I don’t know, honey. I’ve tried—

I scuttled away from her and to the other side of the couch, knees drawn to my chest. Tried? My head hurt, but I was shouting anyway, a heated eruption of doubt and a fear that she was slipping away. All you’ve done is give up! I liked how my words seemed to make her shrink, grow so small that I could pretend I didn’t care anymore. She hadn’t fought back or left the room, just sat on the couch with her hands limp in her lap, absorbing my anger like a punching bag until I was empty and crying. She left two days later.

“Ms. Claire?”

The girl is looking at me, and I take in a ragged breath.

“I’m Maree,” she says softly. “And I’m spending the night ’cause my dad, who’s your best friend, Tate, missed the tunnel, and I didn’t want to stay with Leonora ’cause I’m mad at her.”

“Who’s Leonora?”

“My best friend.” She bites on a nail, looks up at me. “Do you want to know why I didn’t want to spend the night with Leonora?”

I nod.

“It’s ’cause she says she hates my stories about Uki. She says they’re fake ’cause nobody has a mom like that, and also, didn’t I know that Santa was a big fake too.”

I can see tears brimming in her eyes; she wipes them away with the back of her hand, but her bottom lip trembles. Instinctively, I put an arm around her. Her hair smells like soap. She snuggles closer against my side, and her nearness touches on a yearning I try to keep stuffed inside.

She continues but this time in a whisper, “I know Uki’s not real. Don’t tell Dad, okay? But I know my real mom wouldn’t leave me if she didn’t have to.” Her hands are squeezed into small fists and her body tenses. “She’ll come home as soon as she can.” Tears are running down her face now. “But I didn’t know about Santa!”

I squeeze her gently and we sit like that for a while, listening to the storm rage outside, warm and cozy in here. Maree is spending the night, I repeat to myself because I don’t want to move; I want to sit here like a normal person and comfort her. So I lean my head back and keep the mantra on a repeating loop. Maree is spending the night. Maree is spending the night.

Her breathing deepens, so I slide out and cover her with a blanket. Her eyes flutter open. “How will you remember me in the morning?” she asks.

“I’ll write it on my whiteboard so I’ll see it when I wake up first thing. Is that okay?”