Hello Beautiful

by Ann Napolitano

With his palm pressed against his father’s, William had the strange thought that he might never see his parents again—that they’d only ever had one child, and it wasn’t him.

the father and daughter had walked home, their arms touching, molecules dancing between them, and the stars turning on like tiny lightbulbs in the evening sky.

He was his acts of kindness, and his love for his daughters, and the twenty minutes he’d spent with Sylvie behind the grocer’s that evening.

He was gone and no one else really knew her.

Charlie had seen and loved each of them for who they were.

He’d delighted in Julia’s ambition and nicknamed her his rocket. He’d taken Cecelia to the art museum on Saturday mornings. He’d kept a shared inventory of the neighborhood kids with Emeline, because Charlie loved to watch his daughter light up while explaining a child’s interests and the specific reasons he or she was remarkable.

Sylvie said, “I’m right here,” but her mother gave no indication of having heard her, and Sylvie wondered if maybe she wasn’t right here.

Under Charlie’s gaze, Sylvie had been whole; now, in front of her mother, she was porous, disappearing.