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“The voice cut into Helen’s murky sleep, and as she cracked her eyes open, the morning sun glared through the cleft in the curtains. A woman stood over her, hands on hips. Helen felt her own fingers that dangled over the side of the bed being pulled on, and she knew Lyric was there. Squinting, she turned her head and saw the child watching her. Helen had no idea how long Lyric had been there, perhaps minutes or hours or years, as if she lived in that spot, unaging, just waiting for the curse that was cast over Helen to lift.”

“At last Stuart looked away from Helen and back to the piano as he picked up on Helen’s cue. In the Mood filled the small living room the way fragrance fills a garden after rain. Helen felt almost tipsy, perhaps from the music or the look Stuart had given her, or because people so rarely dance without being tipsy. Lyric bounced on Helen’s hip, the girl’s thin legs bopping against Helen’s body. Then as Helen swung and spun the child over the rug, the most remarkable thing happened. It started like a freshly sprung leak, then the moment before it came, Helen saw it in Lyric’s eyes. The leak busted, a water main of laughter bursting and arching into the room. Lyric’s laugh was the most beautiful sound Helen had ever heard. Her first thought was that Mum had been right—there is magic on this earth, and at last Helen had found it, hiding, inside this little girl. To Helen, it felt as though she'd spent so many days in the cold of winter, and was now hearing the birds return.”

“She had thought it would be easy from there. It wasn’t. It was simple, but not easy. There was joy, but terror, too, as though stepping back from a ship’s helm and letting the journey go. It sounded romantic enough until being dashed to pieces against the rocks. It was the loveliest tiny moments that would drench Helen in happiness, like when Lyric was nestled in the crook of her arm, resisting falling asleep. Helen had brushed a finger down the child’s nose. Her drowsy eyes had fluttered yet followed Helen’s finger, going cross-eyed just as Helen reached the nose tip. For a moment, the joy and love saturated everything.”

“The sky was clear and the beat of the waves was almost hypnotic as Helen hung clothes on the line, watching Lyric through the flutters of dresses and blouses. In the child’s outfit of purple, she stood out against the churning waves. Each day, Lyric played in the ocean as if it was her first and last. As though she’d never seen water before, or as though tomorrow it would die and be gone. Its wonder never wore on her and Helen marveled at that, at how many things in this world would leave us utterly astounded if we weren’t so terribly used to them. Fire. Soap. Flavor in food. Though Lyric hadn’t smiled since that first day in the waves, Helen could see the child’s awe whenever she was shown something new. Her eyes would widen, and she’d give a quick gasp. Without a word, the girl had shown Helen how everything was a miracle, everything was sacred.”

“Walking down the shore, he approached the child. She turned and looked at him as though surprised he was still there. Taking a step forward, the sole of his shoes getting wet, Stuart crouched to be on her level. Helen couldn’t hear what he said, but he gestured once toward her, and the girl looked up at Helen as he talked. He tried to rest a hand on her shoulder, but Lyric cringed away with her whole body, even taking a step away. Stuart retracted his hand, and from the porch, Helen could see the hurt in his eyes. With that, he tilted his head toward the sea, and the girl didn’t hesitate to run back to the shallow waves. When he turned, his gaze caught with Helen’s, but both looked away quickly. Too quickly. Helen felt heat creep up her neck as he walked around the side of the house and away.”

“Making a home, she realized immediately, was much more than having the dust cleared and the lawn trimmed. For years—decades, even—she and her brothers had taken for granted the way their mother tucked extra blankets around them on nights that turned especially cold or how their father set down his tools and bent over to look them in the eyes when they spoke. Or better yet, handed them a tool and let them work alongside him. As children, they had been oblivious to all their parents did—perfectly, contentedly oblivious. But she wasn’t anymore. She felt it all. Like a forehead kiss when thought to be sleeping, the love was there whether noticed or not. All give, no take. However, the thing about abundant love is that it needs somewhere to go.”

“The child shifted and stretched, then at last her eyelids fluttered open. She had kicked off the blanket in the night and Helen felt a small smile come as she looked at the girl, buried in the nightgown that was three times too big. “Look at you.” Helen let the smile spread a bit. “You’re like a person, but smaller.” She remembered how her brother Paul would tell her the same thing as he leaned against her head. Then Will would chime in as though to stick up for her, saying you had to hand it to short people—because they generally couldn’t reach “it” themselves. How strange, it seemed in that moment, that all their stories started here, that they’d had years of teasing and banter and laughter, then had grown and life took them to where they were now. All that laughter was gone.”

“The danger was not gone—Helen knew that. Each day spent together, the existence of this tiny charge was in her hands. It suddenly seemed the most perplexing fact of life—it was up to flawed, bruised, broken adults to bring up angels. Helen wanted to offer the child a place of safety, but no matter where Lyric went, that could not be found. Not for sure. If she stayed, they would each risk hurt, loss, and suffering. But it was no more than anyone else could offer. Helen realized, as she brushed a strand from the girl’s face and tucked it behind her small ear, that if she didn’t take that risk, she could be risking even more. For both of them. Lyric blinked, yet the look in her eyes never left. Helen closed her own eyes and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on the child’s forehead. I will fail. She knew. I will fail you thousands of times more. But if we stay together, I will spend every day we have doing all I can to keep you from losing that look in your eyes. She nodded slowly to herself, to the unspoken words inside her. When you see me, I hope you always see a home.”

“And sometimes, if she was brave enough, she would turn to the memories of little James. Not the end, but the days before. When she would slide her pinky into his open palm and his tiny fingers would close tight around it. He would peer around the room with his brand-new eyes, and Helen thought that perhaps after the womb, this dark, tight space probably seemed about right. He was wonderfully oblivious to the danger they were in. She became his protector, and for those days, that was all she was. It changed everything. It changed her. And somehow, he in turn protected Helen. He was the sun that couldn’t reach them—he broke away the darkness. As she thought of him, of those red curls and blue eyes, Helen found herself feeling the warmth from him, even though he was gone.”

“She peered at the small girl and though it seemed the child wasn’t listening, her grip on Helen loosened, leaving her feeling like a balloon about to soar away, frantic not to be lost into the open sky. Helen pinched her eyes shut as pain washed over her, tightening her body. It was different from other pain she had known. This time, she had a living, breathing someone to fight for, someone waiting on the other side of that agony. Opening her eyes, Helen set her jaw. A child, by their very existence, doesn’t come into a woman’s life without pain. It takes effort. Her fingers squeezed the small girl’s and the child’s chin lifted until their eyes met.”