#from donna

It wasn’t the first time you had to go pick Donna up from the Matthew house before nightfall. Ever since Jim died, she’d hardly been at Colony House and you couldn’t blame her because the Matthews were falling apart and Donna was about the only other adult aside from Tabitha that Julie and Ethan had bonded with and trusted. But the thing was, even before Jim’s death, Donna had spent a lot of time holding that family together, like a third parent almost. You’d always found it admirable but lately you hardly got to see her anymore and it felt like she was closer to Tabitha than you.

The weather had warmed again, at last. The sun was only beginning to set, drenching the tops of the tree in soft oranges, a few rays stretching along the road threading through the town. You wrapped your cardigan tighter around yourself, seeking protection from the gentle evening breeze that left goosebumps on your skin.

You passed Jim’s grave. It was still fresh, the soil disturbed, flowers laid atop. It was a tragedy. Donna hadn’t always seen eye to eye with Jim—most of the time she’d thought he was useless—but she wasn’t heartless and he’d probably grown on her as much as the rest of them. Seeing her at the funeral, biting back tears… like a cut to your own heart.

Tabitha let you in when you knocked on the door. You asked for Donna right away—not that she didn’t know you were here for her—and she pointed you towards the kitchen where she was putting dinner on the table where Ethan sat. Donna was trying to make conversation with him but with little success. He gave her a small smile here and there but the kid had just lost his father—there was no cheering him up.

“Donna,” Tabitha said, leading the way into the kitchen, arms wrapped around herself, “Your, um, presence is required.”

Without turning, Donna replied, “Whatever it is, it can wait until I’m done, alright.”

You’d halted at the arch, biting your lip at her answer. It was like she’d forgotten about you. Once she was needed somewhere, everything else just slipped her mind. It had happened with Fatima, and now with you.

“You might wanna…“ Tabitha tried again; fleeting glances in your direction.

You cleared your throat. Donna turned, and you looked at her intensely, not allowing her to avert her eyes. She put down the oven mittens and rounded the table, approaching you. Leaning with her hand against the frame of the arch, the other on her hip, she said, “Look, honey, um, I’ll be done here in a bit. Why don’t you go ahead and—“

“—wait for you to finish playing daddy for Tabitha?” you hissed, lips pursing.