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Brecia shook her head. “The girls are too heavy to carry. And if she wakes them up, they’ll wake him up too. They’re too little to listen when they’re tired and cranky. It’s too risky.”
So we all just sat there, gathered around April, listening to the whistling sound of his breath, in and out, in and out.
I pulled my thoughts back toward me again and again, like a puppy on a leash, refusing to allow myself to drift. It was excruciating to stay present. And from the feeling in the room, I knew I wasn’t alone.
Suddenly, I had an idea. “Brecia, you know that thing that happened in the impound lot when we were talking?”
Brecia nodded. “The same thing happened with Meghan when I hugged her.” She looked at Meghan, whose confused expression dissolved into understanding.
“Could we try that again?” I asked, feeling weirdly shy. I was asking for a literal glimpse into their souls. “It wasn’t the same as drifting in my own memories. I didn’t feel all deep and dreamy. I just kind of, I don’t know, got a really clear picture of the story you were telling me. Like you’d shown it to me.”
“It was like a movie,” Meghan said. “A super high-def movie with a D-BOX. I could actually sort of feel it.”
Brecia burst out laughing. “A D-BOX. If my dad knew that you got your own personal D-BOX theater when you died . . .” She stopped herself. “Sorry, Meg. I’m not making fun of you. I know what you mean. It’s the perfect way to describe it.”
“Can I show you my cat?” Brecia asked softly. “I know that’s weird. But I miss him. He’s really cute. His name is Frank.”
“Please baby Jesus, yes,” I told her. “Show us.”
We shuffled closer together on the floor, on April’s side of the bed. Then we held hands. It was like a seance in reverse, all of us making contact with the land of the living.
As soon as we touched hands, I saw the memories like a living movie in stunning detail. I could almost feel that sweet little furball with the downy white fur and orange ears purring on Brecia’s lap. And when I whispered, “Oh, he’s a doll,” the Brecia inside the memory looked up at me, her eyes full of joy at the cat sleeping on her lap while she watched Netflix before bed.
It was just a cat. But in that moment, it was everything.
We drifted together like that all night, trading memories. Some sweet, some shallow, some heartbreaking, some that filled up the room with a sadness so thick we swam in it. I wasn’t sure how it was happening, but I understood now what Meghan had been saying about her Bubbie: The memory wasn’t static anymore, but rather a little secret doorway.
All the while, April stayed where she was, frozen, her breaths shallow and fast until the first rays of sunlight finally hit the window in the little bedroom.
At that first clear sign of morning, she carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded to the kitchen. The girls were still asleep, and she didn’t wake them.
Meghan, Brecia, and I watched eagerly as she scanned the countertops, felt in his coat pockets, and quietly opened drawers in the tiny kitchen.
“She’s looking for the keys,” Brecia said in disbelief. “She’s going to do it. Oh my god.”
“But where are they?” Meghan fretted. “I didn’t see where he put them down. Did any of you?”
None of us had. And as April’s search grew more creative—under the dusty pot holders by the stove, beneath the tattered rug, in the back of cupboards—all while pausing at the slightest noise from the bedrooms, the hope that the keys were here to be found seemed increasingly unlikely.
He’d tucked them away somewhere he knew she wouldn’t look. Because, like all three of the ghosts standing in this kitchen, she might have gotten into the car willingly at one point. But once she did, the chances she’d get out alive went down astronomically.
The lid to the coffee maker slid onto the floor with a loud clatter as April tilted it to see behind the ancient plastic pot.
She froze as the sound was followed by a muffled creak—then heavy footfalls—from down the hallway. She grabbed the coffee pot and ran to the sink to fill it with water.
“What the hell is she doing?” Meghan cried. “They don’t even drink coffee.”
When he appeared around the corner from the hallway with a sour expression on his face, rubbing sleep from his eyes, he looked at her in irritation. “Are you serious right now? It’s barely morning. Why are you banging around in here?” His eyes focused on the coffee pot in her hand, and he scowled. “What are you doing?”
She looked up at him with a thousand-watt smile, turning off the sink as the water reached the brim of the pot. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I remembered we had a couple of hot chocolate packets, and I was trying to do something fun for breakfast. Surprise the girls before they woke up.” She made a face at the coffee pot. “I thought this might heat the water up faster than the stove. I’m so sorry I woke you!”
“Damn, April,” Brecia said. “Good save.”
I was impressed too. I almost believed her myself. But did he?
I studied his face as the scowl softened into irritation. He was mad. He clearly thought she was a moron. But not enough to fly off the handle. April latched onto it and laid her hand on his arm. “I’m really sorry, hon. Go back to sleep, okay?”
He didn’t move. “Just use one packet,” he muttered, eyeing the lines of food.
