Chapter 10 | Someone’s in the Kitchen with Ciara

Ciara’s in the kitchen making soup, talking to herself as if her husband, Tom, was there, instead of halfway around the world trying to find a better home for them to make a life in. Neil's in the living room, lying down on the sofa. He's tired a lot, barely remembers his dad, gone since Neil was real little. They talk on the phone and write letters. Tom tells him fantastical stories about places straight out of a book, where giants live, and the sky's on fire half the time. Soon, they will all be together again, not like when you die and go to heaven, but here on earth in a fantastical place, where you can forget about how sick you are.

Mommy and daddy are right by your side, and it’s been hours since the last time you coughed.

Ciara makes soup instead of crying. She makes a different batch every day. Some of the ingredients come from the store, but most she grows in her garden. A few are rare medicinal herbs, including a handful Tom discovered along the way. She talks to herself and sings. Tom is always there, watching over her, along with her favorite angels. They give her advice on how much of each ingredient to use, and they remind her to turn off the stove. They also keep an eye on Neil, sometimes a little too closely.

Ciara tastes the soup, especially good today. It's got some kick to wake you up and clear your head. “Not yet,” she tells the angels.

Neil's in the other room, coughing. Ciara pretends not to hear. It's the same as usual, that same alarming cough that never seems to get better, though at least, for now, it's not worse. All the soup and the herbs and the humidifiers and the doctors, even the staying at home have not led to any improvement. His hair is white, like a miniature old man, and lately he's having trouble seeing. Ciara’s afraid to let him go outside, and since he doesn't ask, she keeps him indoors, contrary to Grandpa’s advice.

“Mama?” calls the voice from the other room. “When do we get to see daddy?”

“Soon, baby. Soon.” She's stirring the pot. Soup’s almost done, perhaps the best one yet. Ciara’s standing over the pot as if to block the angels from peeking.

“Mama! I can see myself! Mama! I'm flying!”

Ciara dropped the wooden spoon and flew into the living room. “Not yet!” she screamed at the angels. Neil was sitting bolt upright on the couch, coughing and staring into space. “I'm flying, mama! I'm flying!” Ciara dropped down onto the couch and wrapped her arms around her son. “It sure is pretty, mama.”

“There now, baby, mama’s here.”

The soup’s in the kitchen, simmering, while the angels start to sing. As they fly around the room, one of the elders whispers to another, “not yet.”