Page 47 of The Strawberry Patch Pancake House

‘Iris?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Can my mom see me still?’

Oof. Alarm bells immediately started ringing. She was not qualified for this conversation. But Olive was staring up at her with big, round eyes and so much sadness. Sadness a five-year-old should never have to carry. It made Iris want to scoop her up and wrap her in something soft and keep her safe.

She sighed. ‘I don’t really know.’

‘Grandma says she can.’

‘Grandmas are pretty wise, so she’s probably right.’ Iris sat down on the plastic drop cloth next to Olive. ‘I don’t think people we love ever really leave us.’

‘So, shecansee me?’

This did not feel like the time for abstract, philosophical thoughts on what happened after death. This baby missed her mother. And at this point, Iris would say literally anything to make her feel better.

‘Yeah, she can see you.’

Olive smiled. ‘Do you think she’ll like my new room?’

Iris swallowed all the uncomfortable feelings that were rising in her throat. ‘I think she’ll love it.’

Olive was running one hand up and down Iris’s leg and Iris wondered if she even knew she was doing it. It was the first time Olive had ever reached out to touch her.

‘I had a neighbor who died when I was young,’ Iris told her, thinking of Josie and their quiet afternoons together. It hadn’t made sense to her that Josie could simply stop existing. She was still there in her favorite soap operas and her special Sunday sauce. Iris refused to think of her asgone. ‘But I know she’s with me when I eat certain foods or see a hummingbird in the garden. She loved hummingbirds.’

Olive was quiet for a long time, her little hand still moving, tracing the seam of Iris’s overalls.

‘We used to have a garden,’ she said after a while.

‘Do you want to plant a new one? I bet your mom would like it if you had one again.’

Olive nodded, her gaze solemn when it met Iris’s.

‘Okay, deal,’ Iris said, still trying to steer this conversation in a direction that didn’t make her want to cry.

‘I never had a dad before,’ Olive said, ping-ponging between topics in a way Iris had learned was common for her age.

‘Me neither.’

A shuffling sound in the hallway caught Iris’s attention. Archer had paused at Olive’s room after his shower. He raised an eyebrow in question at the two on the ground, but Iris smiled to let him know everything was fine. Or mostly fine.

‘But now I have one,’ Olive said, not noticing her father.

‘Yes, you do. You’re lucky.’

‘I am?’

‘Sure. Your dad came right away when you needed him. That’s what makes a good dad.’ Her gaze snagged on Archer, on his face, on the smile tugging at his mouth.

‘Really?’

‘Of course! You don’t want one of those dads that doesn’t show up. Trust me.’

Olive was thinking this over, her nose scrunched up and her mouth twisted to the side.

‘But where was he before?’