All Harriet’s Pieces
Janie dropped the book into her lap and leaned her head against the outside of the translucent pig chamber. Warmth seeped from the chamber, a stark contrast to the cold atrium floor, covered with tiles Mama had found in some faraway place on one of her trips. Janie’s wish to sink through the chamber wall, to find a way inside, was so familiar, it was almost comforting.
Harriet stirred. Standing on her four short legs, she side-stepped until her pig body leaned lengthwise against the inside of the wall, facing Janie. Harriet used her eyes, eyes exactly like Mama’s, to look at Janie in a way that Mama never did. Never would. Her pig face tilted toward the book on Janie’s lap. The one Janie had been reading aloud until a minute ago. The one about the pig and the spider who become friends. Janie was nearing the end of it.
“I don’t--” Janie said. She held back the rest of her words. As much as she loved that book, she couldn’t bear to face the end. Not this time. Because the pig will survive in the book. Because real life is nothing like books.
A chime played in the hallway, followed by a recording of Mama’s voice. “Bedtime, child.” Janie ignored Mama’s schedule. She touched the chamber wall next to Harriet’s pink floppy ear, wishing she could reach it. She’d always thought Harriet would enjoy a good scratch behind the ear.
The chime continued, growing louder. Mama’s digitized voice repeated, every three seconds. “Bedtime, child.”
Harriet held Janie’s gaze. Janie’s chin quivered.
After numerous bedtime calls rang through
