“That’s better,” Harry remarks knowingly. As if he’s talking to them.
“I love you too, Harry,” I whisper back. Burying myself in him. Slow dancing to our own silent song.
That one thing that will endure now. Forever.
Our family.
Us.
Extended Epilogue
Harry
Thirteen years later
“And where did you last see it, this dolly,Vanessaof yours?” Harrison asks his younger sister Molly. Who’s all of five.
She looks to me for support and seeing my eldest son wanting to follow in my footsteps as a detective, I offer him some help.
“I’d try and think of all the places you might usually play with or keep your dolly,” I coach his sister. Giving Harrison an indirect pointer on his questioning technique at the same time.
Feeling my heart swell when I see my daughter gnaw her lip, then crimp it tight.
Deep in thought as Harrison takes some notes.
“Ummm. I keep her on my bed. And sometimes I— Aw! I know!” Molly suddenly squeals.
Ignoring us both and sprinting up the hall to the bathroom, she makes another series of excited but relieved sounds.
Molly and dolly reunited at last.
“Left it in… the bathroom….,” Harrison notes to himself. Shaking his head. Another case solved before he’s even gathered the statements.
Looking at me. practically at eye level. Shrugging defeat the way that teenagers do. But he doesn’t fool me.
“Where’d you find it?” I ask him, knowing he’s done that thing he does again.
That little gift of his that I kinda remember. Like every waking moment. Especially when my son’s around.
“Dad….,” he whispers, making sure Molly won’t hear us. But she’s already giving her doll Vanessa a lecture about the dangers of taking off on her own.
How she should always wait for Molly before she has to go anyplace.
“I dunno, Dad. I justknewit was in the laundry basket,” he says, his voice cracking a little.
His height, build, and soon-to-be permanently deep voice make him feel like a mirror most days.
But he has his mom’s blue eyes, and the heart in his chest to match.
“So you found the doll and planted it in the bathroom for Molly to find?” I ask, doing a little interrogating of my own.
“Why not just give her the doll back?” I ask, genuinely stumped myself by now.
But Harrison rolls his eyes. Annoyed that anyone would doubt his methods.
“Because then I’d have her asking me for shit every five minutes… ‘Harrison, where’s this? Harrison? Where’s that?’” he whines, mimicking his sister a little too well. And I struggle not to laugh.
“I get enough of that from mom as it is… Does she think I’m fucking psychic or something?”