A/N: I forgot to mention last chapter that Idan's wonderful story 'Letters to Teresa' helped inspire the letters in this story.
xxx
Lisbon taped Clara's letter to her computer monitor when she got to work, then sat back to admire her handiwork. She re-read it twice, smiling foolishly at it. She shook her head. Chickens, indeed.
Wylie ambled over, two cups of coffee in hand. "Hey," he said, handing her one of the mugs.
"Morning," she greeted him, accepting the coffee gratefully. Jane was on a mission to reduce her caffeine intake and only let her have one cup in the morning before she left for work. Wylie's coffee wasn't as good as Jane's, but she would take what she could get. Besides, she was down from three cups to two, so that was progress, right? What Jane didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
Wylie nodded at the sheet of paper taped to her monitor. "What's that?"
Lisbon turned the monitor towards him so he could see. "A letter from Clara."
Wylie's face softened as he read it. "Okay, I know I'm supposed to be a big bad FBI man now that I'm a quasi field agent, but that is seriously adorable."
"I know, right?" Lisbon said, pleased. She was biased, of course, but really. It was adorable. "I'm going to write her one back later."
"She's a good writer, for a kindergartner," Wylie commented. "When I was that age, I could barely write the alphabet."
"Best in her class," Lisbon confirmed. "She won't let you forget it, either. Jane eggs her on, of course."
"Shocking," Wylie said with a wry grin.
"I know. I can't get too mad at him, though. He's so proud of her it's a wonder all the buttons on those old vests of his haven't popped off by now."
Wylie shot her a knowing look. "Yeah, I can see he's the only one."
"Of course I'm proud of her," Lisbon said, acknowledging the point with a smile. "Unfortunately, sometimes I can't let her know exactly how much. She is a Jane, after all. Her ego is already four times the size of a normal person's without two parents feeding the inborn inclination to arrogance."
Wylie looked at the letter again. "I guess it's hard when she's so smart. I mean, I remember the last time I visited she was already starting in on chapter books. She must be pretty far ahead of her classmates, isn't she?"
Lisbon nodded. "Jane works with her a lot. He worries that she won't be challenged enough in class if she's stuck with only the normal curriculum to keep her occupied. He assigns her homework to do in her head to keep her from getting bored."
"Jane assigns her homework?" Wylie said, disbelieving. "I thought he was allergic to paperwork in all forms."
"Well, it's not exactly traditional," Lisbon allowed. "Sometimes it's normal things like math problems, but sometimes it's things like, 'identify and memorize every item of purple clothing worn by anyone in your class today.'" Or 'analyze the micro-expressions of your classmates and determine if any of them are liars.' She'd never forget one particularly mortifying incident when the school called her to inform her the assistant teacher had broken down crying because her five-year-old daughter had essentially browbeaten the young woman into admitting she'd lied about the reason she'd been late to work. That had been a real picnic to deal with. Not only had she had to drive over to the school in the middle of the day and explain to her child that sometimes grownups lied about silly things because they didn't think other people would understand if they told the truth, but she'd had to give an extremely embarrassing apology to the assistant teacher. She'd assured her that she wouldn't tell any of the other parents that she'd been late to work because her boyfriend had persuaded her to indulge in an extra-long shower together, but that promise apparently hadn't done much for the young woman's morale. Even now, months later, when she went to pick up Clara at the after-school drop off point, the poor woman still refused to meet her eyes. Lisbon felt bad for her, but couldn't see a solution that wouldn't cause them both even further embarrassment. It was all grossly unfair. She didn't care what the woman got up to in her free time. She was a good teacher, that was all that mattered. As she'd told Jane at the time, thoroughly annoyed by the predicament his 'assignment' had gotten her into, the woman was entitled to conduct her private life as she saw fit without it being subjected to scrutiny by preternaturally nosy five-year-olds. Jane, of course, found the whole thing highly entertaining and didn't demonstrate the least sign of remorse.
Wylie scrunched up his nose in confusion. "Purple clothing?"
Lisbon shrugged. "It was something about teaching her pattern recognition."
Cho came into the bullpen then, distracting them from further discussion of Clara's many talents. "New case," he announced. "Body found in the broom closet in the federal courthouse down in San Antonio." He handed Lisbon a file. "Briefing in five, then we'll hit the road."
"Sounds good," Lisbon said, taking the file and leafing through it.
Twenty minutes later, they grabbed their gear and headed out.
"Lisbon," Wylie called, hurrying up to them as they waited for the elevator. He held out a folded piece of paper to her. "I have something for you."
"What's this?" Lisbon asked, taking it from him.
"A letter," Wylie explained. "Will you deliver it for me?"
She turned the piece of paper over and saw the name 'Clara' written in block letters on the back. She looked back up at Wylie and smiled. "Sure thing."
Wylie beamed. "Great."
The elevator doors dinged open and Lisbon and Cho went in.
"Good luck in San Antonio," Wylie said. "Call me if you need anything."
"Will do," Lisbon assured him, punching the button for the ground floor. "See you later."
Wylie responded in kind and headed back to his desk.
"What was that about?" Cho asked as the doors closed.
"Clara," Lisbon told him. "She wrote me a letter. Apparently she thinks we should get chickens."
"Chickens?" Cho said blankly.
"So we can have fresh eggs every day," Lisbon explained.
"Huh," Cho said, non-plussed.
"I took a picture of it on my phone if you want to read it," Lisbon offered. Okay, maybe it was excessive, but what if something happened to the original? She wanted to preserve it against any interference of the elements. Besides, this way she could re-read it whenever she wanted.
Cho shrugged. "Sure, why not?"
She handed Cho her phone, and his eyes scanned the screen, betraying no emotion. "Cute," he said when he'd finished, handing it back to her.
The elevator dinged again, and they walked out.
"One car or two?" Lisbon asked Cho, as they paused to pick up keys from the van pool.
"Just one, I think," Cho said. "I figure we'll stick around the courthouse most of the day, so I don't think we'll need to split up."
"Got it," Lisbon said, picking up the keys.
"You mind driving?" she asked as they entered the parking lot.
He stopped at the car assigned to them and gave her an odd look. "No."
"Great," she said, tossing him the keys.
The line between Cho's eyebrows creased ever so slightly. "You feeling all right?" Though they often split the driving, he knew she preferred to be the one behind the wheel most of the time.
"Fine," she said, climbing into the passenger seat and rummaging in the glove compartment for a pen. "I just have a letter to write."
Xxx
Lisbon got home late that night. The case had seemed straightforward enough at first, but two lying judges later, it seemed this would not be the open and shut case it first appeared to be. Thankfully Cho had no inclination to spend the night in San Antonio. Judging by the way he kept checking his watch, it seemed he was just as eager as she was to get back. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she drove them back to Austin, noting the line of tension in his shoulders. She hoped everything was all right. It was unusual for Cho to display signs of impatience. She didn't press, however. If there was something Cho wanted to tell her, he would let her know in his own time.
They had to stop by the office for a few minutes so Lisbon could pick up her car. Before she left, Cho thrust a piece of paper in her hands. "For Clara," he said gruffly, and turned to head back into his office. Lisbon stared after him in astonishment, then tucked the paper safely into her pocket and headed back to the parking lot.
She made it back to the cabin just in time for the kids' bedtime.
"Hey," Jane greeted her, dropping a kiss on her lips when she walked in the door. "I was just about to put them down."
Lisbon sighed into the kiss. "Sorry I missed dinner."
"Not to worry, my dear," he said. He gave her another peck and released her. "I saved you some of the good stuff. Do you want to heat it up while I put the kids to bed?"
She shook her head. "No, let me take care of bedtime. I hate missing time with them in the evenings."
"Very well," he said. "I'll make you up a plate while you wrangle the munchkins."
Lisbon supervised the nightly squabble over who got to spit in the sink first when teeth were brushed, then herded the kids into their respective bedrooms. "Henry, why don't you pick out a story for me to read while I tuck Clara in, okay?" she said. Experience had taught her that keeping the kids separated at this stage of the bedtime ritual was more likely to produce calm, sleepy children than allowing them to ramp each other up right before bed the way they inevitably would if she tried to manage the whole effort as a single unified process. The arguments over story selection alone were enough to threaten peace in the union.
Henry nodded and started poring over the books on the shelf in his room.
Lisbon turned to Clara as she led her into her room. "What story do you want to hear tonight?"
"Frog and Toad," Clara said firmly. This was an old standby.
"Okay," Lisbon agreed. She got Clara tucked into her bed, then curled up on top of the comforter and settled down next to her to revisit the adventures of Frog and Toad.
Clara leaned her head against Lisbon's arm as she read, tracking the words on the page with her eyes as she listened.
When Lisbon finished the story, Clara proved reluctant to relinquish her arm. "Don't go, Mommy."
"I have to go read Henry his story," Lisbon said gently. "It's his turn now. You wouldn't like it if I read Henry a story and then didn't bother to come in here to read you one, would you?"
"Just one more story," Clara pleaded. "Please?"
Lisbon looked at her intently. Clara was not above shedding a few crocodile tears to worm an extra story out of her parents, but for her to truly be this clingy was unusual. Normally, she forged ahead with her chosen course of action far too independently for either of her parents' liking. It was possible that she was faking, of course, but Lisbon could usually tell the difference. A desperate edge to her plea signaled the presence of real distress behind the request. "Everything okay, Bluebell?" she asked softly.
Clara buried her face in Lisbon's arm. "Yes," she said, her voice muffled.
Lisbon stroked her hair. "You know you can tell me if something is wrong, right?"
Clara nodded into her arm but didn't lift her head.
Lisbon hesitated. "Did something happen at school today?"
A shake of the head.
"You sure?" Lisbon double-checked.
Another nod. "Please, I just want one more story," Clara said, her voice muffled.
"Okay," Lisbon relented. "But how about I read you something a little different, instead?"
Clara lifted her head from Lisbon's arm and eyed her warily. "What?"
Lisbon reached into her pocket and produced three folded pieces of paper. "I have some letters for you."
Clara stared at them. "You wrote me a letter?"
"I wrote one of them," Lisbon told her. "The other ones are from Cho and Wylie."
Clara straightened. "Really?"
"Yeah. They saw the letter you wrote to me. When I told them I was writing one back to you, they decided they wanted to write to you, too."
"Cool," Clara said, awed.
"Want me to read them to you?"
"Yeah!" Clara said eagerly.
"Okay. I'll read the one from Wylie first. Here goes." Lisbon cleared her throat and read:
"Dear Clara,
I saw your awesome letter to your mom and thought I would write one, too. I had fun playing zoom blasters with you last time I visited the cabin. I hope we can play again sometime soon. Maybe next time we hang out we can go to the zoo. What is your favorite animal? Mine is the emu. Mainly because of the name. But also because it's a big ass – I mean, a ridiculously big bird. Also, its eggs are green, which is kind of cool. The outside, I mean, not the inside like green eggs and ham. Anyway, maybe we could go see them sometime. P.S. I wrote a new video game I think you would like. Do you think your dad would let you play it with me if I asked nicely?
Your friend,
Jason"
"Wylie's funny," Clara commented.
"Yes, he is," Lisbon agreed.
"Can we go to the zoo with him?"
"I'm sure that can be arranged."
"'Kay." Clara yawned. "But I like the penguins better than the emu."
"I'm sure Wylie wouldn't mind checking out the penguins, too," Lisbon assured her.
"Read Cho's next," Clara instructed her.
Lisbon suppressed a smile. Clara must be feeling better if she was getting back to her bossy self. She obeyed.
"Dear Clara,
Have you read any good books lately? I just finished the Brothers Karamazov by Dostoyevsky. It was good. I'm not sure it's your style. If you're looking for something new, I recommend the Encyclopedia Brown books. They're about a boy detective who solves crimes by noticing little facts that nobody else thinks are important. Seems appropriate for you, given your family heritage. Let me know what you think if you decide to try them out.
Sincerely,
Cho"
"That sounds good," Clara said. "Can we get them?"
"Sure," Lisbon said. "Let's look for them the next time we go to the library." She resolved not to mention Cho's suggestion to Jane before their next excursion to the public library, or she was likely to come home to find he'd bought a box set.
Clara tugged on her arm. "Read yours now."
Lisbon dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Yes, ma'am."
"Dear Clara,
Thank you for your beautiful letter. I am so lucky to have such a smart, caring daughter like you. I put your letter by my computer so I could see it all day and think of you. I miss you so much when I'm at work. Sometimes I think about leaving so I can spend more time with you and your dad and your brother, but then I think about the kind of people I want you and your brother to be when you grow up and I know I have to stay. In some ways it would be easier to retreat from the world and just enjoy all the crazy ideas your father comes up with about sailing around the world in a yacht or living our lives on a beach somewhere, but I don't want you and your brother to grow up apart from the world. It might be safer, but it would also be more lonely, and I don't want that for you. I want you to be strong, surrounded by friends who love you, and for you to know enough of compassion to know how to give it to other people when they need a helping hand from someone. Maybe I'm wrong, but I've always thought that one of the ways to teach you that is to try to be an example for you by working in a job where sometimes you have to put your own inclinations second, after the responsibility to help other people in need, so you and your brother can see how important it is to serve others to have a truly rich life. I hope someday you can understand that. In the meantime, I want you to know I love you so much sometimes I think it's going to spill out of me. You and your brother have made my life richer than I could have ever imagined.
Love,
Mommy"
Clara traced her fingers over the letters, her normally expressive face oddly impassive. "It's a good letter," she said finally.
"Yeah?" Lisbon said, smiling. "I'm glad you approve."
"Can I put it in the box with your special letters from Daddy so it's safe?" Clara asked.
Lisbon kissed her hair again. "Of course."
"Can I keep it with me now, though?" Clara asked.
"Certainly. It's your letter. You can do whatever you want with it."
"Good," Clara said, satisfied, and tucked it under her pillow.
Lisbon stayed with her a few minutes longer, stroking her hair and humming a few bars of "Livin' on a Prayer" the way she had when Clara was a baby. Clara clung to her arm and slept.
Lisbon waited until she was sure Clara was asleep, then gently extricated herself from her grasp and went to see to Henry.
Henry was wide awake, waiting for her, but there was no censure in his gaze. He simply waited for her to crawl into bed beside him and handed over his story of choice. She looked down at the cover. Henry had chosen 'Make Way for Ducklings.' His favorite.
She read the story to him, smiling at his delight in the adventures of Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack, and Quack.
When she was finished, she read him the second letter she'd written that day.
"Dear Henry,
I hope you managed to keep your father and sister out of trouble today. I know you're the only sensible one around here when I'm not home. Did you have a good day? My day was fine. I saw a giant sculpture of a dinosaur on the way to San Antonio today. I think you would have liked it. I might have to go back there tomorrow – if I do, I'll take a picture of it and send it to you.
The case is moving slower than I'd like. Sometimes I miss having your dad around to help speed up the process of solving cases, but then I think about him being here with you and Clara and I'm so grateful that you are all together. It's just as it should be. You're so lucky to have a father like him. He would do anything in the world to keep us happy and safe. I've loved your father a long time, but I never knew how brave he was until you and Clara were born. He lost so much that it would be easy for him to say it was too hard to risk his heart again, but he pours all his love into us every day despite everything. He worries so much about you and your sister and me, but he doesn't let it stop him from doing everything in his power to bring as much joy as possible into our lives. I hope someday you'll grow up to be a brave man like him. From what I've seen so far, there's not a doubt in my mind that you will. I love you, my beautiful brave boy.
Love,
Mommy"
She looked down, expecting him to have fallen asleep in the middle of her rambling, completely-inappropriate-for-a-two-year-old letter. He hadn't, though. He looked back at her, his gaze alert. Not for the first time, she had the feeling he'd understood far more of what she was saying than he ought to have been able to, given his tender years. She kissed him on the forehead. "Good night, my love."
He gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek and snuggled down under the blankets. She smiled and stroked his sandy curls, then got up and quietly closed the door behind her, leaving it ajar a couple inches to let some light in from the hall in case he woke up in the night.
Later, when Jane and Lisbon were getting ready for bed, Lisbon thought about Clara's unusual clinginess. She spat her toothpaste into the sink and rinsed her mouth, wondering if something was going on with Clara at school, despite her protests. Jane, following suit, spat his own toothpaste into the sink, and derailed her thoughts by saying, "I've been thinking. Maybe we should think about moving back into the city."
Lisbon drew back instinctively. "What? Why?"
He shrugged. "This place is a bit small for four people. And it would make your commute shorter."
"It's fine," she said defensively. "I don't mind the commute. And we don't need more space."
"Maybe not now," he said. "But Henry's room is practically a closet. When he's bigger, his feet will hang out into the hallway if he tries to lie down flat in there. And this place only has one full bathroom. Believe me, when they're teenagers, we are not going to want to share a bathroom with them."
"But—" She struggled to marshal her thoughts, but it was difficult to argue against him when he was being so logical. The truth was, her reaction was entirely illogical. He was right. The place was small for four people. And it would be more convenient to live in the city, not only for her commute, but in terms of shepherding the kids to and from school and various activities.
But none of that mattered. Because logic had nothing to do with her reaction. It was one hundred percent emotional. This was the house Jane had built for them. That they'd built together, really. The place where Jane had promised to love her for the rest of their lives. This was the place her children had taken their first steps. She didn't want to move.
Jane, reading the obvious dismay on her face, took her into his arms. "Hey. I can see you're not wild about the idea. There's no need to panic about it."
"I'm sorry," she said into his t-shirt. "I'm overreacting."
"Don't be sorry," he soothed. "Just walk me through it. What don't you like about the idea?"
"The part about moving out of this house."
"I'd hire movers. They can do all the heavy lifting."
"No, I mean, the part about leaving this house. We got engaged here. Our kids were born here." She thought of the look on Jane's face when she'd told him she was pregnant with Clara, out by their little pond. This was the first place she'd had a real home since she was twelve years old. She didn't want to let it go. She took a shaky breath. "I—I don't want to move."
Jane kissed her hair. "Okay. We won't move."
"Really?" she said, looking up at him, unable to believe he was willing to give in so easily. Normally when Jane took a notion into his head, he wouldn't let it go until every possible avenue of debate had been exhausted.
"It was just a thought. I didn't realize you were so emotionally attached to the place. I always thought you agreed to move here to more to indulge me than anything else."
"It's not something I would have picked out myself," Lisbon admitted. "But—well, we have a lot of history here." She had a lot of memories with Jane over the years, but all the happiest ones were here.
He smiled. "Okay."
"What?" she demanded, suspicious of that smile.
He shook his head, chuckling. "Nothing. I just like catching no-nonsense Agent Lisbon out in a sentimental act."
She smacked him on the chest. "Hush."
He kissed her. "I'm hoping to catch her in another sentimental act shortly," he said, trailing kisses down her neck and backing her into the bedroom. "What do you say? Do you think you're up for it?"
She kissed him back as he maneuvered her into the bedroom. "I don't know," she teased, running her tongue along a tendon in his neck. "It's been a long day. I'm awfully tired. You'd probably have to do most of the work."
"I can live with that," he said. He scooped her up and tossed her on the bed, which was mercifully free of any unwelcome inhabitants, then proceeded to crawl up her body and kiss her again, long and deep.
"You're really okay with the idea of not moving?" she panted as she writhed under his expert hands.
"Yeah," he grunted as he tried to take his clothes off without pausing in his quest to explore every inch of her body. He managed to get his t-shirt half off before he dove back down to resume his ministrations to her breasts and stomach. "We can always expand," he said into her skin as he pressed a series of soft kisses to her belly. "It's not like we don't have space on the land to support a bigger place. We can add a couple extra rooms to this place and we'll be golden."
Lisbon thought about the idea of having construction underway with two small children in the house. But then Jane dipped his tongue into her bellybutton and she decided the rest of this conversation could wait.
She managed to haul him upwards and get his shirt the rest of the way off, and he paused again to delve her mouth with his tongue. God, he was so good at that.
She kissed him back and grabbed his ass to pull him closer. He groaned into her mouth and shifted obligingly.
A shrill scream pierced the moment. Clara.
Jane stopped and closed his eyes. He rested his forehead against hers and sighed. "I'll go."
Lisbon touched his arm. "Let me."
He nodded and flopped back on the bed, defeated.
Lisbon rose and straightened her nightclothes as she padded down the hall to Clara's room.
Clara sat bolt upright in bed, her dark hair matted against her neck. Her breath came sharp and short as she stared into the darkness in front of her.
Lisbon crossed the room and took her daughter into her arms. "Hey," she said softly, pushing Clara's damp hair back from her face. "Everything's okay. I'm here, okay? You're safe."
Clara clung to her. She buried her face in Lisbon's shoulder and cried, great heaving sobs that racked her small body.
Lisbon continued to stroke her hair and made comforting noises.
When Clara's breathing had evened out and her body slumped bonelessly against her mother, Lisbon kissed her hair and said quietly, "Clara Bell, can you tell me what the dream was about this time?"
She'd been asking for two weeks, ever since the nightmares had started. Every time, Clara steadfastly refused, turning her face into Lisbon's shoulder and remaining maddeningly, stubbornly silent on the matter.
Clara shook her head, but this time, the movement was slow and uncertain.
Hope stirred in Lisbon's chest. This was progress. "Clara, sweetie, if you tell me what the dream is about, maybe I can help."
Clara hesitated.
"Is it always the same dream?" Lisbon pressed.
A tentative nod.
"Is someone hurting you in the dream?"
Another, slower nod.
"Who's hurting you?"
Clara licked her lips and uttered her response so softly Lisbon couldn't hear her.
Lisbon bent her head closer. "Honey, I can't hear you. Say the name again. Who's hurting you in the dream?"
Clara looked up, her green eyes shining with tears. Her voice was a frightened whisper. "Red John."
Lisbon's blood went cold. "What did you say?" she asked, very slowly and carefully.
Clara swallowed. "Red John."
Lisbon willed herself not to panic. She kept her voice even and measured. "Where did you hear that name?"
"Emily Barrister's sister said Red John killed my sister Charlotte and her mommy," Clara said, her voice barely audible. "She said Daddy called him names and if I'm not careful, he would come kill me, too."
Lisbon wanted to kill Emily Barrister's sister, whoever she was. She had a vague recollection of a snotty nine-year-old going on fifteen. "What does Emily's sister know about it?" she said angrily.
"She read about it on the internet."
Lisbon reminded herself that plotting the murder of a fourth grader was not what she needed to focus on right now. She wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter. "Clara, you don't need to worry about Red John. He can't hurt you."
"He can't?"
"No, honey. I promise. He can't hurt anyone anymore." She thought of Jane, who still had the occasional nightmare that McAllister was still alive and coming after the people he loved, and reflected that this statement wasn't completely true. The killer had been out of their lives a long time, but he still managed to cause old wounds to surface at the most unexpected times.
Clara sniffed. "How do you know?"
Good God. What was she supposed to say? They had parenting books on everything these days. About divorce, adoption, grief. About poop. Somehow she'd missed the one that told you how to explain to your child that she didn't need to worry about the serial killer who had stalked her parents for a decade because her father had choked the life out of him with his bare hands.
"He's dead," Lisbon said finally.
Clara paused. "Like the rabbit?"
Clara had found a dead rabbit on one of their family walks in the woods several months ago. She'd cried inconsolably when Lisbon had explained gently that the vet wouldn't be able to help the rabbit get better like he'd helped Mr. T get better back when they'd first found him and he was a sick little kitten.
Lisbon hesitated. "Yes. Like the rabbit."
Clara considered this. "Are you sure?"
"I'm positive," Lisbon said with certainty.
Clara was quiet for a moment. "Did he really kill Charlotte?"
Jane and Lisbon had been determined that Clara and Henry be raised with the knowledge that they had a sister they'd never met. They'd seen pictures of Charlotte and Angela, and Jane and Lisbon had made a point to explain to Clara and Henry that Jane had had another family before they were born. Though they'd discussed the need to acquaint their children with the reality of Red John's presence in their life eventually, they'd thought it would happen when they were much older. Lisbon was in no way prepared for this line of questioning.
She didn't know what to say. She didn't want to lie to her child, but the prospect of telling her five-year-old the truth about how her sister had died was horrible to contemplate.
Clara's eyes narrowed. "It's true, isn't it? Red John killed Charlotte."
Lisbon sighed. Having a mini-Jane for a daughter was damned inconvenient sometimes. Even if she tried to lie now, Clara wouldn't believe her. "Yes."
Clara was silent again. "Because Daddy called him names?"
Lisbon shook her head. "It was more complicated than that, Clara Bell. Red John was a very bad man. He hurt a lot of people. But it wasn't anybody's fault but his." No matter what some people's husbands thought.
"And Charlotte didn't get to grow up because of him?" Clara asked.
An unexpected tear rolled down Lisbon's cheek, surprising both Clara and herself. "That's right," she said hoarsely.
Clara touched her finger to the tear on her face in consternation and wonder. "Are you sad, Mommy?"
Lisbon cuddled her closer. "Yes, sweetie. It makes me sad that Charlotte didn't get a chance to grow up."
"Did you know Charlotte?" Clara wanted to know.
Lisbon shook her head. "No. I never met her. But sometimes I feel like I knew her because of how Daddy talks about her."
"Daddy loved her a lot," Clara said.
"Yes. He still does."
"More than me and Henry?" Clara said in a small voice.
Lisbon squeezed her tightly. "No, honey. He loves you all the same amount. But he does get sad sometimes when he thinks about Charlotte because he misses her an awful lot."
"I wish I could have met her," Clara said wistfully.
Lisbon stroked her hair again. "Me, too."
Clara was silent a moment. "You're really sure Red John can't come back?"
Lisbon held her close. "I'm sure."
Clara wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her t-shirt. "Okay."
Lisbon thought of her child waking up in the night, terrified of being killed in her bed. Clara had been having nightmares about this for two weeks. "Sweetie, why didn't you tell me you were worried about this?"
Clara sniffed. "Cause I didn't want to be scared. I want to be brave like you."
"Oh, honey," Lisbon said, horrified. "Being brave doesn't mean you aren't scared. It means you figure out a way to face whatever is scaring you."
Clara sniffled again. "Really?"
"Yeah. And there's a funny thing about fear. Once you face it, usually it isn't so scary anymore."
Clara buried her face in Lisbon's arm again. "I don't know how to stop being scared of Red John."
"Me, neither, sometimes," Lisbon admitted, thinking of Jane and his dreams again. How do you conquer the fear of an idea? Of a memory? She hugged Clara close. "We'll figure it out, though."
Clara looked up at her hopefully. "We will?"
"Yes. We'll figure it out together. Because that's what families do."
Clara tugged on the hem of her tank top. "Will you stay with me til I fall asleep again?"
Lisbon kissed her damp forehead. "Yeah, Bluebell. I'll stay."
