More Than Words

Chapter 8 - SCAR

SCAR (noun)

1. A mark remaining on the skin or within body tissue where a wound, burn, or sore has not healed completely.

2. A lasting moral, emotional, or psychological injury resulting from suffering or trauma.

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Evan

As soon as I got home with Gracie she went straight into the tub. We have a whole routine. Come home, bath time, dinner time, story time, bed time. When she was a baby I'd put music on while I bathed her, just for me. Just something to hum along to and break up the deafening silence that echoes in small, tiled spaces. It's turned into something of a tradition now, and now that she's a little older and has words to express her wants and needs, she likes to make requests.

Thank goodness for kids accounts because otherwise my spotify would be irreparably damaged by the number of nursery rhymes and Disney soundtracks we listen to.

In the quiet lull between when one song ends and the next begins, I hear the click of my front door opening. I don't usually leave it unlocked but Stevie texted that she'd stop by so I thought it would be best if I didn't have to worry about her showing up during bath time.

"Hey Ev, it's me." My sister, Stevie, shouts loudly over the music we have playing at max volume on my phone.

"We're in the bathroom. Almost done!" I shout back to her between lyrics.

Technically, Gracie has been thoroughly washed already. Between the toes and behind the ears. But she's such a little fish and loves the water. Beach, pool, bathtub, kitchen sink...it doesn't matter. She loves it. So I can't help but give her a few extra minutes just to play and splash before I hose her down with warm, clean water from the handheld shower head as the bath water drains.

"Uh, Evan?" Stevie calls out just as I'm rinsing the tub of soap and lifting Gracie out of the tub to dry her.

"Yeah? What's up?" I reply to Stevie before whispering to Gracie. "Gracie, guess who's here? Auntie Stevie!"

Gracie's face lights up and she throws her arms wide, disrobing herself, and makes a break for the door, no doubt in an effort to run down the hall to Stevie in nothing but her skin.

I barely manage to entrap her in a towel before she can reach for the door handle.

Despite the music and Gracie's giggles I swear I can hear our dog, Luna, barking angrily. I swipe at my phone but the noise is gone as soon as it started and I'm beginning to think I imagined it.

"Stevie everything alright out there?"

I busy myself toweling off Gracie's hair and pulling at the feet of her pajamas so they're not inside out. But there's still no response from my sister.

"Rachel? Talk to me. You good?" People rarely use her first name, so she usually knows if we're using her first name she needs to respond.

Gracie can barely stand still as I try to stuff her wiggly feet into the footed part of her pajamas and then get the zipper to zip up the length of her little body.

"Uh, yup, all good. I'm going to bring Luna for a quick walk."

"Oh... oh-kay? Just hurry back so we can order food...or text me what you want."

"Stevie?" I hear the door squeak open and Luna's nails tapping on the hardwood. "Rachel?"

I exhale a deep sigh and shoo Gracie out of the bathroom. "Let's go, Gracie girl."

Gracie runs ahead as fast as she can with her footed fleece pajamas slipping, providing minimal traction.

From the bathroom it's a straight shot to the right down the hall to the galley kitchen which overlooks the living room. It may be small but I like that I can still watch over Gracie while I cook.