The only thing I’ve always been afraid of is the dark. Complete and total darkness. The kind that collapses in around you and takes you and crushes you between inky folds. The kind of darkness that hides more than light, leaving you scared to wonder what might be out there. The kind of darkness that isn’t a thing you see, but feel. The thing synonymous with fear you feel when you’re blind, like me. 

I had never felt as blind as the day my sister and I arrived to meet our new parents. The old car was stuffy and suffocating, so although nerves were pounding in my ears, I was relieved to be able to breathe again when we stepped outside. My sister held onto the edge of my slightly dented cane as we walked up two small steps to the front porch. Eight years older than me, Addison had been the one constant in my life, but recently, she hadn’t seemed the same. After our last foster home, she’d seemed sadder, less trusting, less willing to smile. I could feel her shifting next to me, but I was nearly petrified. Carefully, I reached out my hand until she took it in hers.

“Are you a little nervous?” I whispered softly. 

She smoothed down my thick bangs. “Of course not Grace. It’s exciting,” she replied.

I didn’t believe her. She was rocking back and forth so fast I could hear her shoes rubbing the ground beneath our feet. I shifted my own worn-out sneakers against the concrete, considering making her sit down– she couldn’t fall over that way. Instead, I flinched as I heard the doorbell ring. A click. Then the firm hand of a caseworker settled on the small of my back like iron, pushing me forward, and we were inside.

An enormous feeling seemed to settle over me as soon as we stepped inside, although I wasn’t quite sure what it was. It was accompanied by an immediate increase in temperature, even though the early August weather outside was mild.

The sugar sweet voice of a woman greeted us. “Hello darlings.”

I held as still as I could. She sounded almost too nice, like it was all an act, and I didn’t want to give her cause to break character in front of our caseworker. It would be a long awkward conversation, resulting in a continuation of the neverending hunt for a home for us if I did. At least she pretended.

“Hello Ms. Redfield,” Addison said. Her voice was high and confident, but I could tell she was wary. She always was, and she had a right to be. 

“Oh, call me Cindy,” she said brightly. A pause, then, “And what were your names?”

She didn’t remember our names. This was most likely going to be another temporary arrangement.

“I’m Addison Wells.”

Another pause. Addison nudged my arm.

Softly, to see if she listened, I said, “I’m Grace.”

“Grace?” She replied, like it was a question. “ It’s lovely to meet you Grace.”

Behind me, the caseworker cleared his throat. It was time to let him talk; time to let him finish this introduction and hopefully leave us here. After seven failed adoptions and foster homes, I knew he hoped he’d never see us again; hoped so, too. I didn’t feel the least bit sorry  that I didn’t remember his name. I was sure he’d forget ours the second he walked out the door.

“Ms. Redfield, I would like to bring to your attention that Grace may require a certain amount of… extra assistance. I’m not sure if you’ve been made aware, but she is blind.”

I flinched. As if it wasn’t obvious enough. The words cut through the atmosphere of the room like a knife, the kind made of frigid steel. 

I could almost feel the suffocating pressure in the room. “Oh,” was the only reply. After a few more moments, “That shouldn’t be a problem Mr. Harris. We’re happy to have the girls here.”

At first I was surprised. Not only because she accepted us—me— but because her sunshiny character from before had vanished, replaced with something more genuine. Addison gave my hand a squeeze, and I could practically feel her smiling. I smiled, too.

“Very well then. Girls, Ms. Redfield and I have some paperwork to take care of in the other room, then we’ll bring in your bags. Ms. Redfield, after you.”

The sound of footsteps shuffled out of the room, and Addison and I were left in silence for a moment. Except it wasn’t really silence. There was a slight hum from something, probably a furnace, and I could hear a timer beeping. The smell of something sweet drifted through the room. The carpet was thick and squishy beneath my tennis shoes, like the way Addison described a cloud. It felt like a home. 

I jumped as the door behind me opened with a loud swoosh. Heavy footsteps and breathing burst into the quiet, and a low, friendly voice boomed, “Honey, I’m home.” 

The footsteps moved away from us, then faltered and moved back. The deep, friendly voice remarked lightly, “You must be Grace and Addison.”

I liked him right away. I nodded vigorously. Addison gave my arm a stern nudge. In her opinion, you didn’t trust someone until they gave you a very exceptional reason to. I prefered to go with my gut feeling. So far, it hadn’t ever told me to trust anyone but her. So far, it hadn’t failed me.

“How are you girls on this fine evening?” He asked. Something about the tone of his voice made me wonder if he was about to break into laughter, or song. Not that there was a reason to- even I’d figured out by now that nothing good ever lasts. That didn’t mean you had to be sad, but I didn’t think anyone could really be happy either. I wondered what made this evening ‘fine’.

“I’m alright, thank you,” Addison said. The timer persisted in another room. 

“Oh! I almost forgot. Cindy baked cookies for you girls!”

I was curious now. No one had ever baked us cookies before, not even at Christmas time. I waited very patiently as his loud footfalls thumped out of the room, milled around a moment, then returned carrying the most wonderful smell I had ever smelled. 

“Here, kiddo.” He took my hand in his. It enveloped mine, easily turning it over. In it, he placed a warm, round object. “ Try it!”

I did, slowly. The cookie was sweet and warm, soft with small lumps of chocolate. It easily tasted as good as it smelled. Next to me, Addison politely refused.

“Well, when Cindy’s done in there we can have dinner. Maybe I can convince you to try one afterwards. There’s not a whole lot of a tour I can give you. Your bedroom will be down the hall past the living room and the dining room. We’ll be right across from you in case you need something, and there’s a bathroom next to each room. Grace, we’re happy to help you in any way you might need.”

“Thank you,” I said, less quietly than before. Suddenly, I thought to ask, “Do you have a piano?”

“As a matter of fact, we do. It’s in the living room. You can go see it as soon as Mr. Harris leaves.” As several people’s footsteps re-entered the room, he asked, “Do you play?”

I lifted my shoulders cautiously. The adults were in conversation now and didn’t need an answer. 

But that night, after they wished us goodnight and helped me into bed, I picked up my cane and felt my way back to the living room. The house was quiet, everyone else asleep, and it felt bigger with less people to run into. The layout was simple, the dining room and living space connected to the same hallway as everything else, so I easily found my way to the piano. I sat down and carefully brushed my fingers over the dented keys, feeling their rocky landscape before me. Then, I began to play. Slowly at first, but surely, the notes found my fingers and every stolen moment trying to learn the music flooded back. I smiled and played something serene, a waltz. Letting it’s calming notes drift over me, that was where I fell asleep my first night in the Redfield’s house.

The next morning, I woke up to Ms. Cindy gently shaking my shoulder. Her hair brushed my face, light as a feather, and tickled my nose. I swatted at it. She smelled like the flowers that used to grow in front of our second foster home. The small, delicate ones that grew higher than my head. Lilacs.  “Grace, darling, it’s time to get ready for school,” she whispered.

I sat bolt upright. I hadn’t realized we had to go to school today, not to mention in a new city. Nerves spidered up my arms as Addison helped me into a dress. She told me it was purple, and that it looked good with my hair. I had no choice but to trust her. I wanted to play the piano to help me calm down, but there was no time, as well as an audience. I didn’t think I could play in front of anyone else if I wanted to. 

Mr. Redfield dropped me off before Addison, on his way to work. He held my hand all the way up to the door, but from there he gave me a hug I walked in alone. His long arms enveloped me easily, and my own had to stretch to reach around his broad chest and crisp tie. The school felt very big and very empty at first, but a  woman’s voice came from far above my head, introducing herself as Miss Williams. She was probably tall, but the click of her shoes as she walked down the hallway with me sounded like very high heels. 

When she opened the door of my classroom, a kind, round voice greeted us with a cheerful, “Good morning Miss Williams! And you must be Grace?”

I nodded, feeling very small and shy. The sensation of many eyes watching burned into my chest. I gripped my cane a little tighter. 

“Wonderful! I have a seat for you right here,” she said, presumably motioning to a seat. After one painful second, Miss Williams guided me to the small plastic chair. I heard the sound of her heels clicking out of the classroom.  “Now, class, this is Grace. Grace, would you like to tell us anything about yourself? Where are you from?”

I didn’t, really, want to tell them about myself. “I’m from Cedar Rapids.” Or I was last month. It was noisier there, and harder to not be able to see. I didn’t miss that. “I’m blind.” 

There was another moment of silence. I hated introductions. But then, a boy’s voice, like one out of a movie, called out, “Does that mean you have, like, super sonic hearing or something?”

“Um, no?” I answered, slightly taken aback. Most classmates didn’t ask questions, lived in the realm of their assumptions and never bothered to talk to me about it—I wasn’t quite sure which I prefered. 

Another boy’s voice shouted, “I wish I was blind. Then I’d never have to look at my little brother ever again.”

Several kids laughed. I almost laughed with them. One girl asked, “How do you get dressed if you can’t see? I love your dress.”

I smiled. “I manage. My sister helps me, sometimes.”

“That must be really hard. You must be really strong,” said another. 

The teacher didn’t so much regain control as she joined the conversation. “I’m sure she is. Grace, I’m Ms. Lewis. We’re so glad you’re here with us.” She walked over and put a round arm around my shoulders.

I considered saying nothing. That’s what I usually did. But nothing felt the same. For the first time, I wanted to stay somewhere. “Me too,” I said. “I’m glad to be here.”

That day we had a lesson about prepositions. My third grade class in Cedar Rapids had already talked about prepositions, but I liked listening to the other kids learn. Across from me, one girl, after struggling with a sentence of her own, said to me, “I would love it if you sat at my table at lunch.”

I beamed under my bangs. “I would like that very much.”

“I’m Annie, by the way. I can show you around while you’re here so you don’t get lost!”

“Oh, thank you!” I said happily. And she did. Every day for the entire rest  of the school year.

When I got home from school, Addison greeted me with a big hug. “Gracie how was school?” she asked excitedly. 

“It was alright,” I said calmly. She would know what that meant. She would know I was happier than I had been in a long time. “How about you?”

I felt some of the excitement melt out of her. “It was alright,” she said. I knew her too. When she said that, it meant not good. Not good at all. 

“Did you meet any new friends?” I asked encouragingly. 

I felt her shrug against me. Addison was friendly, when she tried to be. She always made friends, and even I had made friends here. 

“The people in my class were friendly. Shouldn’t people from your class be friendly too?”

“I don’t know. You’re in third grade, though. People were nicer then,” she said, almost sadly. 

Whenever she said things like that, I thought about them. I trusted her more than anyone else, and what she said had to be worth thinking about. So I took a moment to think about this. I doubted the people in her school were bad people. I thought I had known plenty of bad people in foster homes around the Midwest. Could third graders be bad people? I didn’t think so. At least not on purpose.

 Third graders seemed to live a purer sort of life, with less opportunity for big mistakes. And I didn’t think anyone wanted to be a bad person. And if no one wanted to be a bad person, could anyone completely be a bad person? I didn’t know. I also didn’t know how it worked for high schoolers.

“Are they bad people, Addison?” I asked.

She hesitated. “No. They’re just not the kind of people you trust right away.”

“Is anyone?”

Again she paused. “I don’t think so.”

I disagreed. But I trusted her. So I led her into the family room, where the piano was. 

“I want to show you something,” I said. “It helps me, when I’m sad. I’ve played for you before. But I want to show you now.” I had never showed anyone before.

But I sat down and started to play. I played a happy song, and I heard a small laugh from Addison next to me. I knew she was smiling. That made me smile, too. Addison’s smiles were hard earned. The music said what I couldn’t, so I told her what I wanted to tell her without being able to say it. I slowed the melody down to a mournful tune that pulled at my heart and every painful memory of my short years. I stopped. Addison gave me a hug, and I could feel wetness on her cheeks. 

“You taught yourself?”

I nodded. “In every moment I had. At the Moore’s house.”

She flinched when I said that name. I did too, inside. That was the home that I remembered the most, the home that made it  that having happiness seemed almost as impossible to me as watching the world pass by in pictures and colors. Piano was one of the only ways I survived there. 

The keys had seemed strange, at first, but slowly I had realized tapping them together spoke more to me than a thousand words might. The notes spoke to me, so I only played them to me. They were more exciting, more calming, more life saving that way. 

Sometimes I played for Addison. Only when she couldn’t hear.

“I’ll play for you whenever you need,” I offered. Then I gave her the advice she had given me in the past, several long years ago, when we were both different people. 

“And Addison? There’s always something to be happy about.” 

“Maybe,” she complied.

For a while I worried about her. Addison always deserved something good, and I wasn’t sure she was getting it until, two months later, she brought Bradley home.

Cindy drove me home from school, like always, and that day we stopped for ice cream on the way back. I loved our drives home together. There was always smiling and laughter, even when we didn’t stop for ice cream, and I was more grateful than ever for Cindy. 

Addison got home after us, which was strange. When she walked in the door, she was laughing, which was even stranger. 

“Hi Grace.”

I stopped. That wasn’t Addison’s voice. I stuck my sugar flavored tongue in that direction. It felt good to be a kid again.  After living at the Moore’s house, I never would have dared stick my tongue at someone. It was a strange kind of happiness, though, with fear and pain from the past living right underneath.

“Oh, hi Ms. Redfield.” That was Addison. She sounded cheery “This is Bradley. My boyfriend? Kind of.” She laughed. I was shocked. I was stupid, of course she had a boyfriend. She was seventeen, she had a life. She had had boyfriends before. None of them had ever made her happy. None of them had ever talked to me.

“Hi, Ms. Redfield,” he said. His voice was deep and slow, but genuinely kind, like he believed the best about people before he even knew them. “It’s nice to meet you both. And I’ve heard about you, silly goose, so you must be Grace.” 

I laughed and nodded. He took my hand and shook it brightly, then paused and brought it up slightly. It took me a moment to realize he was studying it carefully.

“What happened to your hands?” He asked, concern lacing his voice.

I had almost forgotten about the scars. I hadn’t wanted to remember. “Nothing,” I answered softly, pulling my hand back. 

Cindy put one hand on my shoulder from behind, while shaking Bradley’s hand with the other. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’ll be working on dinner out here, you two have fun.”

“Thanks Ms. Redfield,” Addison said. I didn’t understand why she didn’t just call her Cindy like the rest of us. “Grace, you’re welcome to hang out with us if you want to.”

“I would love to!” I exclaimed. 

“Alright then, lead the way,” she said. We all walked down the hall to our bedroom. I plopped down on my bed, and the floorboards moaned beneath us as Addison and Bradley sat on hers opposite mine. 

“How long have you been dating?” I asked right away.

“Only a week or so,” Addison said quickly. 

“Bradley,” I said, shushing her. “You have to tell me about yourself now.”

“Oh, okay then,” he said laughing. “Quite the little princess, aren’t you?” I smiled but didn’t say anything. He didn’t know how inaccurate that statement was.

 “Well, I’m seventeen, I live just down the street, and I have a dog named Beans. You probably know I go to school with your sister. I have a sister named Annie in third grade. She’s mentioned you, too. It’s a small world, isn’t it?” 

Somewhat like Annie, he was the most absurdly happy person I had ever met. For the entire afternoon, he played games with my sister and I (Mrs. Lewis taught me never to say ‘me and my sister’) without one negative word. I could practically feel smiles radiating off of him. 

That night after Cindy tucked me into bed with a kiss, Addison and I giggled about him across the room. 

“Is he cute?” I asked innocently. 

A pillow flew into my head. “There are more important things,” she said. After a moment, she amended, “But I think so.”

We rolled into a fit of giggles. 

It was the happiest Addison had been in a long time. It was the happiest I had been in a long time. I didn’t know if that meant we were happy, but we were happier.

The next day at lunch, Annie and I sat discussing our favorite foods. I had successfully bargained away my crackers in return for a sickly sweet, puffy sort of cake she called a Twinkie, and was now washing it down desperately with milk Miss Williams helped me pay for. 

“I like strawberry cake more than anything in the world,” Annie stated with finality. 

I made a sound of disbelief. “More than chocolate chip cookies?” I countered.

“Yes.” She said imperiously, then giggled.

“No!” I exclaimed. “Cindy makes the most wonderful chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever tasted. Nothing is better than them.” After contemplating this for a second, I asked, “Would you maybe want to come over and try some after school?” 

“That sounds awesome,” she said. “Bradley goes to your house all the time. I’ll just ride with him today.”

That afternoon Rob got home from work early, and he helped Annie and I bake cookies in the kitchen, while Addison and Bradley talked in the other room. We sent Cindy away. I wanted to surprise her with cookies just like she made. 

“Boom!” Annie shouted as the mixer whirred on. A small poof followed.

Flour rained down around us. It tickled my nose, and I sneezed.

“Careful there kiddo. Before you know it the whole kitchen will be covered, and it’ll start snowing outside.” Rob joked.

“No, silly, Halloween has barely passed!” Annie said. 

I could tell when Bradley ducked his head into the mess, too, because he immediately let out a loud sneeze and I felt more flour sprinkle onto my bare arms. 

“What’s all this commotion?” Cindy asked in bewilderment as her soft footfalls joined our loud stomping sounds. She was too graceful. It was like a gazelle living with a herd of elephants (we had been learning about the African Savannah in school today).

After she helped us rescue the cookies, we all squeezed in around the table and enjoyed the product of our afternoon. 

“I’m sorry Cindy,” I said with a smile. “We wanted to surprise you, but…”

Rob stepped in. “It’s a good thing we didn’t. The surprise wouldn’t have been good.”

We all laughed deep, heartfelt laughs and bit into the sweet disasters. The cookies tasted just as good as the first time Cindy made them for us, if not better for all the smiles that went into them.

On November first, a Saturday, Cindy and Rob decided to go camping somewhere across the state. Addison didn’t come out of her room, claiming she was had homework, but I worried about her. She didn’t seem like herself, even more so than before. She was still my sister, but a sad, far away version of her.

Before they left, Cindy and Rob dropped me off at Bradley’s house to spend the day, leaving Addison at our own house, so she could complete her homework. Baby-sitting, they called it. 

“Gracie,” Rob said solemnly before I left the car, “This is for you.”

He handed me something smooth and metal. I ran my fingers across the round shape, stopping at a small latch along the center. Carefully, I popped it open. 

“It’s a pocket watch,” he explained. “I took the glass off of the inside for you, so you can feel the hands and tell the time. We’ll be back for you at four o’clock.”

I fingered the hands as they drove away. The long hand was straight up, the shorter one slightly to the left. I knew from listening to lessons on telling time in school that that meant eleven o’clock. I would be there for five hours. 

Bradley took me inside. Bradley spent every second of the five hours with me, and then Bradley walked me home, at exactly five til four.

Bradley came over after school every day for another month, sometimes bringing Annie with him. I grew to look forward to his visits. He was like a big brother, always teasing me, but still looking out for me. Sometimes, he’d let me sit on his lap while he and Addison talked, and it felt like our own little family. But one day, Addison took me with her on a walk down the street to visit his house.

We traipsed through the wintry November air. I could feel the change in the air when we walked past the river, cold and clean. Addison carefully guided me over the bridge that lead to Bradley’s house. I brushed my hands over the low wood railings, fascinated with the sound of rushing water below me. I wanted to lean over and reach it far below me. Slowly, I moved toward the edge as if in a trance. 

Suddenly, a low bark jerked me out of my captivation. Every other feeling was replaced with cold, pure terror. Somewhere in the distance I heard Bradley laughing, shouting, “Beans, come back!” But I couldn’t think over the fear pounding in the darkness around me. I started to shake, and memories of darkness, the darkest darkness, flooded over me. The furry shape in the closed room, sharp teeth nipping my hands along with the belts, it being hard to play music those nights, but I needed to anyway. 

A wet nose poked my hand and I gasped and fell to the ground, curling into a tight shaky ball. The nose poked my clothes.

“Grace!” Addison’s voice echoed above me. I tried to hold on to it. “What on earth is wrong. Are you okay?”

I couldn’t move.

Bradley’s footfalls pounded over to me, dragging the dog away and shouting, “Beans, calm down.” 

Still shaking, I stood up. I felt far away from everything. The dog hadn’t hurt me. I shouldn’t be scared. But I was anyway.

“I’m okay,” I whispered. 

“Why would you do that? You’ve been fine with the dogs before, before we lived in Cedar Rapids…” she trailed off. I put out my hand, and she took it, like she did when I just needed someone to hold my hand. Bradley took the other. I moved my thumbs over my scars. Bradley noticed first. 

“Grace, what happened to your hands?” He asked. 

I didn’t want to remember. But I answered anyway, like I was telling the story of someone else. “The last people who we lived with had a dog. They didn’t like me much, and the dog didn’t either.” I shuddered. “The Moores.”

Addison’s hand tightened around mine. She started to whisper something, but stopped. She’d had no idea. 

“Grace, do you want to walk back to the house? I’ll be right there I just need a second.”

“Alright,” I agreed. I picked up my cane and started back across the bridge. Behind me, I could hear Addison crying into Bradley’s shoulder. 

“The world is terrible,” she whispered. “How can anyone be happy here?”

Bradley’s response was slow. “I don’t know. But when you’re with the people you love you’d be surprised how easy it is to be happy.” 

She wasn’t consoled. Instead, she argued, “I’ve spent my entire life having no one love me. I’ve been with Grace the whole time. Am I happy, Bradley?”

He sounded cautious, but it was as angry as I had ever heard him. “Maybe that’s because you’re choosing not to be. Try to think about her, not yourself.”

I was glad I couldn’t see the expression on her face.

I kept walking. I played the piano for hours at home, past the late hour when Rob got home from work. I heard them come in and out of the living room, listening in awe. Addison eventually came inside. I just kept playing, letting the melodies overcome the memories. A thought stirred in the back of my head, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

That night after Cindy and Rob hugged me goodnight, Addison asked me a question.

“How do you know if you love someone?”

I didn’t answer right away. I thought about Cindy and Rob, Bradley, Addison, my friends at school. “I think it’s when their happiness becomes more important than your own. They mean more to you than you do to yourself.” She was quiet, until I asked, “Do you love him?”

“I don't know Grace. But maybe. I think I do.”

I hoped she was happy when she was with him. But I couldn’t quite imagine being completely happy. I also couldn’t imagine colors. So I had a question, too.

Finally, I asked, “Addison, what does blue look like?’

Her response was slow and thoughtful. “It’s not really something you can describe. The river behind the Redfield’s house is blue. The sky is blue. Your eyes are blue, Grace.”

I thought about this for a moment. Of all the colors I’d heard about, blue seemed the most impossible, not fiery of scalding to your eyes, but powerful in a more subtle way. “But what about the feelings. Everything feels like something besides what it is. What about colors? What about blue?”

“Well, people usually say blue is a sad color.”

I knew about being sad. What I couldn’t imagine was being really, truly, happy. I also couldn’t imagine blue. “Blue,” I said thoughtfully, “Is what I imagine happiness would look like.”

Addison was silent. We crawled under our blankets and laid there without a word. Then, just before I drifted off to sleep, I heard her whisper, “The river is dirty and brown. The sky is covered in clouds. Your eyes, Grace, you keep closed. If blue is happiness, then where does that leave us?”

I didn’t answer.

The next morning, I didn’t wake up until noon, but I still woke up lighter than air. Bradley’s words from the night before bounced around in my head. “When you’re with the people you love, you’d be surprised how easy it is to be happy.” 

My fingers skipped over the piano keys that morning. I felt like I could see for the first time in my life, and blue was the only color in sight. I loved the Redfields, Addison, Bradley. They loved me. And it was more important to me that they were happy than I was happy. With that knowledge, my own happiness came. 

It was Saturday, and the darkness around me seemed almost light as I sat down to breakfast. Addison hadn’t come out of her room. Rob and Cindy both sat down next to me, in front of hot bowls of a sweet smelling substance- oatmeal. 

Rob spoke first. “So kiddo, we’ve been thinking.” He paused. “You remember Mr. Harris?”

“Hello, Grace,” said the flat voice of a man. Oh yes. Mr. Harris, our caseworker. All of the nothing around suddenly seemed more empty, more uncertain, than ever before. If he took us away now, I didn’t know what I would do. If happiness came from being with the people you loved, being separated from them for good seemed like a good way to never be happy again.

I almost laughed at the irony. He did remember my name.

Cindy’s voice carried on. “We’ve had such a good time with you girls, we were thinking, if it’s alright with you, of course, that we might be able to adopt you.”

I could hardly believe it. My heart turned a funny little circle inside my chest, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to laugh or cry from relief, from joy.

“Do you mean it?” I asked breathlessly. 

“Yes, Grace, we do,” she replied. Joyful little bubbles were starting to rise inside of me. Every painful memory now seemed just that; a memory. I could be happy here, without them as a part of my life anymore. 

“Can I tell Addison?” I cried, jumping up. 

“She hasn’t woken up yet, Gracie, but when she does you absolutely can.”

“Of course,” I acknowledged. A firm hand touched my shoulder, but instead of moving me where it wanted me to go, it picked up my hand and gave it a firm shake. 

“It’s been an adventure, hasn’t it Grace,” Mr. Harris said. “I’ll miss you.” He never had before. “I hope you have a good life. For your sake, I hope I never see you again.”

I smiled and shook his hand back, trying to match my grip with the confidence and satisfaction I felt. “Thank you, Mr. Harris,” I answered.

The adults began to discuss legal matters, which, quite honestly, I couldn’t care less about. Cindy quietly excused me to to play at Bradley’s house until they were done, at three she said.

I practically skipped to Bradley’s house, swinging my cane in front of me along the now familiar path over the bridge to his house. It had snowed during the night, and it crunched in cold crystals beneath my feet. I wondered if I would be allowed to call Cindy and Rob Mom and Dad.

I spent a long, unexciting day with Bradley, fingering over the pocket watch with no glass often, to check how long it was until I could return home. I couldn’t wait to feel Addison’s reaction when she found out, and to be with my parents again. My parents. I almost couldn’t keep the smile off my face at the thought. At long last, Bradley walked me home, telling me he saw the Redfields pull into their driveway. When I stepped inside to shout the news to Addison, however, she wasn’t there. 

Cindy told me she’d gone out on a walk to the bridge, but before I could go find her, she wanted to ask me about piano.

“What about it?” I asked.

“We were wondering if sometime you might want to play in a concert or the like.”

I definitely did not want to. “Um, not really. I kind of just play piano for me.”

“Of course, I understand,” she said. I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or not. I didn’t want her to be disappointed. “You can go find your sister now.” 

But I couldn’t go find my sister, not until she’d bundled me in a fluffy coat, hat, mittens, and boots. Finally, I swung open the door and into the cold night. 

“Why’d she go out right now, anyway?” I grumbled.

Cindy sounded concerned. “I don’t know. She seemed sad this afternoon, when she came out of her room. I tried to comfort her, and I was going to tell her the good news, but she didn’t seem like she wanted to hear it. She said something about me not really caring, and she needed time alone. I figured it was best to give it to her.”

I shrugged. My good mood was impeccable. I’d find her and bring her home.

I dragged my cane through snow and ice, working my way to the bridge across the river behind the house. I could hear her breathing near the center of the bridge, so there I walked and stood next to her, my body pressed against hers. 

Addison’s breathing was slow and painful, like she was holding back tears. I found her with her arms on the railing, lost inside herself. 

“Go home, Grace,” she said when I felt my way to her side. Her head shifted, facing towards the water below us. 

“No, Addison,” I fired back. “You need to come home. We have exciting news.”

She didn’t answer. I heard a soft noise in the back of her throat- she was crying. 

“Are you okay?” I asked, perplexed. 

“How can you live like this?” Was all she answered. 

I was slightly confused. Things seemed good now, for the first time ever. We cared about people. They cared about us. “What do you mean?”

“There isn’t happiness,” she said. “What is life without joy?”

I disagreed. “There’s always something to be happy about,” I replied. Six months ago, she would have been the one saying that to me. 

“Except when there isn’t. No one cares about me. Happiness doesn’t come from being alone.”

“That’s not true,” I said. 

“It is. No one loves me. No one would notice if I were gone.”

Fear gripped my heart, but I didn’t realize I was getting angry, too, until I had exclaimed, “Don’t you love them?”

“Who?” It hardly sounded like a question, flat and unfeeling.

“The Redfields. Bradley. Me. We love you. Do you really not love us back?”

She sounded stung. “Of course I do. I love you more than anything.”

I didn’t stop. “Do you? Loving someone is more than liking them. What’s more important to you- your happiness, or theirs? This is your life, here. Now. Look up and see that it’s not a bad one.” The hot scratchy feeling of tears burned in the back of my throat. I couldn’t remember the last time I actually cried. 

“There isn’t a place for us here. Anywhere. Our place disappeared a long time ago. What does my life mean to them? You don’t understand, do you.” She sounded cold, far away.

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could be so blind.”

I heard her deep intake of breath. The cold air had a heartbeat around us. “Grace, you’re blind. Not me.”

I took a step back. “No. Seeing isn’t pictures and color. It’s how you see the world. The Redfields love us. Bradley loves you. I love you. There’s too much good here for you to ignore it, unless you were blind.” I stopped. I stretched out my hand into the dark. She always took my hand. “I think it’s time to go home now.”

Addison sniffed. She didn’t take my hand. Didn’t move at all.

“You go. I need to stay here for a while.”

Tears slid hot and fast down my cheeks, warming my cold skin. Every part of my heart and mind screamed stay, but I dropped my hand, turned away, and walked carefully away from the bridge and the sister who had never once walked away from me.

I walked home in the cold. When I stepped inside, Cindy had a bowl of warm soup waiting for me. I sipped it slowly. I didn’t say a word.

“Gracie, honey, are you alright?” she asked.

“I am.” I was silent again. “ Cindy, do you love us?”

She didn’t wait a second to answer. “I do, Grace. And Robert loves you very much as well, even if he isn’t here to show it as often. You two girls are the best things that have come into both of our lives together. We love you.”

Tears were stinging the back of my eyes again. “I love you too.” I stood up to put my bowl in the sink just as the door burst open. 

“Cindy, help, I need your help I don’t know what happened she’s there I need you come please, Grace I’m so sorry I can’t-” 

It was Bradley’s voice, out of breath and thick with tears. 

“At the bridge,” he managed. “There was an accident, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think-” The door was already open again and Cindy was gone, running to her daughter who she loved, who she needed. Who needed her. 

“Bradley, what happened?” I cried. 

He sank to one knee and took my hand in his. I could feel him shaking violently. His voice was choked and quiet. “There was a car, Grace. I was coming to Addison, and there was a car. She pushed me out of the way, I don’t know why, it should have been me, but now-”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Every part of my body had gone numb. The bowl in my hands slipped between my fingers, but I didn’t hear it hit the ground. I couldn’t hear, feel, think. My breath came in short gasps, until a sob tore itself from my throat. I started shaking with tears that didn’t come. Bradley took me in his arms and held me until they did, and we stayed like that together on the kitchen floor long past the time they took Addison away, away to a place where we would never see her again.

Time passed in a blur. The adoption went through. Bradley visited with the Redfields- my parents- often. I didn’t know how long it had been. I didn’t care. Nothing felt real. I couldn’t focus on anything. I didn’t go to school. I hardly felt alive.

One day Cindy asked me if I wanted to play at the funeral. A funeral. For Addison. It didn’t feel real. I couldn’t answer, only shake my head.

I didn’t talk. Didn’t eat, hardly slept. I didn’t cry, either.

I wanted to ask her why. Why would you do that, Addison?

But she had died instantly. I never got the chance. Why did you do that, Addison?

She would never answer me. 

Deep down, I knew the answer. She loved him. I should be glad. She finally realized what it meant to love someone. She finally got the chance to love someone. I just wished it didn’t have to be like this, or have to leave such a big whole inside of me. Part of me also wondered if any of it was my fault.

After two weeks, I could sit down at the piano again. Tentatively, I played a few notes. Now, it was strange to think this had ever brought me any form of relief. If felt like there were rocks inside of me.

The Redfields worried. I worried, too. Finally, one day I sat down at the piano and cried.

Bradley was over, and he sat down next to me and held me for a long moment. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered over and over.

“I know,” I whispered back. “I just wish it could be okay with her here.”

I felt empty now, but I started to play anyway. 

I used to play for Addison.

I still played for Addison. Maybe wherever she was she could hear it. 

That’s when I realized. I would always play for Addison. A piece of her would always be with me. The music expressed what couldn’t be said. I could tell she was with me. I missed her more than ever. But she loved me, and she wouldn’t want me to be sad.

I stood up and walked into the kitchen. The Redfields were surprised when I walked in, even more so when I asked, “Is it still okay if I play at Addison’s funeral?”

They took me into their arms and held me tight. “Of course it is, sweetie.”

I was wearing all black, or so they told me. It matched the darkness around me. I felt my way to the piano, feeling the pressure of so many eyes on my back.

I tried to imagine I could feel Addison’s steady breathing behind me. I played for her before. I played for her now. I would play with her for the rest of my life.

I took a deep breath and ran my fingers over smooth ivory. 

Then, I was flying. The music lifted the clouds from my mind, and finally I could see. I was outside of my own world, and as I looked in, I began to re imagine it for the first time. I smiled. We all knew pain, hardships, struggles. But beneath it all, our world was blue. And there was nothing more wonderful than our beautiful blue world.