Chapter 1:

Papers

Something’s Wrong With June

“I’m sorry, June.”

I didn’t understand the papers in my hands. I stared at them, but the words refused to take shape.

Application for Divorce.

“I’ve tried everything,” he said. “But you don’t think losing Lily broke me, too? I try to be a husband to you, I try to get through my shift, but I can’t even wash the dishes, because it just feels like I’m holding her.”

I know, Phil. I was broken too.

I didn’t forget how Lily woke me up in the middle of the night, crying and babbling about how she missed her dog Griffith, which had disappeared from the face of the earth the previous year.

I didn’t forget taking her into the warm bath to calm her down or how happy she looked when she played with her precious rubber ducks.

I didn’t forget how tired I was from work, how heavy my eyelids felt in the steam.

I didn’t forget the water sloshing when I jerked awake.

I didn’t forget that I had her tight against my breast, but her mouth was under the surface. I didn’t forget the water pouring out of her when I raised her.

I didn’t forget how Lily’s eyes glazed over when I lifted her up.

Why didn’t she cry in the bathtub? Why didn’t she thrash? Was I too heavy?

“Am I too heavy for you, Phil?” I asked him.

He looked at me incredulously. “What?”

“Am I too much of a burden?”

“No, June, god no! You’re not a burden to anybody.”

“Then what am I?”

“A good mother. But you need someone that isn’t me, because I can’t provide for you.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“...What are you saying, June?”

“You just want to feel happy again. You want to leave this behind completely.”

“Don’t you?” he said. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… have you considered my feelings in this? It was our daughter, too. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat without feeling sick. I'm tired all the time. I’m tired of feeling unloved.

“I’m ready to start living again, but you aren’t. And then I feel guilty—I feel like a monster—for even thinking about my own happiness.”

“...It’s not even been a year.”

Phil turned around, stepping towards the exit. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened to ‘til death do us part’?” I spat the words at his back. “Did you think that clause was null and void once it got too hard for you?”

“June… you’re being hysterical.”

“You’re just leaving because you want all the benefits of a marriage and none of the downsides! If you don’t want that, then fine! Just leave! If our marriage means nothing to you, just go! Go!”

The click of the latch was like a gunshot.

The feeling was indescribable. It felt like my world was about to crumble.

“No,” I gasped. I lunged forward, grabbing his sleeve. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Phil, please. We can fix this.”

He didn’t say a word, not even looking at me as he opened the door and stepped outside.

“I’ll find work again,” I babbled, shaking his arm. “I’ll be able to hold a job, I promise, just please! Don’t leave me alone in this house!”

“You need help before you find a job, June.”

The door shut. The air rushed out of our apartment.

“And you were supposed to help me.”

The papers I held fell onto the ground.

I couldn’t tell you how long I sobbed; curled into a tiny ball as I was. Only that, when I looked up, the sun had already set.

Wordlessly, I picked myself up. I drifted to the picture frames.

My sweet Lily… and sweet Griffith. The dog had been so gentle with her; she was a momma’s girl, and he was a momma’s dog.

I stared down at the little shrine on the table. A plastic yellow hard hat. A wrench.

Bob the Builder was a staple in this household.

Every night after work, I’d sit by her side and watch the re-runs. We couldn’t afford the subscription, so we watched the free channels. Ads every five minutes. I didn’t mind. It just meant the show lasted longer.

I shouldn’t have picked up the TV remote.

Was it habit? Sadness? Distraction?

All I knew was that if I didn’t have the TV on to keep me company, I’d do something I’d regret.

Before I knew it, I let the show drone over and completely hijack my evening.

I hadn't taken my meds today. Generics would be wasted on me.

The memory of the pharmacy counter flashed in my mind.

'Medicaid covers the generic, June, but Dr. Evans wrote Dispense as Written for the brand name. He says the generic isn't stabilizing you enough.'

'Okay,' I said. 'So?'

'So, the copay is fifty.'

Fifty. Mortgage was due soon. The electricity bill just came back too.

I didn’t have a job yet.

Shortly after, I replied, 'I can't.’

I remembered thinking, when leaving the store, how other moms do it just fine.

My cousin had two kids when she was in college, getting her Master’s with ease.

Why couldn’t I? Was something wrong with me? Was I too dim? Was I not meant to be a mother?

His voice—Bob’s voice—interrupted my thoughts. Bob was currently standing in front of a half-finished wall.

“Now, team,” Bob said. “When the job gets tough, and the tools are broken, and nobody is coming to help you… what do you do?”

The tools couldn’t answer. Dizzy, eventually, and very tentatively, tried: “We ask for help?”

“We ask for help when we need it. But we can’t rely on handouts all the time; and we certainly can’t ask for help the very first thing we do. So, crew, tell me, should we ask for help?”

“No!” the machines shouted.

“When you want something done right,” Bob sang out, “what do you do?”

“Do it yourself!”

“That’s right! Because nobody is going to build it for you! No excuses, team! Now, let’s get to w—”

Waaaaaa!

The claymation stopped to turn around. They heard it too.

Hives pricked all over my skin.

“Oh, gee,” Bob remarked, still in his usual sing-song tone. “What was that noise? That terrible, horrible screeching?”

“I think it might be a kid, boss,” Scoop speculated.

“Oh no! What’s it doing all the way out here?! If the health and safety inspector finds us, we’re screwed!” Dizzy cried.

“Stop whatever we’re doing! We have to help that kid! Can we find her, team?”

“Yes, we can!” the machines cheered, louder than at any point in the episode.

But the screeching was getting louder and louder.

The camera was manic, shifting from character to character, refusing to relent even for a second.

I picked up the remote. My fingers felt for the volume button. Turn it down. Turn it down!

But it was no use. I couldn’t mute it.

Stop… please… I’m not crazy… please…

The crying pierced my ears; I couldn’t think straight; my mind was melting.

Those cries sounded… they sounded exactly like…

“Found her!” I heard Muck cry.

My eyes snapped open. The camera panned toward the vehicle in question.

Everybody rushed over to see what was happening. The shots changed to close-ups.

“It’s… not looking good, boss.”

A child lay in the dirt. Wretched, awful. Curled in a knot of limbs, blue as the deep ocean, muscles twitching.

But the sound was the worst of it.

Ka…

Each breath was agony.

I clawed at my ears, I could it; feel the liquid rattling in my own chest—the same liquid that blocked the girl’s air; that blocked her lungs.

“Mommy… help me… mommy… I can’t breathe… mommy…”

She was suffocating.

“Why did mommy drown me?”

Suffocating before my very eyes!

“Did she hate me?”

With a shriek of madness, I sprang from the table. I grabbed whatever I could; pills spilled onto my hand. Two, ten, twenty? Enough—enough to stop the screaming!

I swallowed it all. But it wasn’t working, it wasn’t kicking in! It wasn’t enough! I clutched my head and sprinted for the remote.

My hands searched and searched but I couldn’t find it! “Stop! Stop! Please stop…!”

BARK!

Wait… that noise. Why did it sound so familiar?

I looked back at the screen.

There, waddling onto the digital construction site, was a new figure.

It was molded from golden clay.

Click-clack, click-clack.

My breath caught in my throat.

It was Griffith. Our missing dog.

“Now, who’s this?” Bob said, smiling.

“Aww, so cute!” Dizzy squealed joyfully, spinning around. “It’s a puppy, duhhh!”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Lily!” Griffith cried. “And now, I’ve found you! But… you look…”

“Griffy… help me…”

“Oh, gee,” Griffith said. “I knew this would happen eventually. I showed myself out, because I knew you wouldn’t have been able to care for Lily and I.”

I felt my heart sink. “What…?”

“I suppose I should have taken Lily with me as well.”

He shook his plastic head.

“But I’m a good boy,” Griffith sighed. “I’m always a good boy.”

He trotted over to Lily. He placed a clay paw on Lily’s gurgling chest.

“You can use me, Bob,” Griffith announced. “I have sturdy legs. Strong spine, too. And a good tail! I loved her so very much, I let her play with my tail. Even if her mother wasn’t, I will always be there for Lily.”

He looked at the saw in Bob’s hand.

“Go ahead. Cut me up. It’s up to the family dog to save the day. As usual.”

The tools roared with laughter. They honked their horns and revved their engines.

“Alright! You heard him! We can do this!” Bob cheered.

He turned to the screen. He pressed his face against the glass until his nose flattened and looked straight at me.

“All we need is the go-ahead!” Bob shouted, cupping his ear. “Can we save her? YES WE CAN!”

He waited.

“I need you to say it with me, June! Can we fix it?”

I trembled.

“...Yes…” I whispered. “...Yes… we can.”

“Alright, team!” Bob shouted with a clap of his hands. “Let’s get to work—”

The program froze. The shot lingered on Bob’s excited face.

I lifted the remote up, pressing down on the unpause button hard. The program didn’t budge. I pressed it down harder. Still nothing.

I pressed it again, then again, and again, and again—

THUD!

I snapped my head back toward the door. The sounds were so loud the walls shook, the picture frames fell, and still, there was no other sound that came from anywhere else…

Slowly, with widened eyes, I stared at Bob, wordlessly staring straight at me.

I was on my feet before I realized I had moved.

The hallway felt miles long. My feet dragged across the carpet, burning me.

When I reached the door to push the locks shut, the shine of the peephole reached my eyes.

I hesitated. My hand hovered over the deadbolt.

I leaned forward. I closed one eye.

It was a dog. A Golden Retriever, of all things. Exactly like Bob had described, had promised.

But my breath hitched. Then I screamed. “That thing out there is not my daughter! I know what you’re doing! I am not broken!”

“Maybe. But, June, we would never lie about fixing your daughter. Don’t you want to see how good of a job we’ve done?”

“No,” I sobbed. “No, I don’t…”

“June…”

It was Scoop who spoke this time. The yellow digger rolled forward.