Waiting for Butterflies Read online

She looked from Olivia to Rachel. Her girls. Her children. They still needed her, and she still needed to be their mom. She pulled back the covers and lay down beside Olivia. As she reached across to rest her hand on Rachel’s cheek, she cuddled Olivia close and breathed in her little girl smell. She kissed her forehead, her tender cheek, her curls, and rested her lips near her ear. Softly she sang Olivia’s favorite lullaby.

  Rachel rested beside them. Maggie studied the features of a young woman that had begun to replace those of a little girl. A muscle twitched as Rachel clenched her jaws. Maggie softly stroked her cheek as she continued to sing, trying to help her release the tension. Rachel stirred slightly at the touch then rolled to her side, turning away from Maggie and out of her reach.

  When she finished the lullaby, Maggie lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, aware that somehow she had been given a chance to return to her family—grateful beyond words that she had been given this chance, whether it was only moments or for many days. But she was confused. Most of her life she’d anticipated what Heaven would be like. And she’d lived life in the flesh for thirty-eight years. Life she understood. But this. This place between. Maggie had no point of reference. I am here, Lord. Maggie prayed. But I don’t understand.

  As she listened for direction in the silence, it was Sam she heard, his voice muffled by the sound of the shower. She turned to rise from the bed, and in doing so, noticed the picture of her and Sam lying face down on the night stand. Instantly her heart gripped. She imagined the moments leading to the picture being placed that way. Had Sam studied it longingly or had he glanced away quickly, unable to bear the memory? Did he lay it down gently out of grief, or violently out of anger? She picked up the picture, cradled it in both hands like a wounded butterfly, and willed herself to be transported back into the moment when her world seemed perfect. It all washed over her, the energy of Olivia’s giggles, the strength in Sam’s arms, and Rachel’s determination as she focused and shot. For an instant, Maggie was weightless. But a sound from the shower drew her attention once again. She returned the photograph to its upright position and whispered to the sleeping girls, “Tell your daddy to leave my favorite picture the way it’s supposed to be.”

  Maggie gripped the doorway to the master bath, unprepared for the scene before her. The textured shower door framed Sam’s silhouette. He stood, his back against the shower wall, with one arm extended and placed against the opposite wall as if to brace himself. One jagged sob after another erupted from the masculine body she associated only with strength and control. Not that she hadn’t seen Sam’s tears before; she had, at his father’s funeral shortly after they were married, at the birth of both girls, when her parents passed away. But she had never seen him like this.

  She rushed to the shower and pressed her hands desperately against the hot glass. She cried inside, but she had no tears of her own. “It’ll be alright, Sam.” Though she insisted, she didn’t know how it could be. “Please, Sam.” She needed him to stop. The very inside of her twisted unnaturally as she watched her protector lean back against the wall, defeated, silent, though his shoulders still rose and fell as sobs racked his body.

  “I can’t do this, Maggie.”

  His words startled her. “Sam!” She pounded the glass. “Sam!”

  Hope sliced through her, but then faded. As the shower continued to wash over him, Maggie was only inches away, but Sam was completely unaware. She was helpless.

  He spoke again, his words slow, staccato. “I can not do this. I can’t raise these girls by myself.”

  Anguish pressed down on Maggie. She feared Sam was right. What if he couldn’t do it? He was a provider, a protector. His identity outside the home had formed the foundation, the structure they lived within. But Maggie’s identity was the interior, the life that happened inside their home, inside their family. Olivia, their blossoming child, needed a nurturer, an encourager, someone to protect her self-esteem in the years to come when her innocence would collide with a world that could be so unkind. Did Sam possess the insight that required?

  And Rachel, intricate and fragile, needed someone who could hear what she didn’t say, who could recognize her needs even when Rachel herself didn’t understand them. Maggie feared that was not Sam’s nature. And when the girls faltered and made mistakes, would Sam know the difference between grace and discipline, and discern which was called for? Or would he default to his law enforcement mindset, that crime deserved punishment?

  Maggie pressed both hands to her chest as if the pressure would keep the shards of her heart from causing more pain. The torment was unbearable. Her family was in crisis. They had no options. Sam would have to learn, and maybe he could. After all, was her intuition as a mother so far removed from Sam’s instinct as a detective? It was a wisp of hope, but she longed for something more solid to cling to. Maggie prayed Sam would learn quickly and that the mistakes made in the process would not have devastating consequences for the girls, or for him.

  “Maggie.”

  “I’m here, Sam.” Maggie rested her forehead against the glass door. She wanted terribly to pull her husband to her, to let her arms be the strength around him as his had been for her so many times. “I’m here, and I’m going to be here. We promised, remember? Our last night, we promised each other we’d keep our girls safe, happy. Together. I’m here, Sam.” As Maggie renewed her vow, she had no idea if she could keep it, or how long she would be allowed to try. But she knew she had to believe she could.

  A cry from Olivia summoned her attention. Maggie looked toward the bedroom and then back at Sam, who had raised his head. At the sound of the second cry, he turned off the shower. Maggie stepped back as he swung open the shower door and rushed to Olivia. She was awake, and the tender exchange between father and daughter consoled Maggie. And then, Olivia whispered, “Mommy came.”

  Sam’s back stiffened, but Maggie clutched both hands to her chest, certain her heart would leap out and soar to the clouds. Olivia had heard her! Sam tried to convince Olivia she had been dreaming, but Maggie didn’t care. Whether conscious or unconscious of her presence, Olivia knew Maggie had come to her. But what about Rachel? Would she wake and know her mom had tried to comfort her in the night? The wings of hope spread inside her chest, but a sudden thought kept it from taking flight. Sam didn’t sense her presence. She had talked to him, but he didn’t hear. What if Rachel didn’t either?

  She both anticipated and feared the morning. What would Sam say to Olivia? Would he convince her she was only dreaming? Would Rachel have an awareness, too? And if Maggie could reach her family, then what? She settled into her chair in the corner. Please, God, show me what I’m supposed to do.

  CHAPTER 7

  Maggie decided to spend the morning experimenting. Based on last night, she was certain Olivia could hear her, but she didn’t think Olivia could see her. Sam could do neither. But she was unsure about Rachel. She leaned against the desk as Rachel salvaged a rumpled pair of jeans from her bedroom floor and dug through her dresser for a t-shirt. When she sat on her bed and began to text, it was apparent she intended to go to school.

  “Please don’t go, Rachel.” Maggie waited for a reaction, some indication Rachel heard her, but there was none. “Stay home, just for today.” Her plea was selfish. She wanted her family intact, inside their home, together, even if she were the only one who knew it.

  Rachel walked to her dressing table and pulled a brush through her hair. Maggie expected her to sit down and use make-up to cover the shadows beneath her eyes or to give her pale complexion some color. But she didn’t. Instead, Rachel glared at her reflection in the mirror and ran her fingers into her hair, resting her hands on her head. Then she closed her eyes and gripped her hair tightly. Her jaw clenched and a low moan rumbled in her chest.

  Maggie’s heart wrenched. Instantly she stood behind Rachel, her face close as she spoke directly into her ear. “Rachel, honey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here. Please don’t, Rachel. Please.” Maggie tri
ed to grasp Rachel’s wrists and force her to release her grip. She could feel Rachel, but her touch had no effect on her daughter.

  Rachel spun and flung herself face down on her bed. Her whisper was fierce. “I hate it! I hate it, Mom! Why did you have to do this?”

  Maggie gasped. “Do this? Rachel, you say that like this was my choice. But it wasn’t. I hate it, too, and I’d give anything to change it, to make things the way they are supposed to be. But I can’t. I can’t.”

  She imagined how their morning was supposed to be. She was supposed to have a cup of coffee in hand, darting from one girl’s room to the next, helping Olivia tie her shoes, telling Rachel to get a move on or she wouldn’t have time for breakfast. She was supposed to kiss Sam as he passed her in the hall on his way to the door. She was supposed to be checking the day’s schedule in her phone for the time of a closing or an appointment to show a property. That’s the way it was supposed to be, but it wasn’t. And it never would be again. Maggie let bitterness claim her, but only for a moment. She couldn’t waste the precious time she had been given by agonizing over how her family was supposed to be.

  She sat beside Rachel and ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair, the way she used to when she had trouble falling asleep. “I don’t know why it happened any more than I know why I am allowed to be here. But I am here, Rachel. If only you knew.”

  While her family had slept during the night, Maggie tried to make sense of what she knew.

  The accident. Her only memory of it was a fleeting realization when she saw the headlights.

  The place. Some point between here and eternity where brief moments had translated into days by the time Maggie found herself back with her family.

  The emotions. Though surrounded by the grief of her family, Maggie felt a detached sense of loss, as if she were trying to recall a vivid dream she could only grasp in wisps. The frustration was stronger. Her family was in crisis, yet she was useless. And although she was very grateful for it, why did she seem to have a connection with only Olivia? Love, however, reigned as the principal emotion and fueled her yearning to take care of her family.

  Her return. How? Why? For how long? There was nothing about it that she understood. Simply, she was home. For now.

  Maggie rested her lips on her daughter’s head. Summoning everything within, she willed Rachel to sense her presence. I’m here, Rachel. Can you feel me? Just be still. Be still and feel me here.

  She was encouraged when Rachel rose and sat on the edge of the bed. She stared ahead. Maggie followed her gaze to an easel in the corner beside the window where Rachel had started a painting, a fall landscape of a pond surrounded by trees, reflecting the colors of the changing leaves. She walked to the easel as if in a trance. Yes, Maggie urged. Use your art, honey. Put your emotion there.

  Her shoulders relaxed as her daughter clutched the palette and dabbed it with paints. But instead of picking up a brush, Rachel pressed her open palm on the palette and smeared the colors together. Maggie watched, horrified, as she then placed her hand in the center of the painting and moved it in circles, leaving behind a mixture of colors that transformed into a trail of dull grey.

  “Rachel . . . don’t.”

  But she continued moving her hand over the canvas, covering it entirely. Finally, she stepped away from the easel as if to admire a masterpiece. Her eyes narrowed. She returned to the painting one last time and placed her hand near the top. Her fingers curved into a claw, her nails dug into the canvas, and she dragged them brutally down the center, leaving a trail of scars in the wet paint.

  Maggie turned away. Her questions were answered. She could not reach Rachel no matter how hard she tried. Her daughter was fragile and crumbling and needed to be rescued. But Maggie couldn’t help her, and she feared Sam wouldn’t see it because he didn’t know what to look for. She paused at the bedroom door. “Rachel, I’m sorry.”

  “Dad, wake up.”

  Voices summoned Sam in the darkness, but he could not climb his way out of the black pit he had fallen into. The smooth stone walls had no crags to grasp or ledges to climb. He tried to answer the voices, but unrecognizable sounds issued from his mouth, which no longer seemed capable of forming words.

  “Dad, come on. Wake up.”

  A hand clasped his shoulder. Turning abruptly to face whatever threatened him, Sam was awakened by his own gasp. He opened his eyes and waited for the scene to come into focus. Rachel stood in front of him, one hand on her hip and head cocked, looking at him like he was something to figure out.

  “I’m going to school.” Dressed in jeans torn at the knee and a t-shirt with some logo across the front, she stood expectantly, her backpack flung over one shoulder. “Kristen’s mom is picking me up.”

  His heart held the next beat too long, and then he realized the moment was gone, the brief second or two each morning when he woke up not yet realizing that Maggie wasn’t there, the instant before he remembered normal no longer existed and he was left lost, searching for his way in an unfamiliar world. He wished he were asleep and back in the nightmare that wasn’t real.

  “Dad?” Impatience rang in her voice.

  “Uh, yeah.” He rubbed his hand down his face, trying to think through the fog. “Are you sure, Rach? Are you ready to go back? Don’t you want to stay home at least another day?”

  “And do what, Dad? Sit around noticing she’s not here?” Her shrug punctuated the sarcasm.

  The doorbell saved him from a response.

  “I gotta go.” Rachel already had her hand on the doorknob.

  “Did you eat anything?” The door closed and cut off his words.

  Sam sat the recliner upright. Should he have stopped her? Isn’t the day after the funeral too soon? Besides, school is the last place Rachel would choose to be. She had good attendance and good grades because she had no choice, but she could certainly concoct a good excuse to skip every once in a while. Maybe he should go get her. But she was right, wasn’t she? Exactly what was he going to do all day anyway? He tried to put himself in Maggie’s place. If she were home today, what would she do? He should make Olivia breakfast. And he could attempt the laundry, since it had been neglected over the weekend. It was only morning, but shouldn’t he think about dinner? And how was Rachel getting home from school, did she say? The day hadn’t even begun and already he was drained.

  His thoughts turned to the open investigation sitting on his desk at the station. He could drop Olivia at school and bury himself in work. While the escape enticed him, he didn’t have the intellectual energy to expend on the case. But he wished he could lose himself in something, anything, to get out from under the blanket of sorrow suffocating him.

  As Maggie stepped from Rachel’s room into the hallway, noise from Olivia’s bedroom greeted her. She needed desperately to connect, to see if Olivia would respond to her while awake as she had in her sleep. She found Olivia sitting in her rocking chair, cradling a doll.

  “Don’t cry, baby. Mommies don’t ever stay away.” As she rocked she stared through the doorway where Maggie stood. Olivia couldn’t see her.

  Cautiously, she entered the room. Because Olivia on some level could sense her presence, she wasn’t sure how to approach. She leaned against a dresser, quiet, observant.

  “No, sweetie. We can’t wake up, Daddy.” Olivia patted her doll. “He’s so tired. But if you are a good girl, Mommy will come home soon.”

  Maggie couldn’t resist. “Olivia?”

  “See, baby. Mommy’s here. You’re a good girl.” She hummed softly.

  “Livi, can you hear me?”

  Olivia continued humming.

  “Livi?”

  No response.

  A moment later, Olivia put down the doll and turned her attention to the unfinished poster lying on the floor. She chose a pink marker and traced the pencil outline of her name, which Rachel must have drawn for her. Maggie smiled as Olivia sat on her knees, bent over her project with the marker clutched tightly in her finge
rs, and raced her tongue back forth across her lips.

  “Does that help you color better?” Maggie teased as she had many times before.

  Olivia froze. She closed her mouth then bit her bottom lip. She put down the marker and sorted through the pictures she had cut out for her poster. She set aside one of a grey kitten tangled in a ball of yarn. Cute.

  “Mommy likes you.” Olivia kissed the picture.

  Maggie was puzzled. She halfway expected Olivia to know she was there, even to communicate openly maybe. But the best she could tell, Olivia had no idea Maggie was beside her, and her attempts to talk with her were unsuccessful. Yet, somehow, Maggie’s words, and maybe even her thoughts, seemed to influence the child.

  As Olivia sorted pictures, Maggie moved through the room. A few books on a shelf had fallen, and Maggie instinctively thought to straighten them. She reached for the first book. She could feel it as her hand passed over, just like she could feel Rachel’s hair as she brushed her fingers through, but her contact had no effect on either. After a night alone, exploring her home while her family slept, Maggie knew her touch was futile. With one exception. The picture on Sam’s nightstand.

  Olivia held up a cut-out of fluffy white clouds. “Mommy went there.”

  Maggie, concentrating on her daughter, was startled when Sam appeared in the doorway. A tingle raced through her.

  Olivia glanced up. “Hey, Daddy. See my poster? I put my name on it, and I’m gonna glue my favorite things on it, like Mommy said.”

  Sam cringed and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Maggie was certain the word Mommy, not the poster, prompted his reaction. He cleared his throat. “It’s great, honey. How about some breakfast?”

  “Okay.”

  “What would you like?”

  “Um . . .” She shuffled through pictures and placed the grey kitten next to her name.

  “Livi, what do you want to eat?” His fingers found his temples and pressed as Olivia rubbed a glue stick on the back of the kitten and secured it in place.