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The leaves of the trees in her garden were trembling under the cool breeze. According to an old woman like her, it was the perfect time to go out and enjoy the season. However, Coppelia had refused, eyes glued to the floor, and she had chosen instead to spend her free time after homework to draw. Elbows planted on the carpet, she passed and repassed her ballpoint pen on mostly the same subject: children having birthday parties, her father going around with a torch and an out-of-touch hat, big animals that looked vaguely robotic.
Someone was dead or injured in all of them.
"Don't worry about it, it's normal" Ralph had said to the woman, when she brought it up. "She did this since she was little. It's a, uuuh... It's a way to deal with stress, y'know? Draw big, dramatic pictures, to get everything out. It's normal at that age" he had added, faster than before. "So, uh, thank you for your concern, but please be assured that everything is okey-dokey!" he had concluded, a big smile on his face.
According to her own experience, that was not something children would do unprompted. But then, what did she know? He was her father, had a degree in child psychology (one of the many details she looked up before coming here), and had just separated from her mother not in the best circumstances. She had had experience with kids, but she was also just their lousy neighbor. The least she could do was being helpful, and not ask questions. So she smiled, said she understood, and dropped the subject.
But that did not mean just letting things run her course. She had learned her lesson on that before coming here.
"So, dear" she said, in the sweetest voice "How was school today?"
Coppelia halted her drawing, the picture only half finished, and raised her head. Mrs. Andrews was forced to again confront the children' sleep bags.
"Fine" she answered, mechanically. Mrs. Andrews expected her to get back to drawing immediatly, so she chose to instantly follow up with a question.
"Wonderful! And how's your father doing? Does he like the night shift?"
Coppelia immediatly dropped her head. Mrs. Andrews thought she was going to get back at drawing, but instead the child merely laid on the carpet, gripping her pen.
"I pushed her too much" the old woman thought. She did not want to leave her to linger on that, the child was definitely too young for it, so she opened her mouth, ready to propose a snack break in the kitchen.
"I do not think he likes it" Coppelia said, quietly, making Mrs. Andrews immediatly drop her plan. "I miss him". The child raised her head, clearly holding back the tears. "I want to see him".
Maybe, another person in Mrs. Andrews' shoes would have been a bit worried for how the child reacted. It was a week in a night shift at a dismissed dining place, where the scariest thing were the motionless animatronics- hardly anything to be terrified about, to be crying over.
But Mrs. Andrews knew. In another life, she saw a similar place eating up the lives of those unfortunate enough to cross it - first just by devouring their time, bringing them away from everything and everybody else, then by occupying their thoughts obsessively, and then (finally, she would say, if she still didn't feel dread over it) literally, killing a child and closing the place for good.
But not forever.
He would always look for another victim, and drag down anybody who found on his way. Ralph could quite plausibly be a victim of the massacre, and Coppelia clearly understood and was afraid of it.
And that's why Mrs. Andrews ended on the carpet, hugging the trembling child while she cried her hearts out. The woman couldn't offer words of comfort- how, when she was still torn between praying to forget and hoping that a miracle could make them, every single one, come back together- but she knew that just having the certainty that someone was close was enough, sometimes. That's how she dealt with it at least, drinking his lies and pretending everything was fine before she lost her kid.
The old woman did not know how much time passed when Coppelia ended the hug. And, in that moment, Mrs. Andrews couldn't help but worry - had she crossed a line?
She was not a friend of the family after all, and maybe Ralph would not have approved the contact. If the word got out, people could start looking at the widow with suspicion, maybe even start researching her background. She would have to change everything again - start anew, with just her old memories, afraid of making another wrong step and be found by...
"Mrs. Andrews?"
Her name brought her back to reality "Yes, dear?"
"Do you think my dad misses me as well?"
"But of course!" she said, with vigor "What parent wouldn't? Isn't he happy to see you when he comes back?"
Coppelia looked at her pen again. Did she wait for him when he returned from the shift? That was adorable, and it'd explain the baggy eyes, but Mrs. Andrews was not used to ask questions, so she just waited for Coppelia to answer.
The child nodded, almost absent-mindedly, and then looked at her again, her lips trembling. "Will he come back again?"
Quite a direct question. But, also, a sincere one, spoken from an heart fogged with uncertainty. Coppelia was clearly trying to find some comfort - to believe in her words, to have someone smile to her and say that everything was gonna be okay.
Mrs. Andrews couldn't guarantee it, not anymore. But old habits died hard, and she smiled to her anyway. Despite the weight in her soul, she answered sincerly.
"Obviously, dear. No parent would run away, leaving their children behind."
"Not even if it becomes dangerous."