabies and watched you sleep in our arms."
He's pacing now. "I remember thinking: I'm going to be the best Dad in the world for you. I'll breathe for you. Walk and live for you."
Dad's glowing now, his voice a hum. "I'm so sorry I couldn't do it for longer, baby bee. I'm so sorry I didn't stay. I wish I could explain it—if there was a way—but maybe there isn't one. I think I can show you though."
He leans forward and picks up a rock from my nightstand the one I brought home from McArthur Lake Reservoir. He puts it in my hand. My fingers in his—fragments. Dad is a measurement of love. He guides my hand to my chest and tells me to leave the rock in the middle of it. I do, and stare at it as it lifts and falls along with my slow breathing.
"Don't come to find me," he says, his voice pleading. "Stay grounded to this beautiful life ahead of you. Live it in full brightness. You've been so brave. You've survived the deepest waters and now it's time to remember your way back to the shore." I nod, relief coursing through me. Closing my eyes, I focus on his next words.
"Build memories, lay them in your heart, like this rock. Let them root you back to happiness. Don't worry about me. Please, stop. You don't need to. I'm right here." He guides both our hands to my chest. Underneath it, the rock. Underneath it, my heart—beating a new melody.
Thump, Daddy. Thump, hope.
"Dad?"
"Yes," says the memory of Dad.
"Tell me a story."
"I can do that, baby bee."
I lie in the dark and listen. He's faint now, his voice fading after hours of talking. He's laid his stone-work down. It's hard for me to hear him. He's fading, blurring, tugging on the string that ties him to me.
"Dawn," he says, "I love you. Always have, always will."
"I know, Daddy. I do too. So much."
"You'll be fine, baby bee. My gorgeous girl. We'll be just fine."
When I wake up, his words are echoing in my heart, and for once, I've slept the night through.