What We Hold In Our Hands by Kim Aubrey Page B

holidays from their house in North Carolina, where they’d retired a few years ago, claiming they’d had enough of the island. But Dad had said admiringly, “They made a pretty penny selling that big property of theirs. Now they can buy a nice place Stateside for a third of the price and live on the proceeds. The cost of living is a hell of a lot cheaper over there.” Is that why Dad’s gone Stateside? The cost of living? Laina’s other grandmother had retired to Florida when Laina was a baby, but she’d been American to start with, which made Dad American too, even though he’d been born here. Since he’d never lived in the States, he’d been unable to get U.S. citizenship for his kids. If Laina were American, would he have taken her with him?
    She slumps onto the couch, staring at the shiny surface of the coffee table she’s just polished. At first she’d dreaded her grandparents’ impending arrival, what they’d say when they saw her mother, that they’d take them all away to North Carolina, and Laina would lose her friends. But now that everything is too much, she longs for them to take over. She thinks of phoning to ask them to come sooner, but doesn’t know how to say what’s the matter with her mother, doesn’t know the word to use.
    If you look closely at Liv, the only movement you’ll notice is her top lip twitching. She’s running through the garden with her sister, Carol. Her father lifts them up, one in each arm, so they can pick oranges from the big tree. Her small palm cups an orange, its bulk dropping instantly into her hand, as if it has been waiting for an excuse to fall, or a safe landing place.
    Lucy has eaten two lemons. The tart sweet juice has dried on her fingers, leaving them a little sticky. She’s picked nasturtiums, roses, and oleander to decorate her tree house. Their colours brighten the shade of the white cedar. She’s fetched a blanket, some books, and her stuffed rabbit from the room she shares with Laina. She sits on the blanket, Alice in Wonderland in hand, and reads a few pages, looking ahead for the pictures. The Cheshire cat is her favourite, how he disappears around his smile. She also likes the caterpillar’s raised eyebrows as he asks, “Whoo Are Yoou?” Lucy is perhaps the least affected by her father’s unexplained departure and her mother’s depression. Licking her fingers, she turns the page—all those little oysters following the Walrus and the Carpenter. She doesn’t feel a bit sorry for them—well, maybe just a bit. She drops the book to pick up her stuffed rabbit. Rubbing his fuzzy belly across her face, she lies down on the blanket. The tree is dry after its late morning shower. The sun peeks in through the thick shiny leaves as it begins to sink behind the oleanders.
    Liv lies in her playpen. A yellow bear stares at her. Its eyes are blue buttons. She reaches towards it, noticing her own pink fingers, her small starfish hand. She’s caught up in staring at it, until she feels a gnawing, yawning emptiness in her belly, and opens her mouth to cry for food.
    Laina, stirring a pot of chicken noodle soup, hears the click of the driveway gate. The spoon falls into the soup. Dad’s home! She bolts out the door and up the path to the driveway, but instead of her dad, she sees her brother with a policeman. Luke waves, giving her a sheepish smile.
    â€œGood afternoon, young lady,” says the policeman. “Are your parents home?”
    Laina feels something small and brittle snap under her stocking feet. She cannot answer the policeman, whose warm, bright smile makes her want to cry. She runs back inside to get her mother.
    Lucy hears a man’s deep voice in her dreams. “Daddy.” She wakes, and rolls over in bed. But the bed slips and splinters, falling out from under her, as she drops past shadowy leaves like feathers stroking the orange sky,