Chapter 11: Left Hand

Posy drew with her left hand.

I had noticed it the first day and thought nothing of it.

Now I sat across from her at the nursery table, three days after the voicemail.

I watched her fist close around a green crayon the same way.

The same grip.

The same tilt of the wrist, the pencil dragged slightly sideways through the paper.

I had watched Valen sketch with that exact tilt at his drawing table.

My stomach turned over.

"Posy?" I said, as lightly as I could. "Who else in your family draws with that hand?"

She looked up at me, solemn.

"Uncle Valen."

"Anyone else?"

She thought.

"Mommy didn't."

"No?"

"Daddy doesn't. Daddy's right."

"I see."

The dimple in her chin deepened when she frowned.

I had spent a week thinking about a dimple.

I did not want to be thinking this.

"Carys?" she said.

"Yes, sweetheart."

"Can we make pancakes with faces?"

"Absolutely."

She grinned.

It was the first full grin I had seen on her, gappy and bright, and my heart did something painful.

I helped her crack the eggs and she let me hold the bowl.

She made a face with blueberries, two eyes and a long crooked mouth.

"That's Uncle Valen," she said, very pleased with herself.

I could not find a single word to answer her.

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