“How did you know those men's names?”
The girl looked toward the motorcycles.
“Claire told me.”
“When?”
Adeline thought.
“Some today.”
“Some before?”
Kendra turned.
“What does that mean?”
The child hesitated.
“Adeline.”
The little girl lowered her eyes.
“I’ve seen her before.”
Kendra felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.
“When?”
“In my room.”
“When?”
“A lot.”
Kendra gripped the door.
“You told me there was a lady in your room?”
“I said my friend comes when the moon is on the wall.”
Kendra remembered.
Months earlier.
Adeline had complained about a woman sitting near the dresser.
No.
Not complained.
Talked about her.
Kendra had assumed imagination.
She had called the figure “the moon lady.”
Because light from the window made a crescent shape across the carpet.
“What did you call her?”
Adeline twisted her fingers.
“Claire.”
Kendra could not remember her daughter ever using that name.
Maybe she had.
Children said hundreds of things parents forgot.
The deputy asked:
“Did Claire tell you there would be a motorcycle accident?”
“No.”
“What did she tell you?”
Adeline looked toward the wooded slope.
“That he was sleeping where he shouldn’t.”
The deputy exhaled.
Kendra ended the conversation.
“We're leaving.”
He nodded.
“I may need to call.”
“Fine.”
She closed the door.
As Kendra drove away, motorcycles remained lined along the highway shoulder.
Adeline twisted in her seat until they disappeared.
Then she began crying.
Quietly.
Kendra heard the first sniffle.
“What's wrong?”
“She’s sad.”
“Who?”
Adeline looked at her.
“Claire.”
Kendra almost pulled over again.
Instead she tightened both hands on the wheel.
“We’re not talking about Claire right now.”
The child went silent.
That hurt immediately.
Kendra had always tried not to dismiss her daughter’s feelings, even imaginary ones.
But this was different.
“Sweetheart.”
No answer.
“I’m not angry at you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m scared.”
Adeline finally looked at her.
“Why?”
Kendra opened her mouth.
Because you knew something impossible.
Because twenty strangers looked at you like they had seen a ghost.
Because I don’t know whether to take you to a pediatrician, a priest, or back to Grandma’s house and pretend none of this happened.
Instead she said:
“Because that man was hurt.”
Adeline nodded.
“He’ll wake up.”
“How do you know?”
The question came too quickly.
Adeline looked toward the window.
“Claire says he has something left to do.”
Kendra stopped asking.
The promised ice cream never happened.
Neither mentioned it.
At home, Adeline went directly upstairs.
Kendra remained in the kitchen for almost twenty minutes staring at nothing.
Eventually she poured water.
Forgot to drink it.
Then remembered the drawings.
Months earlier, Adeline had gone through a phase of drawing people beside motorcycles.
Kendra thought it came from seeing a parade.
There had been some charity ride through town.