Orphans of Wonderland by Greg F. Gifune Read Free Book Online Page B

together. It’s nothing spectacular, as her father clearly has no real talent when it comes to such things, but far as he and his daughter are concerned, it is the most beautiful and magical castle ever made.
    Her father shows her where to put the last bucketful of wet, formed sand, and Cindy carefully dumps it out. He packs sand around it, shaping it a bit with a plastic shovel, then sits back on his heels and smiles. “What do you think?” he says to the camera, to his wife who is filming them.
    Cindy smiles wide and bright. “What do you think?” she echoes.
    â€œWonderful!” her mother says off-camera.
    Even then Joel knows he must remember this moment. He must let it burn into his mind, because unlike the countless photographs he has seen from a number of sources, this is his first—and perhaps only—opportunity to see Cindy alive, moving, talking and laughing. And while there will be other poignant moments, because she is such a small child in the film, so innocent and gleeful and unaware of what life has in store for her, none will be as special as this one. Joel will never be able to reproduce this exact experience, the chance to look in on this dead woman’s joyful childhood. It will only happen this one time, and just like her makeshift sand castle, once it’s gone, none of them will ever get it back.
    Except in memory.
    Cindy watches the coming tide, the waves gently gliding closer and closer along the beach. “Will the water come this far, Daddy?”
    â€œIt will soon, yes.”
    â€œWill it wreck our sandcastle?”
    He nods, makes a face he hopes is funny.
    â€œBut why?” Cindy asks.
    â€œIt’s all right; it’s not meant to last. It’s only here for a short while and then it’s gone. That’s what makes it special.”
    The sun blinds them a moment, so bright and warm, and Cindy becomes a phantom, a blur at the very edge of the film, like a dream, really, a figment of their collective imaginations. Her father reaches for her…
    And then she too is gone, lost in the sand, sunshine and glistening ocean.
    Later, in the sand castles of his tormented dreams, Joel reaches for the little girl she’d once been too, finds only wet sand, and begins to weep.
    â€œWhat are you thinking about?”
    The sound of Taylor’s voice dragged him from that darkness and the depths of its sorrow to one more immediate, its shadows nearly filling their bedroom as it drifted through them like the spirit it was. It was late, and the moon was high, creeping through the bedroom windows and splitting the room into two separate worlds. Beyond the reach of moonlight, Joel lay on his back, nude, eyes trained on the night sky. He didn’t want to tell her about the things going through his mind but saw no way around it. “The home movie Cindy Mello’s parents showed me of her when she was a little girl.”
    â€œI remember that in your book. It was very powerful.”
    â€œShe was this little tiny peanut, so innocent and happy, you know?”
    Lying next to him on her stomach, legs bent and crossed at the ankles, Taylor was nude as well, but partially wrapped in a sheet. “Your depiction of her parents was absolutely heartbreaking.”
    Their pain, coupled with Joel’s realization that there were things in this world that could conspire to hurt and maim and torture and kill something as precious as the Mello’s daughter, had been a determining factor as to why he and Taylor had never had children of their own. He’d used his breakdown as an excuse, just as Taylor liked to blame her career. But when it was just the two of them in the dark, both knew the truth. “They were the most thoroughly destroyed human beings I’d ever seen,” he said softly, “and all I kept thinking about was what was coming for that little girl, the horror waiting on her, that she had no idea, no way of knowing what was on