(no subject)

[andhiswife]

They've settled into something of a routine, now, something nestled comfortably between 'new enough to not be boring' and 'established enough to be familiar.' Not that life with a seven-year-old and two dogs is ever likely to be boring, of course, especially with football practice starting up again soon. Thomas's frequent but variable presence works wonders, too.

But it's nice to feel settled without also feeling as if she's settled into a rut. It's a pleasant enough change of pace that she's almost afraid to appreciate it too directly, as if the moment she lets herself get complacent, it'll all come crashing down around her.

Today, at least, is nearly in the bag. Saoirse's just got home from school and is running up the path to the front door as Greta lingers by the mailbox, retrieving the day's offerings. Junk, mostly, but then there's a letter marked for Saoirse in a child's careful but untidy scrawl. Greta notes the return address and smiles. It's from Jack, which is entirely adorable. Maybe it's a formal invitation to a sleepover or something.

"Saoirse? There's something for you, today." Greta waves the letter to get her attention, then, once she's run back, hands it down to her. "Wait until we get inside to open it, all right?" It'll be easier to sweep up a few stray bits of envelope from the floor than it will be to go chasing them across the yard.

Comments

[selkiesaoirse]

Saoirse hugs the paper close, because it's the last thing she has of Jack, now. She buries her face into Greta's shoulder and sobs. Jack's gone. Saoirse isn't ever going to see him again, and she feels sick from it.

Her shoulders rack with each breath she manages. Soon, Greta's dress is damp, and then wet, with her tears.

[andhiswife]

He's gone. He has to be. The certainty of it settles heavily into Greta's gut, like a stone, because she knows Jack well enough to know he'd never write anything to Saoirse that would hurt her like this, not on purpose. Not unless it was a farewell letter, which she can easily believe he would have thought to compose beforehand.

Her own vision starts to blur, mostly in sympathy -- for Saoirse, for anyone else who knew him, for his poor father -- though also, a little, with regret that she'd never got to know him better. But if she had, it would be even more of a struggle to hold herself together for Saoirse's sake.

She sits, settling Saoirse's shaking body into her lap, and rocks her. "I'm so sorry," she murmurs, stroking her hair back from her hot, tear-stained face. She says other things, too, her words quiet and soothing and probably meaningless right now, but she doesn't know what else to do but tell Saoirse to cry as much as she needs to, and that it will be all right, and that she's there for her. She wants to add that she'll always be there, because she wants it to be true, but they both know better.

[selkiesaoirse]

Saoirse leans into the embrace, trying to draw comfort from her. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Jack's face. She wants to release the letter to clutch Greta tightly, but she doesn't want to lose it, either. It's her last tie to one or her best friends.

She doesn't know what to do.

[andhiswife]

She can see the dogs out on the deck, peering through the sliding glass door in concern. Pressing a kiss to Saoirse's hair, she says, "I'm going to pick you up, okay?" before carefully getting to her feet, the girl in her arms.

It takes a little careful maneuvering to get the door open and the dogs let back in, and more to get Saoirse over to the couch without tripping over Cu. But she manages, and she settles onto the cushions with Saoirse on her lap.

She wishes she knew what to do, how to make this better. Saoirse is still clutching the letter tight, but there's not much tactile comfort to be gathered from a piece of paper, no matter what is written on it. Greta touches it gently with one finger. "Is it all right if we put this someplace safe?" she asks quietly.

[selkiesaoirse]

Saoirse hugs it closer for a moment, protective. She doesn't have any other connection to Jack. She needs to make sure she doesn't lose this, too. But putting it somewhere safe... That's a good idea.

Hesitantly, she nods. She folds it back along the creases that already exist, then hugs it close again. For a moment, she can pretend she's hugging Jack.

[andhiswife]

Greta waits patiently for Saoirse to release the letter. There's no reason to hurry her through the mourning process, and the last thing she wants to do is make this harder than it is already.

"We'll find someplace special for it," she promises, "so it won't come to any harm."

The initial shock is wearing away, and beneath it, Greta's beginning to restructure their evening, feeling out a new path around this unanticipated obstacle. The poor lass might not be up for school tomorrow, and she makes a mental note to let Simon and Baz know that she might not be at work as a result. She's certain they'll understand, but better to give them as much warning as possible.

[selkiesaoirse]

She nods, and looks away when she finally releases the letter. Jack is gone, and if they can save this letter, then she's going to try to do her best to make sure she can do that. And that means letting it go, so Greta can keep it safe from her tears and the clenching urge to clutch it close.

She doesn't want to wrinkle it.

[andhiswife]

When Saoirse finally lets go, Greta takes the letter and carefully sets it on the end table. It should be safe enough there for the time being. Later, they can find a more suitable spot for it.

"There we are," she says, wrapping her arms back around the girl. "And you can hold onto me as tightly as you want, all right? I won't wrinkle." She lets a hint of fond amusement creep into her tone -- not to make light of Saoirse's distress, but to let some light into the gloom.