Chapter 11
Sophie turned eight that summer.
She wanted a party in the driveway.
That surprised me.
“The driveway?” I asked.
She nodded.
“With chalk.”
“The SUV will not be there.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure?”
She looked at me with Rachel’s stubborn eyes.
“I want to draw on the place where I cried.”
So we did.
James came.
Elaine and Tom came.
Her friends came.
We covered the driveway in chalk stars, flowers, rainbows, and one giant purple dragon.
Sophie drew a car with open doors.
Under it, she wrote:
I got out.
I cried in the garage where she could not see me.
At the party, Sophie laughed.
A real laugh.
The kind I had not heard in a long time.
After cake, she stood by the chalk car and said, “This is not Vanessa’s driveway anymore.”
“No,” I said. “It’s yours.”
She smiled.
“Ours.”
Yes.
Ours.
Life became a series of reclaiming.
The laundry room got painted bright yellow.
Sophie chose the color.
We put a basket of warm towels on a shelf and a sign that said:
No one sleeps here. Socks only.
Her idea.
The SUV was sold.
I bought a smaller car with windows Sophie could open herself from the back seat.
She picked the color.
Blue.
“Like sky,” she said.
Therapy continued.
Nightmares came and went.
Questions came too.
“Why did you marry her?”
“I thought she was kind.”
“Was she ever kind?”
“Sometimes. Or I thought so.”
“Was Mommy kind?”
“Yes.”
“Am I like Mommy?”
“In many ways.”
“Is that why Vanessa hated me?”
“That was Vanessa’s problem. You never caused it.”
May you like
Again and again.
Safe repetition.
