Dulcie shrugged. “To answer your question, I guess we didn’t come back because we got tired of coming here. For kids, there’s not a whole lot to do. We spent our summers traveling instead—Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Niagara Falls, the Canadian Rockies.” She laughed. “Dad did a lot of driving in those years.”
Emma picked up one of a pair of teddy bears sitting in a small rocking chair. “He looks just like Mr. Bear,” she said.
“He belonged to Claire,” Dulcie said. “And that’s just what she called him. Mr. Bear.”
“That’s the bear’s name in The Lonely Doll. Mr. Bear and Little Bear, the friends Edith wishes so hard for.” Emma hugged the bear. “If I wish hard enough, will a friend come?”
Dulcie leaned down to kiss Emma’s cheek. “Just wait till you start kindergarten in the fall. You’ll have so many friends, you won’t have to wish.” She smoothed her daughter’s silky hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ears.
“Does Mr. Bear belong to you now?” Emma asked me.
“You can have him,” I told her. “I think he likes you best of all.”
Emma grinned and hugged the bear. “And you can have the other one.”
“He was mine.” Dulcie picked up the bear, a sad companion to Mom’s. His fur was almost worn off, stuffing leaked from one paw, and he was missing an eye.
“Poor old thing,” Dulcie said. “Claire took good care of her toys, but I was rough on everything—toys, clothes, books. Even people.”
She sighed and gave the bear a hug. “His name is Rufus M., after the little boy in the Moffat Family books.” Dropping the bear on the foot of the bed, she stretched. “I guess it’s time to start dinner.”
5
When Dulcie was gone, Emma sat on the bed and watched me put my things into the bureau drawers. “Is Aunt Claire mad at Mommy?” she asked. “Is that why she didn’t come down to see us before we left?”
I shook my head. “My mom gets awful headaches,” I told Emma. “They’re called migraines. When she has a really bad one, she stays in bed and doesn’t talk to anyone.”
“Poor Aunt Claire.” Emma stroked Mr. Bear’s fur. “I’ll make her a get-well card tomorrow. It’ll be from me and Mr. Bear. Would she like that?”
I grinned. “She’d love a card, especially from you.”
Emma looked at me thoughtfully. “Aunt Claire doesn’t like the lake, does she? She almost didn’t let you come with me and Mommy.”
I opened the casement window and leaned out to look at the water. The evening star hung low in the sky, kept company by a half-moon, but it was still light enough to make out the horizon, a dark line against the fading pink of the sunset.
“My mom’s scared of water,” I said. “I’ve never seen her go swimming. Not once. Even when she took me to the pool for lessons, she sat on the grass and watched me. All the other mothers were in the water with their kids. But not my mother.”
Beside me, Emma shuddered. “Maybe she thinks she’ll drown. She doesn’t want her bones to come out.”
I looked at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Bones are inside us, you and me and Mommy and everybody. When we die they come out, and then we’re ghosts.”
“Where did you get that idea?”
“I saw pictures in Mommy’s drawing books. She said they’re skeletons. We all have them inside—until we die, and then…” Emma hugged Mr. Bear. “He doesn’t have bones, just stuffing. And he’s not alive, so he can’t die. Or be a ghost.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Emma turned her hands this way and that, as if observing the movement of the bones under her skin. “How do you know? Maybe you just haven’t seen one.”
“Don’t be a Silly Billy.” I forced myself to laugh. “Of course I haven’t seen a ghost. And neither have you.”
“I’ve seen one in my dreams.” Emma spoke so softly I had to lean down to hear her. “The ghost is very sad and lonely. She wants to go home, but she’s down deep, deep, deep in the water. She’s been there so long, she’s just bones. No one knows where she is.”
Emma’s whispery voice made my skin race with goose bumps. I pulled her small body close to mine and hugged her. Mr. Bear’s fur tickled my nose. “That’s very scary,” I told her, “but it’s just a bad dream. Everybody has them.”
Emma peered into my eyes. “Do you?”
I thought about “T.” I hadn’t dreamt about her for weeks—until last night. I must have been worried about coming to the lake, leaving Mom, all that. I hoped I wouldn’t dream about her now that I was actually here.
“Not very often,” I fibbed to keep from alarming Emma.
While we’d been talking, the room had darkened. Shadows gathered in the corners, and a cool breeze fluttered the curtains. Somewhere outside a bird cried once … twice … three times.
I took Emma’s hand and led her toward the stairs. “Let’s go see what your mom’s doing.”
In the brightly lit kitchen, Emma ran to Dulcie. “Mr. Bear wants dinner,” she said, waving him at her mother. “He’s hungry.”
Dulcie gave her a kiss. “It’s almost ready. Why don’t you and Ali set the table? The forks and knives and spoons are in that drawer.” She pointed to the cabinet by the sink, and Emma began counting out the utensils—four of each.
“There’s only three of us,” I said.
“You forgot Mr. Bear.” Emma sat the teddy in the extra chair and laid a fork, knife, and spoon in front of him.
I laughed a little louder than I’d meant to, in relief, I guess, that Mr. Bear was joining us … not the ghost from Emma’s dream.
Dulcie brought over a big yellow bowl of spaghetti and set it down in the middle of the table. “The sauce isn’t as good as my ex-mother-in-law’s,” she said, “but it’s not bad with plenty of parmesan sprinkled on top.”
She tucked a napkin around Emma’s neck and served us each a heaping portion.
“Don’t forget Mr. Bear,” Emma said. “He hasn’t had anything to eat for years and years and years.”
Dulcie put a small amount on a saucer and set it in front of the bear. “Eat up,” she told him. “I don’t like bears who waste food.”
After dinner, Dulcie lit a fire. Emma and I sprawled on the rug and roasted marshmallows. I let mine turn black on the outsides and sucked the gooey white insides into my mouth. “Yum.”
“Ugh,” said Emma. She liked hers barely toasted, but Dulcie burned hers even blacker than mine.
We washed the marshmallows down with hot chocolate, then lay still and watched the flames devour the logs. Our faces felt warm, but our feet were cold.
On the sofa, Dulcie sighed happily and stretched her long legs toward the fire. “I’d forgotten how chilly Maine gets at night,” she said. “We’ll need extra blankets. And cozy flannel jammies.”
Emma yawned and rubbed her eyes.