September 8, 1960 - September 9, 1960

Thursday Night to Friday Morning

Approximately 11:55 p.m. - 12:20 a.m.

The babysitter at the Perilune residence lay snoring on the couch in the middle of the large living room dimly lit by a single lamp. She was an appealing woman, and extremely large; she took up most of the couch as she sat, but in a manner so graceful it could only be described as weightless. She used the presence of her expanse to give the impression of something as light but voluminous as air.

There was a rather dusty aura about her; she had an extraordinarily ethereal presence. Her long silver ponytail draped elegantly over the silk ruffles of her red evening dress and its train crept over the floor like a puddle. In her creamy white palm, she clasped an opened detective novel resting on her chest and it gently lifted and sank with each slumbering breath. She looked like a voluptuous cherry pie filled with inspired life perfectly positioned against the orange sponged walls.

The three Perilune children dressed in their PJs tiptoed across the hardwood floors of the living room carrying pots in one hand and large wooden spoons in the other - their babysitter seemingly unaware. The oldest, a nine-year-old boy with dark brown skin, wild dark brown hair and mahogany colored almond shaped, slightly Asian looking eyes, was the leader. His twin eight-year-old sisters crept behind him. In a strange way, they almost looked more like him than they did each other. The floor creaked under the boy’s foot as he stood precariously over his babysitter’s unguarded body, pan and spoon at the ready.

One lazy eye shot open, “Don’t you dare,” the tremendous cherry pie said, then went right back to snoring.

Hakucho banged on the pot enthusiastically as much as he could before he was deftly cut short. Although Nova was large, she was nimble, light, and quick and almost snatched the utensils out of all of their hands before anyone got to the third beat. With a complete lack of any kind of guilt, Hakucho unenthusiastically slumped over the back of the couch until he was basically laying right on top of her.

“But we’re bored, Aunt Nova.”

“Yes, very.” His sisters agreed.

Ginga somehow squeezed onto the couch which had virtually no room on it for her. Her thick, dark brown hair with reddish tints cascaded over her shoulders in ringlets that came down to the small of her back. The wild curls that seemed untamable, were clasped feebly back behind her ears by two small clips. She lifted the free-flowing tips so that she didn’t sit on them as she made herself comfortable on top of Nova’s feet and draped her long gangly legs over her babysitter’s stomach.

Nova looked at her niece’s bright blue eyes as she tossed a ringlet of her long curly hair into the air and watched it bounce to a rest. For a second, Nova thought she actually saw clouds floating in the blue of her niece’s gaze, but when she blinked, she saw nothing. It was late in the evening, maybe she was more tired than she realized. Ginga had much lighter skin than her brother and her rounder nose and cheekbones made her seem more Polynesian islander than continental.

"It’s after 11:00 p.m. You should be sleeping, not bored.

The for once silent children didn’t express an ounce of remorse.

“Anyway, it doesn’t look like you’re bored to me,” Nova said, waving the pots and spoons now in her possession at them as evidence.

“But we are,” Tenma insisted, trying fruitlessly to find an open spot on the sofa.

Tenma gave up her search and climbed into a precarious position on top of them all, crushing them pleasantly. Her light brown hair had golden highlights and was the same length as her twin’s but didn’t get in her way. It was straight and fine, and she kept it tucked neatly in a bun that only had occasional loose strands falling out in wispy spikes. Her skin tone was a shade lighter than Hakucho’s, but slightly darker than Ginga’s, and her features were longer and more delicate. Strangers often assumed she was Native American.

The most striking feature about Tenma were her eyes. There was something special about them. When caught in the early sunlight, they were a deep greenish hazel with a splash of orange adorning a passage to a place far beyond her years. With the strange coloring and her striking long thick eyelashes, to look at them straight on, they were almost hypnotic. Similar to her mom’s at times, but more so.

Nova, now slightly more awake, let a lazy slow gaze drape over the children piled on top of her. Despite their minor differences, at a glance the three children looked and behaved as if they were exact replicas of each other, and they all had that delightful air of ageless cherublike devious innocence. She couldn’t help being charmed by them, even when they were naughty.

“Thank you so much for reading quietly all night and staying in bed like you promised,” Nova moaned painfully, her aged muscles and bones going into positions they weren’t used to - crushed by the weight of the children squirming on top of her.

“If we stay in bed all night, what is the point of you babysitting at all? There’s no fun at all in that.” Hakucho reached for the spoon about to bang on the pan again. Nova grabbed his wrist before the spoon struck.

“You were only sent to bed because you didn’t listen to one word I said tonight, look at this house, it’s a mess.” The warning look in Nova’s eye seemed real. But it didn’t faze Hakucho. The children could tell from the glint in her eyes and laughter in her voice that Nova found most of what they did amusing and was happier now that they were here with her again instead of up in their beds.

“We were just doing our job, Aunt Nova,” Ginga insisted, "You need someone to help keep you awake."

“Besides,” Hakucho said, “our house always looks like this.”

Nova rolled gently pushing the children off balance, they tumbled to the floor with loud bumps and moans. She stretched out her arms towards them, and they obliged by scurrying over to help her sit up. They were always amazed at how surprisingly light she was despite her size.

According to her scale, Nova never went over 125 pounds. Nova told them her large size was due to all the unexpended creativity building up in her ever since she stopped painting, but she never said anything more than that. They knew it was too painful for her to talk about. But her girth honestly just made her infinitely more stunning. If an eggplant could possess the glamour of a 1940’s movie star, that was Nova. She was the bubble version of a cross between Audrey Hepburn and Sophia Lauren. She pulled out a long paintbrush that had gotten stuck under the cushion of the sofa and rested the tip on her bottom lip as if it were an extremely long fork. She was 75 years old but looked and acted as if she was 45. She had no wrinkles, and her skin was freckle free and flawless.

They all shuddered in unison. A loud roll of thunder had just rumbled so close to the house that it quaked under their feet. Nova glanced at the clock on the wall, it was nearly 12:30 a.m., Gemma had never been this late before.

“Your mother still isn’t here?”

The children shook their heads. Nova could tell they were starting to worry, but it wasn’t unusual for Gemma to come home late without calling, she was always afraid she might wake the children if they were already in bed, a habit from when they were younger.

“Did you call the shop?”

Hakucho shook his head, "no", implying, “What do you think she would say if we called this late?”

“Oh, yes I see.” Nova was an understanding babysitter, if not at first perfectly astute. “Well let’s not get upset before we need to. Hakucho, will you go turn on the hall light? It’s so dark in here. I will never understand why your mother won’t just let me buy her more lamps.” Nova often complained about how Gemma would not let her buy her things or give her money, especially whenever she thought Gemma might need some extra help.

Nova suddenly noticed that water was puddling up on the floor from the rain pouring in through an opened window. She pointed and Tenma ran over to shut it, but it was tilted to the side and wedged in tight. Ginga ran over to help her, and soon they were both grunting as they jumped up and down trying to use the force of their weight to shut it - but they couldn’t make it budge an inch either way. Hakucho pushed them aside and tried too, but it was stuck tight.

“Just run and get some towels for now girls,” Nova suggested. “We probably need some tools to get it un-wedged, I’ll look into that tomorrow.”

The girls darted past Hakucho and up the steps to the bathroom. The hall was covered in a mess of papers and some of them fluttered into the air as they ran by. Hakucho walked over to flip on the switch. The bulb flickered and stayed on for a moment but then after a few seconds it went out. There was a trick to getting it to stay on, they just had to keep wiggling the switch before it snapped into place either way until the light caught and stayed on, but tonight it wasn’t working.

He gave up when the girls raced back down with a bundle of towels in their arms and followed them back into the living room.

“Sorry Nova, I couldn’t get the light to stay on. Maybe it’s finally burnt out.”

He went over to the window to help the girls stuff in the towels and mop the floor.

“Ahh, just as I thought that must mean he isn’t here. I sensed his absence.” Nova mumbled under her breath, hoping that somehow, Leo was out watching over Gemma instead.

Nova believed in Leo’s ghost too. She was convinced she could detect the presence of spirits around her by the way the back of her neck prickled. She also believed that the hall light only worked when a certain ghost was around. The children knew she was talking about their dad, but nobody was allowed to actually say it, especially when their mother was around. True, Nova’s belief was a little odd, but even stranger was the fact that the Perilunes hadn’t changed the hall light bulb in over six years, yet amazingly, for the most part, it still usually worked.

Nova was convinced it was powered by the electrical energy from Leo’s ghost when he was close by, which was most of the time. The children knew their mother believed this as well, even though she would never admit it to them. That was why she wouldn’t fix the light; she felt safer knowing when he was close by. But the children thought it was hogwash and just got annoyed with the fact that the hall light wouldn’t just turn on when they flipped the switch - like at every other house. They wished she would just break down and pay the 20 cents for a new bulb. This was mainly because children didn’t buy into the ghost theory for a minute. The had their own reasons for believing that their father was still alive and not a ghost at all.

Nova reached for the phone and dialed the number to the Fleur de Lit, but there was no answer. “No matter,” she sighed. “She must have already left.” Nova looked at the kids who were staring at her with dismayed faces. “Don’t worry, that means she will be home soon.” The children didn’t look reassured.

Their lack of faith made Nova nervous. She knew that because the children had already lost their father, they were often overly concerned for the safety of their mother. A feeling she easily understood. She knew what it was like to lose what you loved the most. At an early age she lost both of her parents in a train crash, and then her brother and sister-in-law in another crash years later. The only thing that really allowed her to tap into her inner happiness after that was her painting, and then she was mysteriously forced to give that up too. Now the only thing that truly satisfied her starving soul was her pottery and travel. She reached for a wine glass on the table that was filled with water and a long toothpick to jab a green olive from a large pile that was nested in a beautifully designed, ornate porcelain bowl she had recently made and popped it into her mouth.

The Perilune children abandoned the window, crowded around their aunt, and started munching on some of the olives themselves. Although to Nova’s dismay, they plucked them out of the bowl with their fingers, not with the toothpicks.

“Can we stay up until she gets here?” Ginga asked softly.

Nova pulled her close and hugged her. “We’ll see.”

Hakucho understood. What his aunt meant was that she was worried too, she didn’t know if their mom really was in trouble or not. But he didn’t let her secret out, “Yeah Ginge, she keeps coming home later every night. Who knows when she will get here?”

Tenma’s contemplative face was beyond her eight years of age, “Mom works herself to death. She is so tired all the time, that she has no time for us.”

“She barely has time to breathe,” Ginga mumbled. "Or at least that’s what she always says."

Hakucho agreed, “I don’t think she can handle everything on her own anymore.”

Nova looked at the mess around her. “Well, she never really did, did she?”

“True, but she never seemed this unhappy.” Ginga tried to recall one time in the past few months that her mom laughed, but couldn’t think of one instance.

“It’s because she misses your dad so much.” Nova said.

“I don’t know,” Tenma said thoughtfully. “She doesn’t even seem to care about anything anymore. It’s like she doesn’t feel anything.”

“She cares, she is just afraid of getting hurt again” Hakucho said.

“I think you’re right,” Nova admitted, patting his head. Still astonished by how beyond their years these children seemed to be sometimes.

“Then why doesn’t she ever cry?” Tenma asked.

"Or laugh?" Ginga added.

“I don’t know,” Nova said. “Maybe she doesn’t need to, or can’t.”

“How could you not be able to cry?” Tenma sounded doubtful.

“Oh, lots of people can’t cry,” Nova assured her, “Didn’t you know that is where dew comes from? Dew is a collection of all the tears that people can’t cry for themselves. Sometimes people just need the earth to cry for them.

“I doubt that.” Hakucho was almost ten. He wasn’t as gullible as he used to be.

“No, it’s true,” Nova insisted. “My Grandmother used to tell me about the water planet which is where all tears go after they’ve been cried. It’s a gigantic watery sphere that orbits the sun and changes size as it either evaporates or collects more tears. It exists so that if one person suffers, we can all share the pain together. It is the universe’s gift of collective sorrow.”

“So, our mom has never cried?” Tenma asked dubiously.

“Well, no, she used to cry a lot,” Nova said sadly.

“How do you know?” Ginga asked.

“I have proof. Your Grandma Roche used to collect your mom’s tears in a blue glass bottle when she was a little girl. I’ll bet she still has it.”

“She does,” the girls answered together.

Hakucho turned to his aunt to explain. “She used to pull it out when we got hurt. She would dab our wounds with it. It always made us feel better somehow.

“Feelings are powerful things,” Nova agreed. Then she felt bad for giving away the secret to Gemma’s placebo and she tried to cover it up, “But maybe she has it filled with something else now.”

“So why doesn’t she cry anymore?” Tenma asked.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s because she’s changed. She’s weaker than she used to be; she gets cold so easily now." Nova shook her head sadly. "That never used to happen.”

“Do you think she’s sick?”

“No, but maybe she needs some help around here.” Nova pointed at each of the children hinting that they could maybe help her out a little by cleaning up more or behaving a little better.

“I wish someone would come and just take care of her.” Ginga said.

“Be careful of what you wish for,” Nova said, “it might come true.”

“No, that’s actually a good idea,” Hakucho said.

“You don’t mean you want someone to replace Dad?” Tenma gasped, looking appalled. In fact, all three children shivered with the thought of it.

“No, but maybe having someone around to look out for her and help take care of the house wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” Nova said.

“We could hire a handyman.” Ginga suggested, feeling odd as if the words were coming from a dream she had.

“With what money?” Hakucho demanded.

“Yes, where would we get money like that?” Tenma batted her long eyelashes at Nova hopefully, trying to look innocent.

Suddenly the hall light popped on and Nova quickly ushered them out of the living room. “Go to bed, children. Your mother is on her way home.”

The children reluctantly obeyed and headed for the stairs.