Chapter 6: Gwen - Hunter or Hunted

Colleen settled in behind her desk while Junie led me to the coffee table next to a few folding chairs. She kneeled in front of the table and opened her backpack. Junie dug around in it, pulled out a few textbooks, followed by a couple of folders. When she made it to the bottom, she lifted a small red box with a plastic screen.

As she set it on the coffee table, she explained, “We got some cookies to take home and decorate with our family. But I need help cutting the bag of icing. My teacher said to make sure the cut is really tiny or it will all come out in a big lump. You know how to do that, right?”

I sat in the fold-up chair beside her, squinting through the strip of plastic for a better view of the sugar cookies inside. “Yeah, I think I can help.”

“Cool.” Beaming, she lifted the lid and passed me a cookie. “Do you want to do this one? It kind of looks like Honey.”

Stenciled onto the pastry was a cartoon puppy in a Santa hat. It didn’t look exactly like Honey, but with the pointed ears, I could see the resemblance. “Sure, kiddo. Thank you.”

Smile wide, she handed me four miniature piping bags. One white, one red, one green, and one beige. From her pencil box, she passed me a pair of scissors. Considering the crayon on the edge, using these to cut a piping bag probably wasn’t the most hygienic. They weren’t going up for sale at the bakery, though. What did it matter?

“Are you sure you want me to open all of these?” I snipped the end of the white bag. “You don’t want to do them later with Mommy?”

“I still have”—she flipped through her stack of cookies in the paper box, counting to herself—“six more cookies, and pink, blue, purple, and yellow icing. I’ve got plenty to do later.”

Chuckling, I clipped the edges off the red, green, and beige bags. “Alright. If you insist.”

“Plus, I want you to give that to Honey. It doesn’t have chocolate, so she’s allowed a little taste, isn’t she?” Green bag in hand, she laid a cookie in the shape of a Christmas tree on the coffee table. “I think she’ll like it.”

No matter my exhaustion, my heart warmed. With the beige piping bag in hand, I began outlining the dog’s face. “Yeah, I think a little taste won’t hurt her.”

“Good.” Junie shot me a grin. “Oh, and look at this one.” She dug around in her cookie box and came out with another. This one was round, with a butterfly outlined through the center. “Can you tell what it is?”

I tried following the outline of the dog’s face to start, then filling in the center with the icing. But this was more of a buttercream consistency, and my method worked better with royal icing. No matter how hard I tried, this cookie was going to be a mess. “Hmm, a tree ornament?”

“Me and Mommy call them Christmas bulbs.” Giggling, she set the cookie back into the box and returned to her Christmas tree. “Guess who I’m giving that one to.”

If anyone looked at the cookie I decorated, they wouldn’t believe that I made my living decorating pastries. This was just a sugar cookie with a big brown blob in the middle.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Who?”

“Delilah. She loves butterflies.”

My breath hitched. For the last couple hours, in the chaos of Angela’s wake, then in the pleasant chaos of decorating cookies with a little kid, I’d almost forgotten.

Evidently, Simone hadn’t gotten the chance to tell her yet.

Behind her desk, Colleen slowed her shuffling of papers. I’d seen that woman frown many times, but this was the first I saw so much empathy in it.

Junie held up her beaded friendship bracelet. “When we made these at the nursery one day, because Mommy was at work, we both got one of these little beads.” She held it closer to my face, proudly displaying a purple butterfly wing. “Hers is pink. When you put them beside each other, they make a whole butterfly.”

Blinking at the tears in my eyes, I forced a smile. All I could manage was, “That’s pretty.”

“So that’s what I’m gonna do with this one.” Gazing down at it, the light that shined in those hazel eyes was so sweet, so innocent. “One half will be pink, and one half will be purple. Just like our butterflies.”

Those words had just kicked me in the gut. I couldn’t form any of my own.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Junie asked. “I made her another bracelet, too. And a card.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Junie looked over her shoulder at me. Smile dissipating, she cocked her head to the side. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I choked out. That was all I could choke out.

“Then why are you crying?” she asked.

I hadn’t realized I was. The tears hadn’t drizzled over yet. Not until I blinked a few times. Swatting them away, I shook my head. “I’m sorry. Must be allergies or something. I, um⁠—”

The door to Rhiannon’s office swung open. Simone walked out with Rhiannon at her tail.

Thank God, because I didn’t know where the hell to go from here.

“Look, Mommy!” Junie flipped the cookie around for Simone to see. “Guess who I’m decorating this cookie for!”

Ugh. A gut punch all over again.

“I don’t know, you tell me, baby.” Simone squatted on the other side of the coffee table for a better view. “Is that a butterfly?”

“Yep! It’s for Delilah. She loves butterflies.” Junie smiled down at it, then looked back up at her mom. Simone’s mouth, much like my own, hung open. Silent, wordless. “If I decorate it now, can we bring it down to her at the nursery? I think it would make her so happy.”

Standing a few feet behind Simone, Rhiannon’s shoulders sunk. She glanced at Junie, then at me, and the edges of her lips dropped into the heaviest, most pain-filled expression.

Simone looked at me, and then at Rhiannon. Mouth still hanging open, she gave the slightest shake of her head.

Rhiannon cleared her throat and kneeled beside Simone. “You know, we actually need to tell you something, sweetheart.”

Picking up on the tone, Junie carefully laid the cookie on the table. “About Delilah?”

Rhiannon nodded.

“Is…” Slowly, her gaze ticked around the room. She looked at her mom, and Rhiannon, then Colleen, then me. Ever so slightly, her brows creased in the center. All that innocent, joyful light in her eyes flickered out. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah.” Rhiannon reached out for her hand. Junie relaxed into her touch. “I’m so sorry to tell you this. I know you really liked hanging out with Delilah down at the nursery. But… she died, sweetheart. Delilah’s dead.”

Every hair on my body rose to its ends.

To hear it phrased that way, so bluntly, so quickly, ached deep in my chest. I had said it half a dozen times by now, and it still didn’t feel real.

But I understood Rhiannon’s verbiage. When my mom died, that’s how the nurses had told me too. They hadn’t said she passed away, or that she was gone, because those were too elusive. Later, while reading a book on grief, a therapist explained why they phrased it like that. Because it was easier to comprehend immediately. Pass away or gone was, at the very least, momentarily confusing.

Dead made it clear. There was no way to inform someone of something like this easily. It hurt no matter how you said it. Better to be concise than to confuse.

“She…” Tears gathered in Junie’s eyes. “She’s dead?”

Teary-eyed as well, Rhiannon nodded. “She is. I’m so sorry, honey. I know how much you loved her.”

“But…” Junie shook her head. “But she wasn’t sick or anything. What happened?”

“The policemen are still trying to figure that out.” Rhiannon reached out and thumbed a tear from Junie’s cheek. “When we know, we’ll talk about that stuff then, alright?”

Junie pulled from Rhiannon’s touch and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She picked up the cookie again. Through quivering lips, she whispered, “I think she really would’ve liked this cookie.”

A lump solidified in the back of my throat. I couldn’t swallow it down.

“Come here, sweetie,” Simone said, shifting around the coffee table.

Junie met her there. She collapsed into her mother’s arms, snuggling her head close to her chest. Teary-eyed, Simone kissed her forehead.

“I think she would’ve liked it too,” Rhiannon said. Clearing her throat, she blinked fast. Probably, like the rest of us, at the tears that formed. “Were you gonna decorate it?”

Junie sniffled as she tugged from her mom’s grasp. Still wiping her eyes, she nodded.

“I think you still should.” Rhiannon managed a sad smile for her. “I was thinking about hosting a little vigil for her tomorrow. Maybe you could decorate it in her memory and bring it.”

“A vigil?” Junie asked. “What’s that?”

“It’s kind of like a little party,” Rhiannon said. “All Delilah’s friends will come, and we’ll talk about her, and all the good times we had together, and all the ways we’re going to miss her. We’ll have snacks, maybe listen to a little music, and just remember her.”

Junie thought for a moment. “And I should bring her a cookie?”

My heart swelled and ached at once.

“Sure.” Rhiannon rested one elbow on the table, still holding that smile in place for Junie. “We’ll put up a little memorial for her on Main Street. Friends might leave a picture with her there, or something that reminds them of her, and that would be a perfect place to leave her cookie.”

Junie sniffled. “Maybe that sounds nice.”

Maybe it did. Maybe it would help me too.

There’d been so many hard parts about losing my mom. One of them being the lack of closure. It was funny, because I didn’t think she would’ve given a damn about a proper funeral. But it’d taken so long for me to really grasp that she was gone, because it happened so suddenly, and I didn’t get a proper goodbye.

The vigil wouldn’t be either. But it would be something.

“I think I’ll come too,” I said.

Rhiannon looked up at me. “I think that’s a good idea. I also think it’d be a good idea for you to get some sleep. You look exhausted, Gwen.”

“Not sure how I’m still keeping my eyes open.” I rubbed them. “Couldn’t really sleep last night.”

“We’ll get you back up to your cabin,” Simone said, standing with Junie on her hip. Junie was more than half her size, but Simone held her as effortlessly as a purse. She kissed her daughter’s forehead again. “Then we’ll decorate some cookies.”