Somehow, Addie was out of the hamper and on the floor of the pink and blue bathroom. The light
was on and the crying – oh, the crying. Loud, painful wails that seemed to be filled with fear and dread.
That doesn’t sound like me. Am I making that noise?
“Mom? Oh Mom, Dad!” Michaela fell on the floor beside her. “Mom, are you okay?”
The cries seemed to quiet when Tim joined them. “Honey?”
Addie had her hand over her ears. “The crying, make it stop.”
“Adelaide!” Tim pulled Addie’s hands from her ears and wrested her into his lap like a child.
“There’s no crying. None. There are no sounds.”
“Yeah,” Michaela agreed. “The light just came on and that’s how I found you.”
Michaela paused a moment. “I guess you had the perfect hiding spot. I’d been in here once
looking for you when the light was still off.”
Sure enough, Tim was right. The crying had stopped. Addie opened her eyes. Michaela’s beautiful
heart-shaped face came into focus. Tim’s chest was strong and warm. She sucked in a shuddering breath.
“Michaela,” Tim whispered, “go push the mattresses down for me. They’re propped up against
the wall there. I’m going to help Mom to bed, okay?”
“Can I go unpack my room when I’m done?”
“Yes. If you’re not scared to go all the way to the back of the house by yourself.”
“Seriously?” Michaela clucked. “Of course I’m not scared.”
Exhaustion clung to Addie’s bones as she lay in the fetal position in the middle of the California
king. Tim snuggled up behind her and pulled their thick blue comforter over both of them. “Are you okay,
Addie?”
For once, she didn’t hesitate or dance around the usual I’m fine or yes or what makes you think
that. “No Tim, I’m not. I’m not okay.”
“You’re just tired. It’s been stressful. What with the move, and with looking for a teaching job if
your book doesn’t sell and all?” He nuzzled her hair. “And it will, Addie. A Heart on Hold is a great
book. Tomorrow I’ll get your writing nook all set up, so you can start on book two in the series. What’s
the title going to be again?”
“A Heart Broken,” Addie sniffed.
Art imitating irony.
Talking about books, something she could normally do all day, just wasn’t what was on her heart
tonight. “It’s not the tiredness, Tim. It just all happened so fast. Could I have done something different?”
Emotion clogged her throat.
Tim rubbed her back. “How about going to see someone? Like we talked about?”
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
The sounds of the new house were amplified in the silent dark. The overhead fan whipped the air
like an airplane rotor and gave their room more the feel of a hotel than an actual house. Water heaters, air
conditioners –normal little noises she hadn’t had the chance to get used to yet – creaked and groaned like
unwelcome guests overstaying their visit.
Cars zipped down the highway, their lights casting an eerie glow on the far wall of the curtainless
bedroom wall. Like two glowing yellow eyes seeking and searching, but finding nothing, moving silently
along their way into the blackness.
“Tim?”
“Hmm?”
“You didn’t answer me.”
Tim adjusted on the mattress, a sure sign he was in uncomfortable territory. “Addie, I think what
happened . . . well, it’s over. We just need to move on from it.”
“You’re dodging.”
He exhaled loudly and turned completely on his back. The half-inch between them, where their
bodies were touching just moments before, felt more like a mile. “I think you should talk to someone, yes.
Something isn’t right.”
Addie buried her face in her hands. She wanted to cry. She wanted to let the cleansing tears soak
her cheeks and leave their salty streaks as a reminder of the pain in her heart that refused to heal. A badge
of her emotion. Perhaps even a sign that she was healing, that she was moving on. Accepting the pain,
dealing with it. Thinking. Remembering.
But those tears just wouldn’t come.
“Mother!”
Addie shook her head. “Sorry, Mack. I didn’t sleep well last night. What?”
“Are all Ritchie’s bad people?”
“I suppose it would depend on the person.”
Addie’s stomach rumbled. A couple of donuts were left in the box. Neither had equally dispersed
sprinkles, so it’s not like Michaela would be eating one. Addie took a deep breath and chose the most
smashed of the two before she continued.
Time to put the past to rest. Time to be normal.
Addie chewed the pastry and swallowed the bite. It tasted like sawdust. “Do you think Ritchie is
the name of a bad guy?”
Michaela nodded. “Ritchie is mean. I don’t like anyone named Ritchie.”
Adelaide said a mental prayer for any of Michaela’s future classmates who had the bad luck to be
named Ritchie.
Michaela folded her paper towel in half, then in half again. “Ritchies slam doors. And they don’t
like dogs.”
Addie glanced at Tim. He must think he’s the only one among us who has a mind that operates
halfway decent.
“Well baby, don’t judge all Ritchie’s just from one.”
Michaela shrugged and stacked the pepper shaker on top of the salt. “I don’t know. You’ve always
said anyone that doesn’t like dogs can’t be trusted any further than you could throw them. And I don’t
think I could throw Ritchie very far.”
Addie tried to conceal a laugh, but it escaped anyway as a snort. Sometimes, Michaela’s thought
process was so entirely off the wall that it came full circle and made a bit of sense.
Tim, however, wasn’t laughing at all. “Who is Ritchie, Mack? Someone in one of your classes at
school last year or something?”
Mack stared at her dad. A deadpan stare that had proven to give parents of non-autistic children
the creeps. “Ritchie gets mad. He likes to slam things.”
An icy breeze brought goosebumps to Addie’s arms.
“Mother!”
Addie shook her head. “Sorry, Mack. I didn’t sleep well last night. What?”
“Are all Ritchie’s bad people?”
“I suppose it would depend on the person.”
Addie’s stomach rumbled. A couple of donuts were left in the box. Neither had equally dispersed
sprinkles, so it’s not like Michaela would be eating one. Addie took a deep breath and chose the most
smashed of the two before she continued.
Time to put the past to rest. Time to be normal.
Addie chewed the pastry and swallowed the bite. It tasted like sawdust. “Do you think Ritchie is
the name of a bad guy?”
Michaela nodded. “Ritchie is mean. I don’t like anyone named Ritchie.”
Adelaide said a mental prayer for any of Michaela’s future classmates who had the bad luck to be
named Ritchie.
Michaela folded her paper towel in half, then in half again. “Ritchies slam doors. And they don’t
like dogs.”
Addie glanced at Tim. He must think he’s the only one among us who has a mind that operates
halfway decent.
“Well baby, don’t judge all Ritchie’s just from one.”
Michaela shrugged and stacked the pepper shaker on top of the salt. “I don’t know. You’ve always
said anyone that doesn’t like dogs can’t be trusted any further than you could throw them. And I don’t
think I could throw Ritchie very far.”
Addie tried to conceal a laugh, but it escaped anyway as a snort. Sometimes, Michaela’s thought
process was so entirely off the wall that it came full circle and made a bit of sense.
Tim, however, wasn’t laughing at all. “Who is Ritchie, Mack? Someone in one of your classes at
school last year or something?”
Mack stared at her dad. A deadpan stare that had proven to give parents of non-autistic children
the creeps. “Ritchie gets mad. He likes to slam things.”
An icy breeze brought goosebumps to Addie’s arms.
