Page 9

Nobody said a word as Monster Mash finished and Ghostbusters started.

Sophie hummed quietly under her breath, and I hummed with her, as if we were testing the water. Two verses in she’d stopped humming. Instead, she was singing the words, watching her father out of the corner of her eye.

Everett ate his French toast, read his newspaper, and didn’t say a single word about the music, but I noticed his hand tightening around his newspaper in annoyance.

The moment Ghostbusters was done, Thriller started. Everett took the last bite of the bacon on his plate, put his newspaper down, grumbled something about needing to start his day, and left the kitchen. I glanced over to see that everything on his plate was gone.

Sophie looked at me, and I at her.

“He liked breakfast,” she whispered.

“Yes, he did.” I smiled, putting another piece of French toast on her plate and then plating mine.

The moment Everett was behind his closed office door and I could hear the indistinct murmur of his voice start, I kneeled down to Sophie’s level.

“Okay, here is the deal. I know your dad said no Halloween nonsense in the house.”

Sophie nodded, clasping her hands together under her chin and listening intently.

“But…he said nothing about your room.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?” She whispered.

“Well, I figure your room is your space. So, I think if you wanted to put up, say, a few paper bats, some paper leaves, maybe a little pumpkin or ghost garland, and some twinkle lights, I don’t see a problem with it since it would be in your room. It’s your choice, and it won’t affect the rest of the house.”

I studied her; I could see a war raging inside her between wanting to and being afraid to want those things. She bit her bottom lip and then looked up at me.

“No, he’ll get mad,” she whispered.

“Maybe. Although I really think your room should feel like your own space. If he has a problem with it, I will handle it. That is literally my job, to handle you.” I winked.

She chewed on her bottom lip and looked down the hallway toward her father’s closed office door. Then she looked back at me.

“Could we use the fairy lights in my box?” she asked in a whisper.

I swallowed hard.

“Yeah, baby. We can use the twinkle lights.”

She hopped off the stool and took off up the stairs to her room. I heard the closet door open as I climbed the stairs after her. I stepped into her room and heard tape being pulled. She came back out of her closet carrying the cardboard box in both arms, barely holding it against her.

We began with the lights. A single strand of orange and white lights. I sat on her bedroom floor untangling them while Sophie sorted through the box, carefully choosing decorations and placing them on her bed. As we worked, she told me the story of each decoration she pulled out.

“This one’s from when I was a baby,” she said, holding up the clay handprint. “See? My hand was so tiny?” She said, staring at the print as she placed her hand against it.

“Adorable,”

“Oh, and this one…” she said, holding up the popsicle stick frame. “That’s Mommy.”

I took the photo from Sophie and looked at it. Rebecca Stone had a face that was so familiar you felt like you already knew her.

“She is beautiful.”.

“She made good cookies.” Sophie said as she placed the frame on her nightstand. “Like Ms. Shelly’s, only different. She put peanut butter into them.”

“Peanut butter cookies are the best,” I said, finally getting the lights untangled.

“Daddy threw away the recipe.”