Chapter 13: Mia’s Distance
By spring, Mia had stopped asking about Patricia.
The transition was gradual. At first she would mention Grandma in passing, usually in connection with a memory that had nothing to do with the mall. Then the mentions grew rarer. When a classmate talked about going to a grandmother’s house for the weekend, Mia simply said, “I do things with my mom and dad,” and moved on.
Her teacher noted that she seemed more settled in class. The clinginess at home eased. She began sleeping in her own bed again, though she still sometimes appeared in our doorway after a bad dream. We never sent her away.
One afternoon she was drawing at the kitchen table while I made supper. Without looking up, she said, “Grandma left me at the place with the cars.”
I turned off the burner and sat down beside her.
“Yes,” I said. “She did.”
“I didn’t like it.”
“I know. It wasn’t safe. That’s why it doesn’t happen anymore.”
Mia colored in a blue circle with careful concentration.
“If I get scared again, I can tell you.”
“Always.”
She nodded, satisfied, and reached for a green crayon.
Daniel stood in the doorway listening. When she finished her drawing and ran off to play, he came in and rested his forehead against mine for a moment.
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“She’s okay,” he said, as if testing the words.
“She’s getting there,” I answered. “So are we.”
