Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 130, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 793 & 794, September/October 2007

The World in Primary Colors by Scott William Carter

© 2007 by Scott William Carter

Art by Jason Eckhardt

More than two dozen of Scott William Carter’s short stories have been published in magazines such as Analog Science Fiction and Fact, Asimov’s Science Fiction, EQMM, Weird Tales, and Realms of Fantasy. He makes a second appearance in EQMM with a tale that touches on every parent’s fear. Mr. Carter is himself the father of two young children. He lives in Oregon’s lush Willamette Valley.

The sign was quite clear — No Adults Allowed. Thank you. Like an afterthought, it was affixed to the red plastic tunnel with masking tape, slightly askew, handwritten on a white sheet of paper with a black marker. The paper had started to yellow and bubble with age, which was strange, because Doug didn’t remember the sign being there last time — and that had been only a few weeks earlier. Of course Rosie had never asked him to take her into the plaything before, preferring simply to watch other kids, so he may not have noticed.

Rosie tugged on his hand. “Go in, Da-ee? Go in wid Wosie?”

The room smelled faintly of baking pizza. Her small hand felt slightly sweaty. Doug adjusted his glasses and leaned closer to the sign, hoping for some small-print addendum that might let him pass. As a corporate tax accountant, he was trained to look for such addendums — loopholes, exceptions, and special circumstances to turn what was illegal into what was merely inconvenient — and he often found himself doing this in his private life, too. But in this case, no such luck.

The screeching and laughter of the children echoed all around them. The play equipment at Locomotion Pizza was in a separate room, its walls and ceiling almost entirely glass. Outside, mere inches from where children played, a steady pulse of traffic passed on Roosevelt Boulevard, but the glass was thick enough that it muted most of the noise. On the wall connecting them to the main part of the restaurant was a mural of an old steam engine passing through the mountains. The ceiling had been painted a perfect blue, but the real sky outside was a metallic gray, like the dull side of aluminum foil.

Doug’s mood always rose and fell a little with the weather, but the overcast skies didn’t seem to affect the kids one bit. They crowded eagerly around the video games in the corner, bounded through thousands of plastic balls in the area covered with black netting, and clambered after one another through the huge, castle-like structure of interconnecting tunnels.

The castle was the crown jewel of the play area, and the thing Rosie talked about incessantly for days after a visit — as big as a small house, each tunnel a different solid color, red, yellow, blue, with plastic bubble windows at various junctures and three different slides, some straight, some that curled like twisty fries. If only they had toys like that when he was growing up. But of course, he knew he had been a little timid, like Rosie, perhaps even more so.

He squatted down next to her. Children’s laughter echoed inside the tunnel.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It says I can’t. But you can go in. I’ll watch you.”

Her face darkened — lips compressing to a horizontal line, dark eyebrows bowing into the mirror image of checkmarks. It was an expression he had seen on Autumn’s face many times. Rosie was the spitting image of her mother — round brown eyes; fair, freckled skin; hair like dark chocolate and tied in a ponytail. Oh, she looks so much like you, Autumn! She could be your clone! Doug had heard that more times than he could count. What he hated was not the comment, but how people would always gave him this look, as if they were either feeling sorry for him because she was physically so different — with his sandy hair, blue eyes, and darker skin, really more of an opposite — or they were just a tiny bit suspicious that the child was not, in fact, his.

She wore a white dress over a red and blue plaid shirt, his favorite outfit, one that made her look a little like Raggedy Ann. She fiddled with the hem. “But I wan’ you go in, Da-ee!” she insisted.

He smiled. “I know that, dear. But it’s against the rules.”

“Wules?”

“That’s right. You know... Kind of like how Mommy tells you not to kick the table at dinnertime. That’s a rule. Well, this is a rule, too. Daddies can’t go in there. It’s just for kids.”

“Tids?”

“That’s right, dear.”

She hesitated a moment, gears turning, before saying with even more gusto than before: “But I wan’ you go in, Da-ee!”

Doug sighed. It was May, with the long days of tax season behind him, and he’d taken the afternoon off just to make her happy. He hadn’t been spending nearly enough time with her lately, getting home long after she went to bed, and the guilt had been gnawing at him. This was their first stop. So what if he had a bad back and tendonitis in his wrists? He’d survive. It might even be fun. Break a few rules, be a rebel.

“All right,” he said reluctantly. “You go first.”

Swallowing, she started inside, only having to hunch a little. Doug followed on his hands and knees, glancing over his shoulder right before he went into the tunnel. Sure enough, just as he feared, a woman pushed through the double glass doors into the play area right at that moment. She was short and mousy, but she had a mean frown, the way his middle-school librarian, Mrs. Hampton, frowned when she caught someone sticking gum under the card catalog. He smiled weakly, then followed Rosie.

The plastic felt gritty, like the plastic bowls at home felt, the ones they’d had since college. Years of sweaty hands had given the tunnel the musty smell of a locker room. Rosie hesitated where the tunnel started up, and Doug encouraged her, holding her waist as she climbed. “Step here,” he said. “Use the footholds.” With each step, she gained confidence. Doug had a little more trouble, his leather shoes slipping. Eventually they reached a landing, where the color went from red to bright yellow. Tiny plastic bubbles above let in light, and other than a glimpse of the blue ceiling, he couldn’t see anything outside.

Rosie was nearly at the next tunnel, one that went up another forty-five degree angle. Doug, however, was already winded.

“Wait a minute,” he said, leaning against the wall.

“But I wan’ go dere, Da-ee!”

“I know, dear. But just... wait a second. Isn’t this neat? We’re way up here, in this castle.”

She stared at him, brown eyes blinking. Sometimes talking with her, he felt like he was Mission Control and she was on the space shuttle, and he had to wait for his signal to bridge the vast distance between them.

“Way up ‘ere?” she said.

“Right. Way up here.”

The next tunnel was blue, the next one after that green, twisting left and right, sometimes straight, sometimes climbing. Rosie chattered excitedly, repeatedly saying, “Way up, Da-ee, way up ‘ere.” She got a little ahead of Doug, and then when he rounded a sharp bend, entering another blue tunnel, she was already out of sight. He heard the sounds of shoes squeaking and thumping, but they seemed as if they were coming from a long ways off.

“Rosie?” he said.

When she didn’t answer, a vicious panic took hold of him. The tunnel darkened, going from blue to black, pressing in on him, tightening. He put his hands against the sides, as if he could hold the vise at bay, but the feeling persisted. There was pressure on his lungs, as if someone was sitting on his chest. Each breath came short and quick, and he felt sweat break out all over — on his back, his forehead, his neck. He’d never felt such intense anxiety in all his life — the only time he’d felt anything even remotely similar was when his father died years ago — and he told himself it was foolish. She was just a little ahead. Christ. Calm down. Calm.

He was still sitting there trying to get a hold of himself when a brown-skinned boy in a blue baseball cap scooted around the bend, coming from the direction Rosie had gone. He gave Doug a curious look.

“It’s okay,” Doug said. “I’m with her.”

The kid frowned, then passed without a word and continued down, a little faster than he had been moving before. Great. Kid was probably going to complain to Mommy that some adult was up here.

“Da-ee?” Rosie called from up ahead.

Relief flooded through him. “Coming, dear,” he said. “Just wait, okay?”

When he caught up to her, she was crouching by a round window, one that bubbled outward as if they were on the inside of an eye looking out. She faced away from him, tiny fingers pressed up against the scuffed plastic. There were actually four windows, one on all three sides, plus one above. Just beyond the area, a blue tunnel continued upward, and another, a short green one, ended at the beginning of a slide.

“Look, Da-ee! Look!” Rosie said.

“You really shouldn’t go ahead of me like that, Rosie,” Doug said, crawling up next to her. Sweat glued his polo shirt to his back. “Daddy likes to be able to see you, and if you...”

He trailed off, having gotten a glimpse of the play area down below. He saw something, something black moving along the wall, that didn’t seem quite right. He moved closer to the window and looked beyond the tiny fingerprints and the scratch marks and saw the mural of the train — but it wasn’t just a mural anymore. The train was moving, white puffs rising from its smokestack, the whole thing chugging along the wall, as if it wasn’t a wall at all but a giant television screen. And that wasn’t all. The train had changed, now less realistic and more a cartoon, shorter, more compact, and with giant yellow wheels. Then he recognized it. It looked like the toy train Rosie had at home.

“Look!” Rosie said again. “Look!”

He looked where she was pointing and saw that the green plastic floor was no longer plastic, but real grass, at least a foot high. The doors to the restaurant were huge and crooked. The restaurant, through the glass windows, was out of focus. He saw the shapes of people, but he couldn’t make out any of their features. Two squealing boys ran past, and their faces were clear but huge; their heads were at least twice the size they should have been, bulging as if someone had inflated them with air.

Doug blinked a few times, but nothing changed. “That’s odd,” he said. He cleaned his glasses on his shirt, but this didn’t do the trick either.

Rosie smiled at him. “We up eye!”

It took him a moment to realize what she meant. “Yes,” he said. “We’re very high. Honey... what do you see out there?”

She stared. Earth to space shuttle, waiting...

“Dere?”

“Yes. Do things... do they look different?”

She looked at him a moment longer, then clambered past him. “Look, Da-ee! Side! Go side now!”

Doug looked back at the window. Surely if she saw the same thing, she would have said something... He looked more closely at the clear plastic, wondering if it was some kind of trick, a projection maybe, but he didn’t see any equipment.

His heart racing, he joined Rosie. She glanced at the slide and bit down on her lower lip. The green plastic angled downward steeply. He didn’t like heights much. He also didn’t like going fast. A bad combination.

“Why don’t you get on my lap, honey,” he said. He sat at the edge of the slide, his legs extended in front of him.

She hesitated.

“It’s okay, dear,” he said. “You’ll be with me.”

Slowly, she moved onto his lap. She was no longer a little feather, and he stifled a groan when the full weight of her settled onto him. But when she clutched onto the scruff of his slacks and leaned into him, her back warm against his chest, he felt a tingle up his spine. He placed his arms lightly around her and scooted forward. For just a second, before he pushed off, he saw them from the outside, a snapshot of father and daughter, and he told himself to remember it. This moment here. Put it in the scrapbook of his mind.

They zoomed around the curves, picking up speed as they raced over the green plastic, each of them laughing. He felt the rush of air on his face. It lasted only a moment, and then they were at the bottom, his long legs skidding on the grass.

Real grass.

Giggling, Rosie hopped off his lap and headed back for the tunnel’s entrance. “Side!” she cried. “Go side!”

Doug rose, so mystified he barely noticed the ache in his knees. The room... The grass felt soft beneath his shoes. The locomotive grinded and screeched along its tracks. Big-headed children dressed in solid blues and greens ran past, laughing, and the few adults around the room were looking at Doug with out-of-focus faces. He glanced at the castle and saw that it was a real castle now, with towers and parapets, although still painted in alternating solid colors.

Rosie stood by the tunnel waiting for him, but it was no longer a tunnel; it was an arched entryway that crossed a moat of sparkling blue water.

“Sir,” a young man said.

Doug looked in the direction of the voice and saw a scarecrow with black button eyes, only he wore black jeans and the yellow polo shirt with the black train on it, the shirt the employees wore. His straw body shimmered like gold.

“You really shouldn’t be in here, sir,” the scarecrow said. And for just a moment, his real face came into view — a face with acne scars and patchy facial hair, a textured face of shadows and hues and imperfections.

Rosie protested, but Doug didn’t want to make a scene, so they headed for the car. But it wasn’t his car, not exactly. His Ford Explorer was now solid blue, tires and all, and it bulged like an inflated beach toy. All the cars were like that. The tall pines around the restaurant had been replaced by giant, two-dimensional Christmas trees, like something Rosie might make at daycare with butcher paper. All the buildings lining the street were made of blocks, some plastic with notches on the top, some wood with numbers and letters on the side. Inside the passing cars, Doug saw not people but giant stuffed animals and life-size dolls.

Unlocking the car, he saw that his keys were no longer metal, but red and rubbery like a child’s eraser. He lifted Rosie into the backseat, and instead of her car seat, found a purple octopus. She climbed into it, and he lowered the tentacled arms over her.

“Go ‘ome, Da-ee?” Rosie said.

“Yes, dear,” he said, and it was as if someone else was speaking. Home. Yes, home. Get his bearings. But even as he thought this, the world shimmered. Some of the cars changed to real cars. Driving home, paper trees turned to real trees, and blue sky became gray. Rosie sang happily, oblivious, but Doug gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. A small green brontosaurus, walking upright and pulling a red wagon, changed to a homeless man in army fatigues pushing a rusted shopping cart.

By the time he reached his house, the world was back to normal and he saw the house as it was — a one-story ranch with flaking gray paint, piles of rotting leaves in the driveway, a lawn going to seed. After pulling into the cluttered garage, he retrieved Rosie and carried her into the house. He passed through the galley kitchen, which stank of rotten milk, the sink full of dishes. When he rounded the corner into the family room, he saw Autumn sitting in the rocking chair inches from the television. Some talk show was on, but she stared blankly ahead, her eyes glassy. The shades were drawn, and the room flickered along with the television.

“Mommy!” Rosie cried.

“Oh,” Doug said, putting Rosie down. “I didn’t know you’d be home.”

Rosie ran to her side, gripping the armrest, but Autumn didn’t look at her. Her hair, more gray than brown these days, drooped over her wan face. She still wore her blue hospital scrubs, and he saw a tiny spot of blood on her sleeve. She had been a phlebotomist for nearly ten years, and it was the first time he could remember seeing blood on her clothes. Usually, she was quick to wash it off, as she said even a little stain could alarm the patients.

“I was tired,” Autumn said.

“Are you sick?”

She didn’t answer.

“Did something happen at work?” he pressed.

“Doug, please,” she said quietly.

Rosie jumped up and down. “Da-ee and Wosie go side, Mommy!” she cried. “Side!”

Closing her eyes, Autumn leaned her head back against the rocking chair. For a moment, she looked like her mother looked the last time Doug saw her, back in the nursing home when she was in the full clutches of Alzheimer’s, her face stretched and pale. “Can you just leave me alone for a while, please?” she said, her voice dying to a whisper.

Doug was going to tell her about the amazing thing that just happened to him, but the impulse dissolved in his anger. Lately she’d been having more and more of these moody phases, and he was sick of it. It was one thing to ignore him, but another to ignore Rosie. “What’s happened to you, anyway?”

But when she answered, it wasn’t with words. Her eyes remained closed, but tears streaked down her face. Rosie looked alarmed, and started to reach for her mother, but Doug didn’t want her to see Autumn like this. He guided Rosie to her bedroom and shut the door just as Autumn began sobbing. The wood was thick, but he could still hear her. He turned on Rosie’s CD player, a song about counting animals.

He looked at Rosie. She stood in front of her toddler bed, clasping her hands and biting down on her lower lip. The rest of the house may have been a mess, but Rosie’s room was perfect, the bed neatly made, all the books and toys on their shelves, all the tops of the dressers clean. Doug kept it that way.

“Mommy sad, Da-ee?” Rosie said. “Mommy ha’ tears?”

Doug swallowed away the lump in his throat. “Yes, dear. Mommy’s a little sad right now.”

“Mommy ha’ ow-ee?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Why Mommy sad, Da-ee?”

He kneeled in front of her and tried to smile, though his face felt like dried wax. “Sometimes,” he began, and had to start over when his throat constricted. “Sometimes people are just sad, honey. Sometimes... there is no reason why. But Mommy will get better. I promise. We just need to give her time.”

She looked unconvinced, but he managed to distract her with a toy fire engine, and soon she was laughing again.

The strange thing that happened didn’t happen the next day, or the next, and he was too afraid to go back to the pizza place. But on the weekend, when he was pushing Rosie on a tire swing at the park, it happened again. The swing changed to a red crop-duster with a bright yellow propeller. Rosie swooped around in a circle, her head bent low in the cockpit and her ponytail flapping behind her. The jungle gym turned into a blue rocket ship with yellow fins. Two kids in white spacesuits looked out from the hatch.

This time, Doug wasn’t scared. In fact, he realized he had been secretly hoping it would happen again. The grit and grime of reality returned on the walk home, but he was left with a pleasant feeling, like the buzz from a good brandy. He took the following Wednesday off and took Rosie to the zoo, and while they were there, the concrete walkways faded and they found themselves in a lush jungle, surrounded by animals, but not animals that could bite or claw. These animals were big, fluffy, and friendly, like the animals from her picture books.

Doug decided he liked Rosie’s world. He started taking off early in the day to do things with her — the mall, where every shop was a toy shop with toys that talked back, the riverfront carousel, where there were horses with manes like silk and hides like satin, and the beach, where dolphins dressed in tuxedos emerged from the surf to tell them stories of the undersea world. The more he did, the longer this wonderful new reality lasted. He saw all of Rosie’s friends brought to life — Marmar, Slow Joe, Big Cat, Little Cat, and thousands of others he didn’t know by name. He was burning through his vacation days, and he wanted more.

Three weeks after that first experience at Locomotion Pizza, Doug was crunching numbers on a spreadsheet when his boss, Gabe, stopped by his cubicle.

“You wanted to see me, old buddy?” he said.

Doug saved the file and swiveled in his chair to face him. Gabe had both hands on the edge of the cubicle and was peering around it, as if he had been passing and remembered Doug’s e-mail at the last moment. They had been friends for years, playing racquetball before their knees gave out, playing board games with their wives before their children devoured their evenings, until now they rarely saw each other outside the office. Autumn used to say — back when she and Doug used to do things like talk — that Gabe looked like a repressed hippie. He wore a white shirt and dark slacks, but his personality still showed in his ponytail, his thick moustache, and his trippy rainbow tie. His glasses had a slight red tint.

The sounds of the office surrounded them: clicking keyboards, humming printers, and the steady background drone of people speaking on phones. It was a gray world, with gray walls and gray carpet. Even the fluorescent light seemed flaccid and dull.

“Yes,” Doug said. “I was wondering... Well, I was thinking...” He didn’t realize this would be so hard. “I was thinking, if it’s all right with you, that — that I’d like to take a leave of absence. Unpaid, of course.”

Gabe had watery blue eyes, the kind of eyes that used to get him laid all the time back in college, or so he said, but they looked purple through the glasses. He narrowed them. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“How much time we talking about here?”

“Um... I don’t know. A month?”

Gabe sighed and stepped around into the cubicle. He reached for a door, but there was no door, so he turned and sat on Doug’s metal desk. Gabe’s tie-dyed socks had the same swirl of colors as his tie. When Gabe spoke, he lowered his voice to just above a whisper.

“I talked to Autumn,” he said.

Doug didn’t understand where he was going with this. “Yeah?”

“She’s worried about you, man.”

“Worried about me?”

“That’s right. She said you’ve been acting strange.”

Doug felt the cubicle walls collapsing in on him, the same feeling he had back at Locomotion Pizza, but this time it only lasted a second before it was replaced with his rising anger. He felt his jaw grow tight. “She said I’m acting strange? What about her? She’s the one going through some weird, delayed version of postpartum depression.”

“Doug—”

“If anybody’s acting strange, it’s her. She... she should see someone. Get some help. It’s ruining our family, what she’s doing. She—”

Gabe placed his hand on Doug’s shoulder, silencing him. “She is, man. She is seeing someone.”

The comment derailed Doug. “What?”

Gabe looked at Doug for a long time with sad eyes, the way someone looks at an old family dog who’s started snapping at invisible squirrels. Did he know about Rosie’s world? Doug hadn’t told anyone yet, not even Autumn.

Finally, Gabe sighed and headed out of the cubicle. When he’d reached the hall, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Take all the time you need, Doug,” he said. “But you guys should talk. Really.”

On the way home, moving from one stoplight to another in a slow waltz with hundreds of other cars, Doug thought about what Gabe had said. He knew he needed to talk to Autumn, that their marriage was disintegrating in a barrage of silent moments, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care about that now. He wanted to spend more time with Rosie. He wanted smiling purple bears and magic-carpet rides, not therapists who talked in monotones and loud arguments about how neither of them knew what the other was feeling. He wanted a world of soft edges and primary colors, not one with sharp corners and a little gray in everything.

Then, as he was turning onto their street, one lined with pin oaks and leafy maples, the most amazing thing happened. The world changed. It changed, and Rosie wasn’t even with him. The cars parked on the street became green and yellow tugboats, the road a bright blue river twisting through banks lined with palm trees. He turned where their house should be, but it wasn’t a house; it was a white spaceship shaped like a half-inflated beach ball. A door opened in the ship, a ramp extended, and he motored his boat inside. But it wasn’t a boat. It was a motorcycle. It was a horse. It was a leather-bound book with feathered white wings.

The doors whisked open and he walked into an igloo, the walls made not of ice, but white shiny blocks. Passing the dining room, he saw a sparkling beach and six monkeys in pink dresses having tea around a picnic table. He heard Rosie’s music coming from her room, and her singing along with it. He was turning toward the hall, now a rope bridge across a deep canyon, when Autumn called out to him.

“Doug,” she said.

Her voice sounded as if it was coming from the living room. He turned in that direction and he was walking along the deck of a sailboat. The sails fluttered, and he smelled salt water on the breeze. He knew Rosie’s world was becoming more real to him, and he was exhilarated by it. But then he saw Autumn, head bowed, waiting for him at the aft of the ship, and the world around her was the old world, fuzzy at the edges. She sat on their old burgundy couch, piles of unfolded laundry on either side of her. He saw the scratches and the smudges in the off-white walls. He saw the lint and dirt in the taupe carpet at her feet. Autumn — dressed in a gray sweatshirt and sweatpants, holes in the knees — looked up at him and frowned.

He stopped a few paces away, afraid to go closer. “Something amazing is happening to me,” he said.

Sighing, Autumn closed her eyes and brought her hands up to her face as if to pray. She breathed deeply for a moment, then stood. When she looked at him, he saw that the shadows under her eyes were so deep they could have been carved with a knife.

“This has to end, Doug,” she said.

“What has to end?”

“This! This... thing you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m changing, Autumn. I’m changing and I like what’s happening. I’m — I’m seeing what Rosie sees.”

She bit down on her lower lip, the perfect imitation of her daughter, and closed her eyes again. She tucked her arms around herself in a tight hug. When she opened her eyes, there was moisture in them, and when she spoke, her voice was so strained it didn’t sound like her own.

“Doug,” she said. “Doug... I let you pretend. I thought it would help you. But it’s got to stop now. It’s been six months.”

The fuzzy edges of the grungy living room pushed outward, enveloping a few more feet of the sailboat and the ocean. Doug felt a clamp tightening on his chest, and he took a step backward.

“What are you talking about?” he said.

“Doug, listen to me—”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I want you—”

“Can’t you let me be happy? I’m happy. I’m—”

“Stop!” she cried. More burgundy couch appeared, more dirty carpet. “Just stop! Christ, don’t you remember what happened at the pizza place? For God’s sake, it was in the paper... It happened so fast, you said, just turned around a second... just a second...” Her voice choked on the words. The scuffed walls extended, and he saw crooked paintings and cobwebs in the corner. “Don’t you remember the trial, Doug? Don’t you remember how you screamed at him? Jesus, don’t you remember the funeral?!”

The boat faded and flickered and then he was just standing in a dim living room, the curtains half open, the weak light cutting across the easy chair and the carpet like a wall between them. And the harsh memories started to return, like unwanted house-guests, and he tried to close the doors of his mind.

“She’s... she’s not...” he began.

“She is!” she said fiercely.

“But she can’t... I’ve seen...”

“Doug,” she said, with a little more gentleness. “Doug, I know it’s been hard. Especially for you. But — but we can’t... We can’t go on like this. You’ve got to face what happened, Doug. You’ve got to accept it. You’ve got to. You’ve... You’ve...”

But the rest was lost in a fit of sobbing. She turned away from him, and he stared helplessly, watching the way her shoulders shook. In a daze, he turned away from her, heading back through the living room to the dark hall. Rosie. He had to see Rosie. He saw the flaking paint along the trim, the dead fly inside the opaque light fixture. The walls closed in on him, tightening, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He stumbled, sliding against the wall and knocking off a framed picture of Rosie. When it struck the carpet, the glass cracked. His temple throbbed, pain flaring behind his eyes, but he pushed on, staggering into her room.

“Da-ee?”

He blinked away the sweat in his eyes and saw her standing by her bookshelf, wearing her white dress with the red and blue plaid shirt, the Raggedy Ann outfit, his favorite. The one she was wearing the day they went to Locomotion Pizza. It was going to be their day, a special day. She clutched her favorite stuffed animal against her chest, a blue rabbit, and looked up at him with worry. The room around her was clean and tidy. He kept it that way. The rest of the house was a disaster, but not this room. Not this room.

Behind him, he heard Autumn sobbing in the living room, and he turned and closed the door. He leaned his head against the wood, his pulse like a raging river in his ears. Autumn was right. He had to deal with this. They couldn’t go on this way. He had to be a man now — accept what he’d lost, what he could never get back.

“Mommy sad, Da-ee?” Rosie said behind him. “Mommy ha’ tears?”

He turned and looked at her, and just for a moment, in the time it took to blink, he saw the Rosie they found in that man’s van — a dark gash along her forehead, blood covering half her face, her dress covered with red spatters. Then it was gone, and she looked as she had before, only with tears in her eyes. She wrung the rabbit in her little hands.

“That’s right, honey,” he said. “Mommy’s sad.”

“Why Mommy sad, Da-ee?” she said. “Why?”

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He felt a cold chill, the coldest he’d ever felt in his life, and he shuddered violently. She rushed to him, hugging his legs. He patted her hair. She was so warm and solid he couldn’t see how she could possibly be fake. He dropped down to her and pulled her away from him, looking into her moist eyes. There were worlds in those eyes. He had seen them.

“Sometimes,” he began, and he was planning on saying the rest. Sometimes, he was going to say, there is no why. But before he could, her room changed. He saw the rumpled sheets on her bed, the same as they had been the day she left. He saw the books stacked haphazardly on the carpet, the pile of toys by the closet, the dirty clothes in front of the changing table. He saw the dust on the blinds and a spider camped out in the corner. And the smell — the staleness of the air, how it had lost the scent of her over time and now only smelled like death. Even this, he thought. Even this is taken from me.

He hugged her violently against him. He had to deal with this. But it wasn’t about dealing. It was about deciding. And then he knew what he had to do. He picked up Rosie and ran with her through the house. When he passed the living room, Autumn called out to him, but he kept going. He rushed into the garage, hit the button, and quickly buckled Rosie into her car seat. Never forget to buckle. Never.

“We going, Da-ee?” she said.

“Yes, dear,” he said. “We’re going.”

And then he was in his Ford Explorer, starting the engine. As he was backing out of the garage, Autumn appeared at the door, her face red, filled with confusion. She said something, but he couldn’t hear her over the engine. He was in the street, and he shifted into gear. Autumn followed him, shouting, and now he could hear her. We’ve got to deal with this! Don’t run away! But he pressed down on the gas pedal and sped away from her. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw her in the middle of the street, running after him. Only it wasn’t her anymore. It was the horrible vibrating ball that Rosie hated, the one someone had given to her on her birthday. It bounded after them, but they were too fast. They were getting away.

“Where we going, Da-ee?” Rosie asked.

Instead of answering, he stepped on the gas, speeding up the car. Only it wasn’t a car. It was a giant eagle, but plush, with feathers as soft as Rosie’s hair. The wings flapped and they leaned low, racing over the road. Only it wasn’t a road. It was a runway, with a bright yellow control tower at the end, a smiling blue cat inside giving them the thumbs up. The eagle lifted them up into the sky, high up over the neighborhood. Only it wasn’t the neighborhood. It was Rosie’s world — a world with soft edges and primary colors, a world with no gray in it at all.