Chapter 2: : Part 1 – Chapter 2

Brant, age 6

Aunt Kelly sweeps her fingers through my hair, her rings cold and clunky against my head. She looks like Mom a little when she smiles, and her eyes are the same dark brown, but she doesn’t smell as sweet. She smells like her cat. The one that bit me.

“This will be good for you, Brant. I know you’re scared right now, but you’ll see. This is right… this makes sense.” She glances over her shoulder, and when she twists back to me, her eyes are shimmering. “This is what Caroline wanted.”

I look around her, knowing exactly what made her eyes fill with tears.

The house. My house.

We’re standing on Theo’s front stoop, just two properties away from my yard. The grass is overgrown, littered with dead dandelions. Dad wouldn’t like that.

I’m silent as Aunt Kelly makes a gasping sound, covering her mouth with her hand. It trembles a bit. Her whole body does.

My head dips down, chin to chest, and I stare at the little cracks in the porch step. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. I’m not sure what I want to say.

“Oh, sweetie, come here.”

I’m pulled into Aunt Kelly’s arms as she hugs me tight, my nose pressed into her belly. She smells different when I’m this close, and I can almost pretend she’s Mom. Maybe they used the same laundry soap.

“I’ll come visit you, okay? I promise,” she whispers, ruffling my hair again. “I know how confusing this must be for you, but the Baileys will raise you right. You’ll have siblings to play with. You’ll have a good family to grow up with—more than I could ever give you.” Her tummy heaves against my face, like she’s trying to catch her breath. “This is what your mother wished for, so you just have to trust that. Do you understand, Brant?”

I swallow, then nod my head. I don’t really understand, but I think it’s the answer she expects of me. It works, because when she finally pulls away, there’s a smile breaking through her tears. It reminds me of when the clouds dance around in the sky, playing hide-and-seek with the sun, and the sun wins. Triumphant.

“Good,” she tells me, bobbing her head up and down and clasping my face between both palms. Her rings burrow into my cheekbones. “That’s good.”

Aunt Kelly rings the doorbell. It chimes throughout the whole house, spilling out through the screen door. It’s followed by hurried footsteps down the hall. Familiar footsteps.

Theo greets me in the entryway, halting in place when he sees me standing on his stoop with bags and suitcases waiting by my feet. He hesitates. I’ve rung his doorbell so many times, and he never hesitates when he sees me.

I guess he knows. I guess he knows that my parents got killed, so that makes him hesitate.

“Brant,” a voice calls out. It’s Theo’s mom, all dressed up in a polka-dotted skirt and white blouse, with lipstick and curls in her hair. She looks like how my mom would look whenever we had guests come over—only, Theo’s mom has yellow hair like the dandelions in our yard before they shriveled up and died. Her eyes are different, too. They’re blue.

And her belly doesn’t look like a watermelon anymore.

I reach down to the porch stoop and pick up the new elephant stuffed animal Aunt Kelly bought for me. I haven’t named him yet. He looks a little bit like Bubbles, but he’s not Bubbles.

I miss Bubbles.

“Come in, please,” Theo’s mom says. She pushes open the screen door and waves us inside. “I made cookies and lemonade.”

Aunt Kelly places her hand on my back, pushing me forward as she gathers all the bags. When I’m standing inside the foyer, I look over at Theo. He looks at me.

We just kind of stare at each other while he scuffs his foot back and forth on the carpeting.

“Thank you again, Samantha,” Aunt Kelly says to Theo’s mom. “I know this was… sudden. And with the new baby and everything—”

“It’s okay. Really,” she replies. Her voice is low and soft, almost like she doesn’t want me to hear. “Caroline was my dearest friend. Taking in Brant is more than a privilege. It’s a gift.”

A gift.

That’s a weird thing to say; I don’t feel like a gift. Gifts are fun and exciting, and they make people smile. Nobody is smiling right now.

Everyone looks sad.

“Please keep in touch,” Aunt Kelly mutters through more tears. “I’d love to visit as much as I can. I travel for work all the time, so it’s hard with my schedule, but I want to be a part of his life.”

“Of course. You’re more than welcome any time.”

Theo takes a small step closer to me, his eyes drifting to the Super Mario backpack resting beside my ankles. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his gym shorts and nods at the bag. “I got the new Paper Mario game. It just came out.”

I blink, then clear my throat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

My mind wanders, filled with past memories of holing up in Theo’s bedroom with his Nintendo 64 games, while his mom popped in with pizza rolls and Hi-C Ecto Cooler juice boxes. It wasn’t even that long ago. I’m not sure how long it’s been since The Bad Night, but it’s still summertime. We’re supposed to go back to school soon—first grade for me, and second grade for Theo.

The women give each other a hug before Aunt Kelly tugs me toward her again, kissing my cheeks and dampening them with her tears. “You’re very loved, Brant. Don’t forget that.”

I nibble at my lip, watching her pull away. She tousles my hair a final time and says goodbye, sharing a look with Theo’s mom, then spinning around. When she steps outside and shuts the door behind her, it sounds so loud that I can’t help but jolt in place.

It’s quiet in here now.

Theo and his mom are staring at me, like they don’t know what to do with me. Almost like I’m a stray puppy who ran away from home and got lost.

I squeeze the stuffed animal to my chest, pretending it’s Bubbles.

And that’s when something fractures the silence.

A small cry.

My eyes go wide, curiosity poking at me. A hopeful little feeling.

Theo perks up, straightening in front of me, and his mom bends over, hands to her knees, then smiles brightly. “Would you like to meet Theo’s new sister, Brant?”

A sister!

Theo was right. She is a girl.

Somehow, through all the confusion and sadness, amid the tears and uncertainty, a tendril of joy slithers its way into my heart. I’m not sure what it means, but it causes my feet to move, and I start marching toward the direction of the tiny wail.

There, in the center of the living room, is a swing. It’s white and soft, singing lullabies and rocking back and forth, side to side. I almost don’t see her at first, swaddled inside a blush pink blanket, but then a foot peeks out, kicking the air aimlessly.

My breath sticks in my throat.

Theo’s mother comes up behind me, her hand falling to my shoulder with a squeeze. “She’s eleven weeks old.”

There’s a lump in my neck that feels tight, so I try to swallow it down. I’ve never seen a foot so little before. She must be fragile, just like a snowflake when it lands on your skin. I’m too scared I’ll break her, so I just stare at her for a few seconds before a question pops into my mind. “Did you name her Butterfly?”

A burst of laughter greets me. Theo’s mother shakes her head as her fingers glide down my arm—a gentle touch, like Mom used to do. “Her name is June.”

June.

June always feels like a new beginning.

My own mother’s words sink into me, words I’ve buried deep. Words I’ve tried so hard not to think about. I slam my eyes shut when her face flickers in my mind, her warm eyes and silky hair. The shape of her face. The way her upper lip was thinner than the bottom one, but it didn’t make her smile any less perfect.

The truth is, my mother wasn’t wrong when she told me that June was a new beginning. It just wasn’t the beginning anybody wanted. It was the beginning of a horror movie, or a scary book. A nightmare. It was nothing like the magical fairytales she’d read to me every night at bedtime.

I take a step back, away from the swaying cradle.

Maybe I don’t like Baby June.

Is she my wish? Is she what I traded my parents for?

Theo slides up beside me, fiddling with his overalls. “Do you like her, Brant?”

“I don’t know.”

All I know is that she’s here, and Mom and Dad aren’t.

“Come on,” Theo’s mom says, her tone a little lower, a little sadder. “Let’s get you set up in your new room, then we can have some cookies.”

It turns out that my new room is also Theo’s room. I guess I’ll be sleeping over for a while, and they ran out of rooms for me. June has her own room—the nursery, Theo called it—painted pink and gray, decorated with elephants, from her little wooden crib, to the spinning mobile, to the patterned border along her walls. I poked my head in, clutching my own elephant toy to my chest. I didn’t like her nursery because it made me think of Bubbles.

“How long do you think I’ll be here, Theo?” I ask my friend while pulling shirts and underwear and pajama sets out of my suitcase. Theo and I each have our own dresser, along with our own bed. There’s a television sitting atop a desk in between the two dressers, complemented by a Super Nintendo system, as well as a Nintendo 64. A few posters line the walls. I wonder if I’ll be able to bring over my favorite posters from my old bedroom.

Theo bounces on his bed with his butt, watching me unpack. “How long? Forever, I guess.”

“Forever?”

“That’s what my mom said.”

A strange feeling pinches my chest. Forever.

Aunt Kelly didn’t tell me much. She said the details didn’t matter, and the only thing that mattered was that I was safe. That I would be okay.

But forever is a really long time, and I wonder why she didn’t think that mattered.

Everything has been confusing since The Bad Night. So many strange people, so many questions I didn’t know how to answer. Aunt Kelly told me they were called social workers and thera-pits, and they were good people—they would help keep me safe.

I stayed at Aunt Kelly’s for a while. She said we had to wait for something called The Court to tell us what to do next. I didn’t know what that meant, but maybe it was the place where Theo and I play with our basketballs sometimes.

Aunt Kelly’s house was okay. She lives right over the Illinois border, in a little townhome in Wisconsin. Her cat had to stay locked up in the laundry room so I wouldn’t get bit again, but every time I walked by the gate, it would hiss at me. I couldn’t really sleep well, either, and most of her food tasted too spicy, but she was nice and treated me well. She gave me a handful of Skittles every night before bed and picked out all the purple ones. I don’t like purple. Aunt Kelly said the dentist might get mad at her, but at least I was going to sleep with something sweet.

I sit back down on my bed after my clothes are placed into drawers. Some things came from my old closet, and some things are new from Aunt Kelly. I put the old things on top of the new things so I can wear them first.

I’m twisting a loose string on the bedspread around my finger when Theo tosses me something. It’s a stuffed butterfly toy. “What’s this?” I wonder, squeezing it between my hands. It’s soft and bright, but it looks like a girl’s toy.

“My grams let me pick it out for the new baby,” Theo shrugs. “I told my parents I was naming her Butterfly since she was a girl, but they didn’t like that name.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno. They said we don’t name new babies after bugs, but then they named her after a month. That doesn’t sound like a people name, either.”

Pondering this, I stare down at the pink and yellow butterfly toy. “Do you like her, Theo?”

He flops down onto his back, head to pillow, and situates his arms behind his neck. He lets out a long sigh and says, “Yeah, I really like her. I love her, even.”

“More than your video games?”

“Probably the same amount.”

Our conversation in my driveway stirs in my thoughts, bringing back images of colorful adventures and battles. Swords and weapons. Mazes and monsters.

At the center of it all, is a little princess.

I wonder if Theo still wants to pretend we’re heroes, just like Mario and Luigi. I’m about to ask him; I’m about to see if he wants to create our own grand adventure together, with June as the princess, but it’s almost like he read my mind.

“We’ll protect her, you and me,” Theo says, gazing up at the glow-in-the-dark galaxy stickers pressed to his ceiling. “I’m Mario, and you’re Luigi. And June is Princess Peach.”

“Okay,” I tell him.

“You still want to, right? You didn’t forget?”

I quickly shake my head. “I didn’t forget. We’ll keep her safe from all the bad things in the world.”

As I say it, I realize I don’t know how to do this yet.

And then I think,

Neither did my mom.

A loud cry startles me awake.

I shoot up in bed, sweat dotting my brow, my chest already tight with fear.

“Forgive me. Don’t go downstairs. Cover your ears.”

My heart pounds against my ribs, and when that cry rings out again, I do cover my ears.

At first I don’t know where I am. Memories bury me like an avalanche, and I think I’m walking down my staircase with Bubbles held close for protection. My mom said she’d protect me, but she’s not here. I don’t know where she is.

It’s so quiet. I’m breathing really fast. Something is wrong, but I don’t know what.

I’m scared.

I want my mom.

I guess I say it out loud because Theo answers back.

“It’s okay, Brant. That’s just June.” He sits up from the other side of the room, slightly illuminated by the neon green dinosaur lamp on our shared bedstand. “She does this every night. Don’t be scared.”

My heartbeats start to slow as the fear dissipates. I lower my hands from my ears, staring at my friend through the darkness. “She sounds so sad.”

“Yeah. Mom says babies cry a lot because they need something.”

I wonder what she needs. When I was scared or sad, I would always reach for Bubbles. He made me feel better.

An idea nudges me, so I whip off the bedcovers and climb down from the mattress. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“I want to help June.”

I’m still not sure if I like her yet, but I want to help her. I don’t want her to be sad like me. Looking around the glowing green room, I locate the stuffed butterfly sticking out from underneath the bed, then I tiptoe my way into the hall. Baby June’s nursery is right around the corner, and her tiny cries lead me through the dark. When I poke my head inside, I’m greeted with kicking legs and a scrunchy face.

I squeeze the butterfly. “Hi, June. I’m Brant.”

My voice is low, just a whisper, and I don’t think she hears me. June keeps kicking her legs, her arms joining in with little balled-up fists. Her eyes are closed tight, her mouth wide open with no sound coming out, as her head twists side to side.

Taking a few steps closer, I stop at the side of her crib. Then I toss the butterfly toy over the railing. It lands beside her on the mattress, startling her enough for her eyes to ping open.

“I brought you something, June. I hope you like it.”

My efforts are shattered when June instantly starts to cry.

Oh, no.

She doesn’t like the toy.

She hates it.

She hates it so much, she turns redder than Mario’s hat. June’s whole face scrunches up again, silent at first, like she’s building herself up to a giant crescendo, and when her shrieking wail finally breaks free, I jump back from the crib, mortified.

It’s not long before Theo’s mother rushes into the nursery, tying her robe at her hip. Her hair is a mess, her eyes tired-looking, and she blinks a few times when she spots me in the middle of the room, standing frozen to the elephant-shaped rug.

“Brant?”

Thinking I might be in trouble, I start to stutter. “I-I’m sorry, Mrs. Bailey. I was trying to make her less sad, so I brought her a toy. I-I didn’t mean to make her madder.”

I’m rambling loud over the ear-piercing cries. My own cheeks feel just as red as June’s.

Theo’s mom offers me a little smile, then rushes to the crib to scoop up the squawking baby, bouncing her up and down. Up and down. She pats at her back, strokes her tiny head sprouting with dark tufts of hair, and makes hushing sounds that make both of us feel better.

A peacefulness enters the room. A mother’s love.

She takes the baby with her to the rocking chair and plops down, while whispering cooing sounds into June’s ear. When the baby quiets, Theo’s mom’s eyes lift to me. They don’t look like angry eyes. They don’t look like Dad’s eyes when Mom didn’t cook something right or forgot to make the bed. Her smile returns and she says, “That was very kind of you, Brant. Thank you.”

I bite my lip. “You’re not mad?”

“Of course not,” she tells me, and I believe her. She ushers me forward with the flick of her wrist. “Here, come closer.”

Fidgeting for a moment, I inch my way toward the rocking chair, my gaze fixed on the squirmy little thing draped over its mother’s shoulder. I swallow. “I guess she just needed her mom.”

Theo’s mother doesn’t reply, but her eyes look wet in the gleam of moonlight spilling into the room. She holds her hand out to me, and I take it, and then she whispers, “I’ll love you like my very own, Brant. I’ll love you like Caroline loved you. You have my word.”

She doesn’t say anymore, but she holds my hand for a long while, even as she rocks back and forth with June on her chest. She hums a lullaby. It’s not the same one Mom sang to me, but it makes me both happy and sad at the same time. Happy, because I feel loved.

Sad, because the person I love most isn’t the one holding my hand and singing me lullabies.

When I traipse back to my bedroom after June is carefully returned to her crib fast asleep, I see that Theo is also asleep. He’s facing the opposite wall, one leg sticking out of the blanket and hanging off the bed. He snores a little, and it makes me laugh.

I dip inside my own comforter, prepared for sleep to steal me away.

But I don’t make it very far.

June starts crying again.

My eyes pop back open, and I stare up at the ceiling, wondering what she needs this time. Does she miss her mom already? The butterfly toy didn’t work very well, but—

Wait!

A new idea sweeps through me, pulling me back out of bed and guiding me toward the nursery with a toy dangling from my grip.

June’s cries are squeaky and small when I enter the room as quietly as possible. I don’t want to scare her. I edge closer to the crib and peek through the grates, watching her writhe atop a sheet made of white and gray stripes. She’s a curious little thing, all bright red cheeks and wriggling limbs. Her shrieks turn loud and screechy, like one of Mr. Canary’s speckled roosters I got to meet on our last school field trip. She makes my head pound and my ears ring.

I toss the new toy over the crib rail, and my elephant stuffed animal drops beside her on the mattress. Baby June flails her hands around until a tiny fist locates the toy and clamps the long elephant’s nose, squeezing tight.

And then… she goes quiet.

Her cries cease. Her movements become less jerky and mad. The shrieks have turned to coos, and I stare in wonder through the crib slats as June turns her head to look at me.

Our eyes lock, making my insides feel fuzzy. I lower myself to my knees, my own hand curling around one of the rails, while the other reaches in between the slats to touch her. I rub her tummy like I would a puppy, then trace a finger down her twitchy arm. She’s warm and soft. She smells like bubble baths.

“I don’t have a name for him yet,” I murmur, pressing my forehead between the rails. “You can name him if you want.”

The elephant thrashes lightly in her grip.

Her eyes are still pinned on me, wide and inquisitive and dark blue, looking almost black in the shadowy room. June coos, then makes a noise that sounds like “aggie.” It’s cute. It makes me giggle as my hand makes its way to hers.

“Okay, then. We’ll call him Aggie.”

Tiny fingers clamp around my pinky, stealing my next breath. She clings so tight—as if she needs me for something, as if I’m important, and that causes my belly to flutter. My chest tickles, too. I like the feeling; being needed, wanted.

Claimed.

I feel claimed.

And after losing everything I love, it feels really good to belong to someone.

Ah, yes. The moment it all began.

The moment six-year-old me peered into June’s crib as she held my finger in her tiny fist, while clutching a toy elephant in the other. I still remember the feeling that came over me, clear as day.

It felt like I would never be lost again.

Of course, I was only a kid at the time, so I didn’t fully understand the magnitude of such a feeling—how could I? Our story was impossible to predict.

But… I knew something.

I knew that Baby June had claimed me in that moment, and she never stopped.

She claimed me like the sunrise claims the morning sky with lightness and blush, promise and wonder.

She claimed me like a cyclone, funneling through a quiet town, taking no prisoners.

She claimed my good and my bad, my light and my dark. She took my broken, ugly bits and molded them into something worthy of display. She turned my agony into art.

June claimed me in a way that could ultimately be defined by a single word:

Inevitable.