little ghost, blonde hair
post-requiem sickfic bc look at that face GODDDD i love her soo much grace antis dni fr
grace has a migraine… newfound family fluff ensues…
word count: 5592
Grace blinks, trying to force herself to stay awake as she glances at the clock on the wall. It’s a little past 10:30, a long way’s past Emily’s bedtime, past hers too, if she’s honest, but Emily’s wide awake, warm against her side. She’s completely engulfed by the TV in front of her. After Grace introduced her to movies, she’s been asking to watch one every night, and Grace can never say no.
Her work laptop’s screen has been dark for hours, a laborious report’s upcoming due date looming in her mind; she knows she should be working on it, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t partly invested in Elsa’s character arc in Frozen. Though, she’s long overdue for a break, has spent the last few nights up late after tucking Emily in, fingers flying over the keys, scattered papers and a few old mugs of coffee still sitting on her nightstand as proof.
As the movie comes to a close, Arendelle’s winter defrosting, Emily yawns, settling even closer against Grace. Grace relaxes, exhales softly, and rests her head against Emily’s. Her eyes close, this time she can’t find the strength to open them again, the sounds of the joyous ending lulling her to sleep. Emily’s asleep, too, before the credits roll.
The room is dark when Grace wakes up, the TV turned itself off a while ago. She sits up, her neck protesting the movement, stiff from falling asleep bent at that angle. Under her breath, she swears, her hand coming up to rub the sore spot. Her eyes flick to the clock again, sighing when she sees her alarm’s set to go off in just a few hours. Despite her exhaustion, she gets up, gently tucks an arm under Emily’s knees, one at her back, and lifts her up. For a moment, Grace considers bringing her into bed with her, then selfishly decides against it. Despite being small, Emily takes up the majority of the bed when she sleeps, completely stretched out.
Carefully, giving her absolute best effort to not wake the sleeping child, Grace sets her down in her bed, pulling the blanket over her. Then, she walks to her own bedroom down the hall and crawls onto the bed, instantly melting into the plush mattress. It doesn’t take long before sleep pulls her under again.
A noise wakes her up. She knows it hasn’t been long since she last fell asleep, sleep still clinging to her eyelids. The mattress dips beside her and her mind quickly catches up as a small body curls up beside her. Emily sniffles and exhales a ragged breath.
“Emily?” Grace murmurs sleepily, “you okay?”
The little girl rubs roughly at her eyes, wiping the tears from her face. “Can I sleep with you?”
Grace shifts, pulls her close. “Of course. Did you have a bad dream?”
Emily nods but says nothing. She sniffles, her breath shuddering. Grace hums, something sympathetic and sleepy. “You’re okay. I got you.”
She runs a hand over her back, feels her breath stuttering, still trying to recover from whatever horrors she’d seen in her nightmare. Under her breath, Grace hums softly, an old lullaby her mother had sang to her when she was small. Within minutes, Emily’s sleeping, her breathing slow and even. Only when Grace is sure she’s sleeping does she let herself relax, her eyes closing with a satisfied sigh.
All too soon, though, her alarm goes off, the shrill sound blaring through the quiet room. A whine crawls up Grace’s throat, her eyes burning as she opens them. Her neck is still stiff, she discovers as she sits up. Emily’s still asleep, barely moving as Grace shakes her shoulder, but eventually wakes.
Emily’s slow as they move through their morning routine, and Grace doesn’t feel awake even after a cup of coffee. They’re both tired, that much is obvious, but Emily is pushing them into the territory of being late for school and work. She’s half-asleep brushing her teeth, then eats her cereal in near slow-motion. By the time Grace gets her to the door, her patience is wearing thin, which is not like her at all. A headache is beginning to bloom in her temples, her neck and shoulders stiff from a wrong night’s sleep.
Finally, keys in hand, she ushers Emily out of the door, and her first step outside makes her physically recoil. The sun beams directly onto her, searing into her eyes. The engine roars to life as she presses the push to start button on the car, then digs in her purse for her sunglasses and realizes with great disdain she’s left them inside. Because of Emily’s poor time management this morning, though, she doesn’t even have the minute to spare to run back inside and get them. With a heavy sigh, she rubs her face, a little frustrated, tired, and throws the car in reverse and backs out of the driveway.
The traffic of the school drop-off line doesn’t help her frustration or the anxiety she feels most days when she has to go into work. Today, she’s more nervous than usual as she doesn’t usually run late, afraid Dempsy will have some lecture waiting for her, or worse— disciplinary action. She loathes to be in trouble, to feel like a child sitting in the principal’s office, being scolded, threatened with a phone call home. Regardless of her anxiety and the headache that’s now throbbing at a steady rhythm, she says goodbye to Emily, wishes her a great day, tells her she loves her. Emily smiles as she hops out of the SUV, tells Grace she loves her too before shutting the car door.
By the time she makes it to the Midwest office building, she’s nearly gotten used to that constant pounding in her skull, like background noise. When she walks inside, though, it worsens instantly under the piercing sterile, bright fluorescent lights over the cubicles. The glow of her computer screen helps none as she squints to re-read the last paragraph she wrote for the fourth time. Barely able to focus, she spends over an hour making very little progress, only adding a few hardly cohesive sentences to the paragraph. In her desk drawer, there’s a bottle of ibuprofen she keeps for emergencies, and today, Grace ranks an emergency, so she pours out three pills and pops them into her mouth, chasing it down with a few sucks of cold water through her straw. Even swallowing is painful. She sighs heavily, rolls her shoulders, and hopes the medication will kick in quickly.
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The hours drag, passing slowly. She’s only feeling worse as the day continues on, the pain worsening with what feels like every beat of her heart. It’s nearing excruciating, every few minutes she takes off her glasses to rub fruitlessly at her aching temples, her dry eyes. Sweat begins to bead at her forehead, her neck. Everything feels awful, her senses all overwhelmed. The shrill sound of the phone ringing makes her want to cry. She can feel the vibrations of her coworker’s voices in her teeth.
Taking both hands, she swipes the hair off of the back of her neck, damp with sweat. A shiver rips through her.
“F—fuck,” she whispers, blinking back tears. Her stomach sinks as the realization sets in. All of her symptoms add up suddenly, the pounding in her skull that won’t let up, the way the light feels assaulting, along with her newfound ability to feel noise… It’s a migraine— a bad one.
Swallowing harshly, she clocks out for break, her vision darkening when she stands. Grace heads toward the bathroom, hoping a minute of quiet will ease the pain. Then, she’ll go lay down in her car with the air conditioner blasting. The thought of that gives her the strength to move, and she opens the door.
The second she enters the bathroom, nausea instantly creeps up her throat, and she swallows thickly, hoping it will subside. It’s as if her body kindly held off on this rebellion, waited for her to be alone in this safe space. Her mouth waters terribly and she cringes, opening a stall and crouching in front of the toilet. The stall door bounces back open slightly as she didn’t have the time to lock it before she was on her knees, throwing up.
A shaking hand comes up to her hair, a sorry attempt at holding it back; some short blonde pieces escape through her uncoordinated fingers. It’s unceremonious, only choking up a little water and the ibuprofen with bile. She’d skipped breakfast, thanks to Emily’s lagging, but now she’s grateful.
She’s also properly sweating now, an uncomfortable flush settling over her entire body. Sweat threatens to drip into her eyes, her cheeks hot as she pants, trying to catch her breath. Standing up, Grace’s knees buckle beneath her and she nearly falls, but catches herself with a hand on the wall.
Slowly, she walks out to the sink, lifts her heavy head to look at her reflection. Her stomach drops at her appearance; sweat is running down her temples, her hair disheveled and sticking to her flushed face, her eyes watery from the force of vomiting. A string of saliva lingers on the corner of her lip and she wipes it away with her wrist. She turns the tap on, cups her hands and splashes cool water on her face. It helps, washing away some of the sweat, the heat, and the angry pink of her cheeks lessens slightly. She does it another time for good measure before rinsing her mouth out, ridding her tongue of the clinging bitter taste.
Leaning against the sink, Grace closes her eyes and sighs. She just needs a moment. No, all she needs is to make it through the day, then a dark, quiet room awaits her at home. She can take her medicine and pass out, wake up in the morning and feel miraculously better.
Wait… no, she can’t do that. She has to pick up Emily, make dinner, read with her, bathe her, get her ready for bed. The thought of this warms her, makes her chest ache with the amount of love she has for this child. There’s a part of her, a small one, that is a bit put-off by this. Gone are the days of sleep for dinner, working herself into exhaustion, skipping meals and cleaning in favor of writing or browsing the internet. Now she has to take care of herself because she’s got someone to care for, but Grace wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Again, she turns the sink on and washes her hands, grabbing a handful of paper towels and drying them, then her face. The door opens suddenly and she gasps, startled by the noise. Her head turns on instinct to the source, hears someone gasp her name. Through the fog, her brain doesn’t register who she’s looking at for a beat, then feels her brows crease in confusion, her mouth open.
“Sherry?” she says, her voice a little raspy from stomach acid. “Wh—what are you doing here?”
Before her stands Sherry Birkin, blonde and beautiful and put-together. Her face is pinched with soft concern. “I’m giving a presentation,” Sherry explains, stepping closer. “What are you doing in here? You look awful.”
Grace blinks dumbly, unsure what to say or how to get out of this awkward, embarrassing interaction. She swallows thickly. “I—I’m okay,” she stammers. “Just tired.” It’s a lie that slips past her teeth without second thought, though she’s not entirely sure why she’s lying to Sherry.
“I don’t know,” Sherry murmurs, closer now, and clearly disbelieving. Grace hopes she doesn’t smell like vomit. “Are you sick?”
Mortified and wishing the Earth would split open and swallow her whole, Grace leans back from the hand trying to feel her forehead. “I—I’m okay, Sherry, really. I, um…” she flounders, unable to think or speak coherently. “I get… m—migraines.”
“Grace,” she tuts, and there’s something understanding and kind in her expression. “That’s terrible,” she still looks at Grace worriedly. “Please tell me you’re leaving early.”
“Oh, um… I— I haven’t… thought about it. I’ll be fine, just… n—need to… rest for a second.”
Doubt is still extremely clear on Sherry’s face, but she nods before excusing herself to a stall.
Grace sighs, her shoulders slumping, relieved to be free of questions and her interrogative gaze. Sherry is great, she’s helpful and sweet, but all Grace wants right now is a cold, dark, silent room to lay in. Since that’s not a possibility, she’ll take what she can get— her cool, quiet car. By the time she makes it back to her desk, she’s dizzy, out of breath, still in horrible pain. Her neck is still hurting too, just to add to her misery.
She sits roughly in her chair and puts her head down on the desk to block out the light. Her head gets pillowed in her arms and Grace doesn’t think she has the strength to walk through the building and the parking lot to get to her car. She’s on top of notes, there’s a pen poking into her forearm, but she doesn’t care. Somehow, a miracle, perhaps, or her body’s way of protecting her from being subjected to the pain any longer, she falls asleep. Or teeters the edge of consciousness, the black space between sleep and wakefulness. The sounds of the office fade into the background, keyboards typing, people’s light chatter.
“Grace?”
Someone’s calling her name, the voice muffled and far-away. She doesn’t move.
“Grace?” the voice calls again, closer, louder.
”Miss Ashcroft!”
Grace sits up with a gasp, her vision swimming, the room spinning sickly as she startles upright. “Y—yes?” She’s facing her boss, expecting a stern warning for sleeping on the job.
Through the blur, she can make out the light grimace on his face. “You don’t look well, Grace,” he says, his voice mostly void of sympathy. “Grab your stuff and go home.”
“I’m fine,” she murmurs reflexively, sits up a bit straighter.
Nathan shakes his head, his lips pressed in a firm line. “Go home. Sherry’s waiting for you outside.” With that, he turns around and goes back to his office, leaving Grace alone at her desk. A heavy sigh escapes her lips as she stands, the room spinning slightly. After collecting her things, she slowly walks to the exit. Embarrassment heats her cheeks, but she’s grateful Sherry orchestrated her early dismissal.
Grace nearly throws up again as the early afternoon sun shines down on her. Sherry’s in the driver’s seat of her car, blacked out windows rolled down. She’s smiling warmly at Grace. “Hey,” she calls out, her voice soft.
Tugging open the door, the blast of the air conditioner hits Grace’s face in the most heavenly way as she climbs in. “Hi,” she gives her a watery smile.
“Here,” Sherry hands her an expensive-looking pair of large sunglasses. “I know it’s bright.”
Dumbfounded, almost irrationally emotional at this small act of kindness, she swallows past the lump that’s suddenly made home in her throat. “Sherry…” she puts the glasses on, gratitude wanting to leak from her eyes, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome. We’re family, Grace.”
Grace has so much to be thankful for. Right now, it happens to be for the large glasses covering her face so Sherry can’t see the tears running down her cheeks. She turns her head towards the window and closes her eyes, then feels motion sickness creeping up her throat and thanks God it’s a short drive to her apartment.
Sherry cruises just under the speed limit, hoping to keep her friend as comfortable as possible. With a quick glance to her, she can see Grace is clenching her jaw shut tightly, and rests a sympathetic hand on her arm. “You okay?”
Grace hums affirmatively without opening her mouth, trying her best to not throw up on the nice upholstery of Sherry’s car. She takes in slow, even breaths through her nose to calm her stomach.
“Poor thing,” she murmurs, squeezing her arm lightly. “We’re almost there.”
Thankfully, the rest of the drive is uneventful, arriving at the apartment complex a few minutes later. Sherry parks the car and looks over to Grace, who hasn’t moved at all. “We’re here.”
Grace opens the car door, leans out, and promptly vomits onto the unsuspecting sidewalk.
“Grace!” Sherry gasps, leaning over the center console to hold her hair. “Oh my God.” She grimaces at the sound of liquid splattering onto the pavement, sweeping damp blonde hair from Grace’s neck. “Thanks for not puking in the car…”
Grace breathes a laugh, then spits and sits back up. “Yeah.”
Sherry gets out, avoiding the small puddle when she goes to Grace’s side, helping her step down and around the spot of vomit on the concrete. “Can you walk?”
She nods, mussed hair bouncing, murmurs her thanks as they walk to the apartment. Sherry takes her keys and unlocks the door, holds it open for them and steps inside behind Grace. With an unsteady hand, Grace hands her back the sunglasses, thanking her again before excusing herself to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Now alone, Grace leans over the sink, her eyes closing as the mint toothpaste coats her tongue. After a minute of scrubbing her teeth, she spits and rinses her mouth. Sherry stands outside the closed door, hears the toilet flush and the sink turn on before she knocks.
“You okay?” she asks through the door, hand ready on the knob in case Grace needs help.
The door opens and she’s face-to-face with Grace, who looks a little better than she did under the fluorescent lights of the office bathroom. She nods, her lips tilted in a polite half-smile.
“Okay,” Sherry nods, “you should lie down.”
As Grace shuffles to her bedroom, Sherry trails behind her, asking if she takes anything when she gets like this, offers to get the medication so she can rest. From the doorway, she can see the other woman has already closed the blinds, feels the air conditioner kicking on. A glass of ice water sits on the nightstand, also now clear of papers and coffee mugs.
She’s about to thank her, tell her she didn’t have to clean up, an embarrassed blush creeping to her cheeks, when Sherry tells her to change before leaving the room. Grace looks down and realizes she might not be the most comfortable in her business casual outfit, but her head hurts so much that she’s sure she could sleep in anything. It’s a struggle and a true test of her strength and patience to get out of those clothes and into a loose t-shirt, but she does, then slips beneath the blankets, sinking into the mattress.
Sherry pops back in, poking her head in the doorway and making sure she’s decent before entering. Grace shivers faintly, her hairline damp with sweat, and Sherry feels so bad for her, wishes she could stay so she didn’t have to be alone. Dempsy made it very clear, though, that she’s only to drop Grace off and make sure she’s okay, then report back to the office ASAP.
“Here, Grace,” Sherry says softly, medication in one hand, the glass of ice water in the other.
Grace startles, her chest heaving as she gasps, her eyes flying open.
Sherry murmurs an apology, tipping the small white pill into Grace’s clammy hand. She hovers, waiting for Grace to take the glass, which she does after popping the pill into her mouth.
“Fuck,” she sighs, handing the glass back to Sherry, a droplet of water dribbling down her chin. “Thank you.”
A gentle shush, a soft hand on her shoulder encouraging her to lay down. She does, hesitant at first, then relaxes fully, settling against the mattress. Her eyes flutter closed as the blanket is pulled back over her shoulders.
“Will this help?” Sherry asks, keeping her voice low, holding up a washcloth she’d run under cold water, and the relief on Grace’s face makes the answer obvious.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Please.”
Sherry lays the cool cloth on her forehead and Grace’s eyes close again, a soft, pleasured gasp leaving her lips. “Sherry… thank you.”
“Yeah,” Sherry smiles down at her, though Grace can’t see it. “Get some rest, okay?”
“M’kay,” she hums sleepily, already halfway there. “Bye.”
“Bye, Grace. Feel better.”
Sherry pads quietly back through the apartment, locks the front door behind her, then fishes her phone from her pocket and calls Leon.
He answers on the second ring, gruff voice filling her ear. “Sherry? Everything okay?”
“Hey, yeah. It’s about Grace. She’s sick. Can you pick up Emily?”
A sigh, followed by the rustling of fabric like he’s moving the phone to his shoulder. “What time?”
“3, I think. Gotta go. Thanks, Leon.”
The call ends before Leon can say anything else. He sighs, looks at his watch. “Thanks for the twenty minute warning, Sherry,” he mutters to himself and grabs his keys. “Back to my babysitting days, huh?”
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At the end of a long, dark corridor stands a woman in a red coat, her back to Grace. She squints, taking in the familiar figure.
“M—Mom?” she calls out, her voice shaking.
Alyssa turns around, the dim light of the flashlight catching her silvery hair. “Come on, Grace.”
Grace tries to run, or jog, or move at all, but her feet stay planted, paralyzed. “Mom!” she screams, her heart pounding. She feels sick, like she’s about to throw up.
“Grace,” her mother runs toward her, flashlight bouncing as she moves, “come on, hurry.”
Her mother’s hand lands on her elbow, breaking her out of the trance, and she can finally move. She follows behind Alyssa, still scared and confused, but is quickly ushered into a room. “Come in now, Grace. Hurry.”
Grace enters first, then the door slams shut behind her, nearly startling her to death. She whips around and sees she’s alone in this dark room. “Mom!” she pounds on the door, twists the knob, nothing. Grace screams for her mother, no response comes. Then, she hears the sickly sound of a knife plunging into flesh, blood seeping, and falls to her knees. Beneath the door, a puddle of blood begins to leak into the room.
A fire starts, she can see the orange glow from the crack under the door, and the smoke begins to pour in. Filling her lungs, she coughs, and everything goes black.
Grace chokes on a gasp, startling awake. She’s upright before her eyes are open, shaking hands blindly fumbling for a weapon. After a few ragged breaths, she realizes she’s in her bedroom, then is hit with the realization she has no idea what time it is, nor any idea where Emily is, if she’s late to pick her up from school. She stumbles out of bed, picking up last night’s pajama shorts and quickly stepping into them, nearly tripping in the process. Her bedroom door is closed, though she can’t remember closing it. Her mind is racing— thoughts of what a failure she is, a horrible mother figure, where is Emily, is she okay? Grace, who forgets to pick up their child?
Immediately after she throws the door open, she squints against the bright light of the living room, her headache flooding back to the forefront. Then, her chest warms, and she exhales a shaking, relieved breath. Leon and Emily are sitting on the couch, playing stuffed animals, and he gives her a half-smile. Emily then turns her head and beams when she sees Grace, bounding over to her.
“Grace!” she hugs her legs tightly. “Are you okay?”
Grace bends down to wrap Emily in a full hug. She smells like outside and their fabric softener. “Hi, baby,” she murmurs against Emily’s hair. “I’m okay. How are you? Did you have a good day?”
“Yes,” she smiles. “I made a friend!”
Grace gasps, her smile growing. “You did? Oh, Emily,” she sniffles, hoping the girl doesn’t notice her misty eyes. “That’s wonderful.”
Leon smiles, watching them from the couch. He’s still surrounded by stuffed animals and makes no effort to move.
Emily’s face falls, just a bit. Grace notices. “What’s wrong?”
“I got scared when you didn’t pick me up,” she says quietly. “I thought… something happened.”
Tears prick at her eyes again and she swallows. “I’m sorry,” Grace kneels, still eye-level with her, and rests a gentle, reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Emily hugs her again. “It’s okay. Leon said you’re sick,” she pulls back, inspecting Grace carefully, her eyes darting over her features. “Are you?”
Grace hesitates. “I was,” she nods, though her headache and stiff neck protest the movement. She’s usually honest with Emily, but it’s obvious her little girl is anxious, and she doesn’t have the heart to tell her she still feels poorly. “But I’m okay now.”
A smile returns to Emily’s face and Grace feels her own lips quirking up. “Good,” she finally pulls away and goes to her backpack by the door. “Can we read?” Emily asks, her face hopeful. “I got a new book at the library.”
“Did you?” Grace smiles despite her headache that still throbs lightly in her temples. “Sure, Em. Are you hungry?”
She nods and returns to the couch with Leon, who’s still awkwardly holding a stuffed dog. Grace’s eyes flick to him, smirking. “You having fun?”
He huffs a laugh. “I said no to dress up.”
With the image of him in a princess dress, Grace laughs, then cringes because it hurts to do so. “What time is it?”
Leon looks at his watch, flicking his hair out of his face. “Five.”
“Do you… want to stay for dinner?”
He agrees, but only under the condition that they trade: Grace sits on the couch with Emily and he figures out something in the kitchen. She plays with Emily for a minute, making her voice deep to mimic a bear, when Leon comes back out, his phone in his hand. She should’ve known he was just going to order something.
He decides on Italian food, says soup will be easy on Grace’s stomach and she cringes. He smirks. They all play until the food comes, Emily enjoys the funny voices they put on. When it arrives, all three of them sit at the table and eat. Grace picks at her food, feeling vaguely nauseous, but encourages Emily to try everything. She does, and Grace feels a surge of pride.
Leon insists he can clean up while Grace goes to bathe Emily, she’s not sure how good of a job he’ll do, but appreciates the gesture anyway. Grace thinks Emily might be able to tell she doesn’t feel well because she doesn’t ask for bubbles or to swim around, just sits and lets Grace wash her hair without complaint.
“Grace?” she says, her head tipped back as she rinses the conditioner from her hair, eyes shielded from the soapy water by Grace’s hand.
“Yes?”
“Love you.”
Nearly coming undone, Grace swallows and blinks back tears, glad Emily can’t see her face from how her head is tilted. “Oh, Emily,” she murmurs, wipes her face on the shoulder of her t-shirt. “I love you so much.”
“Can we be done now? I want to show you my new book.”
“Yeah,” Grace smiles, patting her cheek. “You can be done. I still have to shower, but I’ll be super quick.”
A pout makes its way to Emily’s face and Grace laughs. “No pouting. I’ll be out before you know it. You can help Leon finish cleaning up.”
Now, she’s really pouting, but stands up with Grace’s help and gets wrapped in a fuzzy towel. She carries her to the bedroom and leaves her to get dressed, prepared to give Leon the rundown. When she makes it back to the living room, she’s genuinely shocked at how clean he’d gotten it, nearly speechless at how thankful she feels.
“Leon…”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waves her off with his hand, knowing the words about to spill from her mouth. “Figured you wouldn’t feel like cleaning after the day you’ve had. How’re you holding up?”
She shifts her weight. “A little better, but… it’s still hurting pretty bad… would you, um… play with her so I can shower? If you don’t mind. I know it’s late, and—”
“Grace,” he cuts her off, not unkindly. “I got it. Go shower.”
Her mouth falls open, he suspects it’s to ramble further, so he tells her again to go, that he and Emily will be fine for ten minutes. Trying to be fast, Grace hurries and washes her hair, the sweat from her body, then swiftly gets dressed and returns to the couch. Leon and Emily have abandoned the stuffed animals in favor of watching TV, a family of Australian dogs colored brightly on the screen. Her little girl is transfixed on the show, giggling softly when the small one says something silly.
Now relieved of his baby-sitting duties, Leon stands with a quiet groan, his knees cracking. “Too bad Elpis couldn’t cure getting old.”
He bids Emily goodbye and she stands up to hug him. Grace knows it makes him happy. She walks him to the door, leaning against the frame, the cool night air kissing her cheeks. “Goodnight, Leon. Thank you… for everything.”
“Anytime. She’s a good kid. Feel better.” A man of few words, he leaves, and she watches him walk away for a moment.
Sighing, she closes the door and turns back to Emily, who’s returned her attention to the TV. Grace goes to the kitchen and rummages through the medicine cabinet, pulling out her migraine prescription and taking another. She really hopes it’s gone by the time she wakes up in the morning.
“Grace?” Emily calls from behind her, no longer on the couch, but standing in the kitchen threshold.
“Yes, baby? What’s up?”
“I’m tired,” the little girl rubs her eyes and Grace frowns sympathetically. “Can we read now, please?”
“Of course, Emily,” she says immediately, pleased at her manners. “Come on.” She scoops her up, ignores how the pain worsens when she bends down, and carries Emily to her bedroom.
Emily whines, “No, I want to sleep with you. Can I, Grace?” she looks up at her, eyes big and pleading. “Please?”
Oh, how could she say no to that face. She can’t. It’s a problem. “Okay,” she smiles, walking back down the hall to her own bedroom. She sets Emily down, tells her to go get her book. Emily scampers out of the room, her little footsteps echoing down the hallway.
She returns, a small picture book and her favorite stuffed bear in hand. “Got it!”
They settle in Grace’s bed, clean and in warm pajamas, and Emily hands over the book to Grace. She inspects the cover.
Clifford Goes to Dog School
A smile pulls at Grace’s lips at the large red dog on the front. Had her Mom read her these stories before? She couldn’t remember now, and the thought of forgetting anything about her makes her sad. “Your turn, Em. I read last time.” Grace returns the paperback to Emily.
Emily smiles, giggles softly as she remembers the small chapter book Grace had read for her the other night. She loved the way Grace narrated the stories, did funny voices for the different characters. It made her laugh, those sweet, special laughs that only come from truly happy children, and Grace hopes she never has to go without hearing that sound.
She’s a fast learner, very observant and intelligent, reads children’s books easily without problems. Sometimes, a bigger word will trip her up, but Grace is more than happy to help her, guide her through sounding out the syllables.
“But to me,” Emily reads the last page of the book, “he’ll always be the best dog in the world.”
“Well done, Emily. You’re so smart.”
Smiling, Emily looks up at Grace. “Did you like that one?”
“I did,” she answers honestly. The message is cute. “Do you understand the story?”
She nods softly.
Grace continues. “He’s different, right? He can’t do everything that some other dogs can do. But he loves Emily Elizabeth so much,” she pokes Emily’s side as she emphasizes how much Clifford loves his human, “he would do anything for her. And that love is more important than being like everyone else.”
A thoughtful look passes over the little girl’s face. “I’d do anything for you, Grace.”
Tears spring to her eyes and she pulls Emily close, hugging her tightly, and kisses the top of her head. “I know you would. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Emily. Never forget that.”
Please know that you are my hope.
“I know,” Emily smiles, then yawns squeakily. “I’m tired.”
Grace takes the book from her grasp and sets it on the nightstand, then flicks off the light. She opens her arms, letting Emily and the teddy bear lay directly against her. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”
Emily sighs sleepily, almost asleep already, a bit of drool leaking onto the fur of the bear. Grace smiles, closes her own eyes, and inhales against Emily’s soft, clean hair. It’s not long until she’s falling asleep herself, migraine long forgotten with Emily warm and safe in her arms.