Katherine King sat up in bed, yawning and stretching her arms above her before letting them plop to her sides. Her hair was a disheveled mess. Her clock glared a glowing red: 4:40 am.

  Yawning again, she hopped out of bed, shivering from the cold of the morning and wrapped a blanket around her to keep her warm.

  She frowned at a picture on her desk that showed her family, including her mother, all smiling. It had been seven years since that fateful day of losing her to that thing on the rainy night that had ruined Katherine.

  Still, she’d be okay. At least that’s what she told herself every morning and night, because who else would she tell since no one believed her about what had really happened. Why would they? It was crazy, right?

  Not to her. But it didn’t matter. Why would she talk about things that led to conclusions and diagnoses of a disturbed child with an overactive imagination and other titles she had been labeled and diagnosed with by various medical professionals over the years?

  Screw that.

  She blew a strand of purple hair out of her face and pulled out a box from under her bed, setting it on the desk and unlocking it with a black key that she wore as a pendant around her neck.

  Inside the little box was another picture of her mother smiling. She loved that smile, that face, those eyes. Even if they were sometimes angry with Katherine, she’d do anything to get her back. The glimmer in her mother’s eyes always made Katherine feel safe and warm. Katherine smiled herself, talking to the picture as if talking to her mother.

  “Hey, mom,” she said softer than usual as if worried someone might be listening in on the conversation. She brushed her hand across the picture gingerly. “It’s my junior year at Holy Cross Academy, so wish me luck.”

  “Oh, Abigail?” She spoke as if answering her mother, her mouth twitching at either side. “I’m keeping an eye on her. She’s still not talking. Dad? What about him. You know him better than I, so I’ll keep it at that.”

  She adjusted herself, pulling legs underneath her, and gulped as if struggling to find her voice. Why was this still so hard? “Last year was tough without you. But I made it through. We’re safe, thanks to you. I hope you’re at peace, wherever you are.”

  Peace, what a thing. Still, she shouldn’t be depressed right now, should she? Not when she was talking to her mother.

  She cleared her throat. “I love you, and I miss you. I wish—” a lump caught in her throat, making it hard to find the words. “I wish you were here.”

  She kissed the tips of her index and middle fingers and placed them against the picture, closing her eyes to stave off the tears that had welled up before delicately placing the picture back in the box that was filled with little trinkets of things that her mother use to own that she had given Katherine over the years.

  Little gifts, things of remembrance, like the black key pendant she wore around her neck, and even a picture she had stolen from her mother’s keepsake things as a memento before she passed. A picture of Masako in her younger days, before she’d met their father. Katherine always told herself her mother looked happier then, but she knew that was just out of spite.

  She locked the box and slid it away, kneeling with crossed arms against the bed, fighting the tears she knew always came at this time, and the futile effort of fighting them back. She always hated crying when thinking about her mother, especially during this little ritual she did at the beginning of every school year. Talking to her mother as if she was still there, beckoning her to go forth and engage the world with wide and welcoming arms.

  Why did it still hurt? Why was she so sad? Why couldn’t she move on? Why hadn’t she done anything back then? Why, why, why!? And why didn’t anyone believe her—then and now? Even her father, her cursed father.

  She wiped wetness from her eyes and slammed a fist against the bed angrily. Why couldn’t he have died instead? That thought, just like her fear and relief back when her mother told her to run, disgusted her, even if her father infuriated her. She just… needed her mother back. Curse it all.

  She steeled herself and wiped her cheek of any remaining tears, the movement frustrated and bitter as this was no time to break down. Her father… What a pathetic man. His deceit. His betrayal. She’d never forgive him. She’d never trust him again.

  Even when he tried little gestures of kindness to engage her in conversation, this and that. Never.

  She clenched her fists and pushed herself to her feet. It was time to get ready, so she crossed to the bathroom to take a shower, a relieved breath escaping her lips to prepare to face the day with a solid smile and upbeat look on her face. Because it was all she could do to present herself properly even though she felt like crumbling.

  Katherine tightened the white ribbon on her high ponytail with a quick and dexterous motion, stepping back to make sure her uniform looked correct, straightening it here and there. She fixed the black ribbon on her gray pinafore plaid-patterned dress, adjusted her white dress shirt, and pulled on her black pantyhose and gray dress shoes. She finished it off by pinning the customary silver cross pin with black outlines on the front of her Holy Cross Academy Uniform, and stepped back to make sure everything was just right. She didn’t mind wearing a uniform at all, nor following specific directions and dress codes.

  Things that were orderly and controlled were less likely to fall apart. It made life more manageable and easier to deal with.

  She grabbed her blue backpack and made her way out the door.

  Katherine tied an apron on, turned to the stove, and began whipping up some breakfast, as was also customary on her first day of a new school year. Just like their mother used to do.

  “Keeping up the tradition, I see,” came the voice of her father, Richard King. He had thick brown hair, soft green eyes, and a kind smile. At least that is how their mother described him. But she knew the truth. Behind that kind smile was a liar and a coward. She would forever see through it, though him.

  “Somone has to,” she said with a snort as she stirred the pancake batter with vigor. She didn’t hate him. She hated what he held from her.

  He shuffled into the kitchen and took a seat, the clinking of the beater against metal bowl filling the silence as he adjusted his glasses. “You know, you don’t have to do that. I’m happy to—”

  “Don’t,” she said, plopping a pan on the stove and turning it to medium, the gas stovetop clicking vigorously until fire erupted on the spot. She put the bowl down and poured oil into it as well as plopping a chunk of butter in, then grabbed some eggs and mixed them in another metal bowl with milk. She grabbed a second pan to cook said eggs in, slamming the pan down harder than she wanted.

  Why did he have to do this? To pry, to ask questions, to engage in conversation?

  “Well, I think it’s great that you’re doing it. Abigail will be pleased to have a hearty breakfast.”

  Katherine pulled out some bacon and sausage, oiled another pan, and began to go to work with spatulas, stirring, sizzling, turning, and cooking. She kept everything neat and tidy, wiping up any spills or splattering of oil. She had also made sure the table was set with plates, utensils, placemats, and napkins before cooking.

  Her father leaned forward, clasping his hands together, a sigh escaping his lips. “You know, I need to talk to you about something, I—”

  Abigail burst into the room, sliding on her socks between the two of them, arms in the air, beaming with brightness as she jumped up and down, her feet plopping against floor. She turned from her father to Katherine, looking perplexed, her smile remaining as she lifted outstretched thumb and forefinger to her chin, rubbing and pondering.

  “Hmmmm,” she muttered, as while she hadn’t spoken since the night of the incident, she did make noises here and there.

  Her eyes went wide at the sight of the things Katherine was cooking, and she floated toward the stove, but Katherine got in her way, shaking her head.

  “Nope.” She pointed a long finger toward the table. “Go, sit. I’ll cook this right up and you’ll have plenty to eat.”

  Abigail frowned, puffing her cheeks out and letting out a little growl in her throat, but moved to the table and sat. She snatched up her fork and knife, clenching them in hands as she looked onward in a hopeful manner, her legs kicking playfully under the chair.

  She smiled, and Katherine had to look away as it reminded her of her mother since Abigail was a mini version of Masako.

  Abigail was everything to Katherine, to their mother, and even to their pathetic father. The sad part was that Abigail didn’t see through Richard’s deceit, his veneer, his misdirection.

  Abgail hadn’t spoken since that fateful night of losing their mother. Selective mutism, the doctors had diagnosed it, onset and triggered from the trauma she had gone through. Katherine knew it was because Abigail too had seen that beast, but she had given up on pressing her about it as she was still her sister, even if she was stubborn in her claim about not seeing any kind of werewolf or furry creature. The irony was that Abigail feared dogs, which no one understood why. Katherine knew, though. Still, it was hard not to melt in front of Abigail, even if she was an annoying little pest at times.

  Abigail hummed a little tune, which annoyed Katherine as she knew somewhere deep down inside Abigail could speak. Still, she didn’t dare push it as she felt that perhaps some of her anger around the time of their mother’s death had led to her sister’s silence. She had, after all, said and done some things around that time that she regretted. So she had backed off, given in, and given up, at least on getting Abigail to admit the truth of what she had seen.

  Katherine couldn’t help but lean her weight on her back foot and smile at the spectacle that was her little sister.

  After completing the cooking and serving up the food to each plate in a calm manner, she looked at Abigail in a way only an elder sister could. “Help yourself and eat whatever you want.”

  As Abgail made a quick motion to stab some of her food and tear away at the meat, their father cleared his throat. Abigail glanced at him with the tilt of her head that was so adorable that Katherine couldn’t help but shake her head at.

  “I think we should give thanks before we eat, don’t you?”

  Abigail nodded vigorously, lifting her hands for Katherine and her father to hold them. Richard held his hand to Katherine as if beckoning her forward. He wasn’t going to get what he wanted. “Will you be joining us, Katherine?”

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  What a silly question for him to ask. Did he not know his own daughter? Did he not realize on countless occasions of turning him down, of explicitly saying she didn’t want to talk with him, to go anywhere with him, to discuss details on anything with him, that she wanted nothing to do with him? And yet, not a moment ago, he wanted to talk.

  What a fool. And now, here he was, asking her if she wanted to join for breakfast when she had to clean everything before even thinking about eating.

  Clean area first; nourishment later. If any enjoyment was involved in that, it would be knowing that Abigail was properly fed for her first day of school.

  “You two give thanks,” Katherine said with a frown before going to work at cleaning the pots and pans and bowls. “I’ll get things cleaned.” Part of her felt like a brat treating her father this way, but it was his own fault for not believing her, for his betrayal.

  “We can wait for you,” Richard said. What, was he trying to feign some sort of kindness as if they had a connection? They didn’t.

  “There’s no need,” Katherine said, scrubbing soap across with the pan with a brush.

  Abigail moved to her side, tugging at her apron, a sad look in her eyes as if she was going to cry.

  “What?” Katherine said, turning toward with hands on hips.

  Abgail stomped her foot and glared at her in a most adorable way. She signed, “You know what!” Then pointed at the table and puffed her cheeks out.

  Katherine couldn’t say no to those big eyes of hers, a miniature version of their mother’s. She gave a wave of her hand. “Fine, I’ll eat with you.”

  Her sister also slapped one hand against the other palm, looking from Katherine to her father, then signed, “Give thanks with us, too!”

  “Okay, okay. I will,” Katherine said, taking off her apron and hanging it up. She cleared her throat and sat, Abgail hopping back in her own seat, beaming.

  Katherine glared at her father’s upturned palm. She let out a sigh, rolling her eyes, then took his hand.

  Katherine turned and grabbed Abigail’s hand as well, not caring that her father was smiling in a way as if he had won some prize.

  “What are we thankful for, little one?” Richard said, eyeing Abigail.

  “Hmm,” Abigail grunted as she flexed her hand in Katherine’s and motioned to her father with her chin.

  “Ah, I see,” he said, leaning back slightly with a wry smile.

  “What?” Katherine said, not sure what he meant, and getting a little upset at not being in on the joke, or whatever this was.

  “She wants you to give thanks, Katherine.”

  “What?” Katherine noticed Abgail nodding, and so she dropped her jaw. “Why?”

  Abigail let out a little growl

  “Okay, fine,” Katherine said, giving one of those silly smiles that was a mixture of playfulness and anger. “We’re thankful for… this delicious breakfast made by me.” She felt good saying that last part, accomplished. After letting it linger for another mom moment, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to add any more.

  “I’m thankful for the pancakes,” Richard said with a twinkle in his eye. “And delicious syrup I can lather on them.”

  “Mm-Hmm.” Abigail lifted her hands and clapped them above her head.

  Then both Richard and Abigail rubbed their hands together vigorously as they eyed the delicious food.

  “Let’s eat!” Richard said, and Abgail’s big saucers of eyes looked as if she agreed with that sentiment.

  The two of them snatched up some pancakes, bacon, and sausage, lathering them in sweet syrup. While Richard had taken some eggs, Abigail did not.

  Katherine shoveled some onto Abigail’s plate. “Have some eggs too.”

  Abigail frowned and glared, a little growl coming from her throat.

  “What, are you an animal?” Katherine said. “Use your words.” She couldn’t help it as she narrowed her eyes. While she felt partly like Abigail’s guardian, felt responsible for her, she still had that little pang that wanted to tease her like an older sister often did. She’d made fun of her a little, so what? Plus, Abigail needed some eggs in her diet.

  “Hey, now,” Richard said, giving Katherine a warning glare which had no impact on her. Not like her mother’s glare had been able to do.

  “Just eat some eggs, all right. You need to protein.”

  Abgail simply shook her head and lifted a sausage, pointing her index finger at it as if to say, this is protein.

  “Abigail,” Katherine said in much too similar a tone to her mother’s, knocking her fist against the table lightly.

  Abgail took a bite of eggs and chomped down begrudgingly, smiling at Katherine with the food in her mouth, signing, “Happy?”

  “I am,” Katherine said, shoveling some eggs and slices of avocado on her plate as well as two sausages.

  Abgail looked at the avocado with glassy eyes, her chin resting on the edge of the table.

  “What?” Katherine said, taking a bite of one. “You want avocado now? You never want avocado.”

  Abigail nodded vigorously, kicking her legs and slamming her fists that held utensils against the table.

  “Fine,” Katherine said through gritted teeth, as she couldn’t help but give into Abigail. “One slice.”

  She poked a piece with her fork and dropped it onto Abgail’s plate. Abigail sucked the slice up like a vacuum cleaner, chomping down, swallowing, and beaming.

  She watched Katherine much like a cat might look at someone while perched up high.

  “No,” Katherine said in a way as if scolding a cat. Abigail persisted. “I said no.” She wasn’t going to say it again.

  Abigail pouted, but eventually went away at gobbling her own food, because when a kid is hungry, they eat.

  There was a moment where Abigail was eating with such mindlessness that she didn’t even realize that a drool of syrup was getting dangerously close to plopping on her pajamas. Katherine let out a little tsk noise and leaned over to Abgail to wipe the side of her mouth with a napkin.

  Abigail jerked back and showed her teeth.

  “You’ve got syrup on your—” she said, grasping at her arm and jerking her forward. “You just have to—”

  It plopped against her pajamas and thus was too late. Katherine sat back with a frustrated grunt. “Fine, get your pajamas sticky for all I care.” She’d had enough of these shenanigans.

  When they were done eating, Abigail patted her stomach, thanked Katherine with a big smile and hug, and shuffled out of the kitchen and down the hallway to her bedroom.

  “Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” Katherine called after her, standing from the chair with hands on hips much like their mother might have.

  Richard couldn’t help but laugh, one of his arms bent at the elbow, letting his cheek rest against his palm.

  “What?” she said, turning to him with a raised butter knife.

  “Nothing,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “Abigail may look like your mother, but you are just like her with that stubborn nature and intense look. It’s endearing.”

  Endearing? Katherine scrunched up her nose as she let a long silence pass, not knowing what to say as she couldn’t let him in. Couldn’t let his little comments melt her like the butter they had used on the pancakes. Instead, she thought about cutting him with the dull butter knife.

  “Whatever,” she said, turning back to cleaning the table, gathering the dishes up, and placing them in the dishwasher. As she wiped down the table, she noticed him looking like he wanted something.

  “About that talk?” he said, ponderous look on his face.

  She turned to the sink and rinsed out the rag in warm water, ringing it out. “What about it?” She wiped the countertops with her back turned to him.

  “I just wanted to let you know that I –”

  “Sorry Richard,” she said, hanging the rag over the faucet and wiping her hands off on her apron before removing it and placing it back on its appropriate hanger. “I don’t want to be late for the first day of school. “See you.” It felt weird, but she certainly wasn’t going to talk about what he wanted to talk about. He had plenty of time and moments in the past to do that. The chances were gone.

  And so was she, leaving Richard sitting there with one elbow on table, an intent and concerned look in his eye. He spoke, even though no one was there to hear it. Then again perhaps Masako was listening and watching from somewhere.

  “Good luck, Katherine.”

  Even if they hadn’t gotten along since Masako had passed over seven years ago, it was okay. Katherine had to grieve in her own way. Even if it took time, he’d always be there for her. Even if she rebuked him, shut him down, glared at him, hated him, he would be there for her. Part of him understood what she was going through, but part of him didn’t know anything, a whole universe of things in her mind, her mood, her attitude, her person.

  She wished Masako was here, as she was much better at dealing with their daughters. They were girls, after all, one teenager and one soon to be a teenager, so he had no clue how to handle that.

  There was one thing, though. One thing he knew to be true. And while he knew she knew, he couldn’t just let her know that their mother was killed by something she had claimed to have seen seven years ago. But what could he do? State the truth and be ridiculed? Or have his own daughters taken from him because of his insanity and insistence on stating that a werewolf from fantasy movies and novels had killed his wife? He couldn’t. But still, maybe he should acknowledge it to his daughter, to talk to her about it. To have a truthful discussion and let her know that while society and culture and others may not understand, that he understood. Even if they had to keep it a secret, he would gladly keep it with her, discuss it with her, and process it with her. Even if she fell apart, got scared, didn’t know what to do with it, he’d be there for her.

  Yet, why? Why, indeed. He knew why. He smiled bitterly.

  He had become like a character in a story, keeping the truth from his own daughter out of fear, to protect her. Perhaps he did it to salvage the memory of his lovely wife as she never wanted her children to know that truth, but it was a heavy burden to keep as a single father, especially knowing that his daughter, in a sense, disdained him, which was evidenced by her behavior toward him, or lack of any engagement besides being angry and resentful toward him. Still, he understood and forgave her. And, most important, he gave his word to his wonderful wife to not divulge that detail. Part of him wanted to, so very badly, felt that it was wrong to keep it from his daughter, but it was even worse breaking his word to his wife, even if she was gone now. That was something sacred, like asking for her hand in marriage, and committing to be with her through thick and thin, and in health and sickness.

  Luckily, though, Abgail hadn’t followed suit, so he was thankful for that at least, even if that daughter hadn’t spoken in years, she had at least seemingly moved on from all that madness. As perky as ever, except for little moments, outbursts, incidents, but that was manageable, right?

  He let out a sigh, wondering what Masako would think about this outcome. One daughter disdained him, shut him out. The other hadn’t spoken a word since the incident of losing their beloved mother.

  Great job he was doing. Would Masako change her mind and tell him to tell them? No… she didn’t want them to know. Not ever. Still. He would stay strong for them, be there for them, whenever they needed. He smiled, knowing he could at least do that. And that was good enough for now.

  Abigial returned to the kitchen with a mischievous smile on her face as she opened the fridge. She sneakily snatched a sausage link, wrapped it in a paper towel, and zapped it in the microwave for about 15 seconds, watching it like a puppy awaiting its meal for the evening. When it dinged, she quickly pulled it out, blew on it a few times to cool it down, then popped it in her mouth, chowing down. She noticed her father still sitting at the kitchen table, leaning against his propped-up arm in contemplation, totally in his own world.

  She slid over to him and touched his arm, which made him jump as she wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or just zoning out. She knew he worked hard, had been through a lot, and did so much for them, so she was gentle in her smile and nodded as she peered up at him. She made a sign with her hands, asking if he was okay.

  “Yeah, I’m just thinking,” he said, lifting his glasses and wiping his eyes.

  She stared at him for a moment, then gave him a big hug and pat on the back. She signed with her hands. Everything will be okay, papa.

  He beamed, patting her on the head, and she flashed a smile. Looking at his watch, he let out a sigh. “Time to get going.” He grabbed his bag and things for the day, then stopped and turned and admired Abigail one last time. “See you, kiddo.” She really was a great kid.

  She nodded and bobbed her way back to her bedroom, her little and low twin hair bunches bouncing along with her steps.

  He always admired the fortitude with which his little one lived, thinking perhaps his older one could learn a thing or two from her. Then again, the eldest often had a heavy burden just being the eldest, and Richard knew all about burdens. He stopped at the door, his hand hovering on the doorknob.

  Something rubbed against his leg, and he peered down to see the family cat zigzagging between his legs, pushing its body against him.

  “What about you, Cupid? What are you going to do for the day?” Cupid, a mangy orange cat, tilted his head up and meowed as it continued to rub its body against Richard’s leg. “Hungry, huh? I suppose I can give you something extra before I go.”

  He grabbed a container of Greenies and scattered four about. “There you go.”

  Abigail had noticed Cupid at a local pet store and wouldn’t take no for an answer when she begged them to take the little guy in. Abigail thought it would be wonderful to take Cupid into their home so he could spread love, just like Cupid did, and maybe they’d all get along better without mama. How could Richard say no to that? It was another thing that upset Katherine, but he just had to give into the adorable little Abigail.

  After putting a little extra food in Cupid’s bowl and refilling his water, Richard glanced at his watch that he rarely took off, just like his wedding ring, both symbols of his vow to his deceased wife, the latter given to him as a gift on their third anniversary. A fancy leather band watch with a gray face. A beautiful thing that paled in comparison to the way his wife smiled. He remembered the way her hair smelt, like being out on the beach and in the sun, and her soft and warm skin, and… he stared down at his watch and cleared his throat, doing his best to keep it together. Even after all this time, it still hurt. Also, he was late!

  “Yikes, I gotta get going.” He was quickly taken out of his reverie at the realization that he needed to be at his little corner café to make sure things were going smoothly as he had let his staff know he’d be a little late this morning being the first day of school for his daughters.

  He was determined to make the café corner coffee shop deal work as it was a dream of his wife’s, and while they had started it together, he had continued to dream on his own, in remembrance of Masako. That’s why he had called it Masako’s, in her memory.

  He gathered up his things and moved to the door while calling out, “have a good day and lock up before you leave,” to his girls before he slipped out and hustled his way to the café.