The next afternoon, Emma hummed quietly while arranging pinecones in a straight line.
She had placed tiny yellow wildflowers between their scales and called them “forest crowns.”
I watched from my folding chair, drinking lukewarm coffee and enjoying the stillness around us.
Ryan and Lisa had walked toward the lake about twenty minutes earlier.
They said they were going to collect firewood.
Neither of them had returned.
Emma suddenly put down her pinecone and crawled toward me.
She tugged at the bottom of my sleeve, her expression unusually serious.
“Mommy, we should poke some breathing holes in Daddy’s sleeping bag.”
I stared at her.
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood.
I slowly lowered my coffee and turned completely toward her.
“Breathing holes? Why would we need to do that, honey?”
She pointed toward the small tent Ryan had claimed for himself.
There was no mischief in her face.
She looked like a concerned child trying to solve a simple problem.
“Because Aunt Lisa stays inside it for a really, really long time after you fall asleep.”
The breeze continued moving through the trees, but I could no longer feel it.
“She might be having trouble breathing,” Emma continued. “I heard her making funny noises.”
“What kind of noises?”
Emma thought carefully.
“Like when I run really fast and then fall down because I need my air back.”
She had no idea what she was telling me.
To Emma, this was merely a problem involving a sleeping bag, missing air, and a tired aunt.
To me, it felt as though the earth had vanished beneath my feet.
“Emma,” I said, forcing my voice to remain calm, “did you tell Daddy or Aunt Lisa about the breathing holes?”
She shook her head.
“No, Mommy. I wanted to ask you first because you always know what to do.”
I lifted her onto my lap and kissed her hair.
I held her longer than usual because I needed somewhere to hide the sob rising in my throat.
“You are such a thoughtful girl,” I whispered into her curls. “Mommy will figure out the breathing holes. Don’t worry.”
She wrapped her small arms around my neck.
“Okay.”
“And don’t mention the breathing holes to Daddy or Aunt Lisa.”
Behind us, gravel crunched under approaching footsteps.
Ryan and Lisa appeared on the trail, laughing about something.
Ryan carried a small bundle of sticks.
They had been gone for nearly forty minutes.
He placed the firewood on the ground and smiled at Emma.
“How are the pinecones coming along, princess?”
“Good!” she said, jumping from my lap to show him her forest crowns.
I slowly stood and brushed the dirt from my jeans.
My hands needed something to do.
“Actually,” I said, “I think I’m going to sleep early tonight. I have a headache from being in the sun.”
Ryan looked up.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m just tired.”
Lisa placed one hand on my shoulder.
“You work too hard, sis. Go get some rest. I’ll help Ryan with the fire tonight.”
“I’m sure you will,” I said quietly.
She tilted her head.
“What did you say?”
“I said that’s sweet of you.”
I turned away before either of them could read my expression.
That evening, it took every bit of strength I had to behave normally.
I braided Emma’s hair before bedtime and tucked her beneath the blankets inside the family tent.
Then I lay in the darkness fully dressed, holding my phone while my daughter’s words repeated endlessly in my mind.
I was not going to sleep.
I was going to listen.
And when the time came, I was going to know exactly what I was walking into.
