After unpacking our rooms, Caitlyn wanted to help with the rest of the house. I wasn’t going to say no and figured that the kitchen would be the room with the most objects she could help with. At first, she delighted in unwrapping the items, like she was unwrapping Christmas presents. She would take them out of the box, tear away the paper, declare what they were, and hand them to me to put away in the cabinets she can’t reach. However, that was an hour ago and for her, it’s no longer like Christmas.

She lifts another item out of the box and unwraps it.

“Bowl,” she sighs, disappointed.

“Thank you,” I say, repeating our process.

“We have a lot of bowls,” she says.

“Well … maybe.”

I guess we do have a lot of bowls but the real problem is that she’s getting restless. The novelty has worn off.

Caitlyn looks at her hands and claps them together.

“Gloves,” she says.

“What’s that, pumpkin?”

“I need gloves. The movers had gloves. I should wear gloves.”

She abruptly turns and walks away into the dining room, out of sight.

“Caitlyn?”

“Be right back!” she calls out, her voice heading upstairs.

I lightly laugh, bend down, take another object out of the box, and remove the heavy wrapping paper.

A bowl.

Caitlyn may have a point.

Another gust of wind rattles the window, drawing my attention, and I glance out across the lawn towards the lake.

Nicole is standing by the shore.

She’s staring right at me, unmoving, with a fearful, anxious expression. The wind whips her hair about her face.

The window continues trembling in the frame.

Behind her, the surface of the lake ripples from the wind.

She looks so worried, so scared. It’s as th—

“Okay! I’m ready.”

I drop the bowl. It crashes to the floor and shatters into countless shards of sharp, ceramic pieces.

Caitlyn is standing just inside the kitchen doorway, wearing her big, bulky, red snow gloves. She looks just as startled as I am.

“Pumpkin, you scared me.” I exhale, clutching my chest. “I’m sorry.”

We stare at the broken pieces.

“It’s okay, Dad. We have a lot of bowls.” She stares at the pieces a moment longer and then has an idea. “I’ll go find the broom!” she proclaims, like she’s going on a new adventure, and stomps away.

I turn back to the window.

Nicole is gone.

*

A few hours later, I’m in the living room, working on that most essential of projects: the entertainment center. Caitlyn is reading a book on the couch. I’ve already hooked up the television. It’s resting on the floor while broadcasting a Cubs game. They’ve brought in their “ace” relief pitcher who has promptly blown a two-run lead.

“Oh, you jerk!” I say as the runner crosses the plate.