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“We’re going to the park, pretty girl,” I coo at her.
She gurgles at me, waving her hands around, her mouth opening and closing in half-right syllables. She’s so close to getting to the point where she’s saying real words. I can’t wait to be there to hear her speak for the first time.
I load Violet into the car and take her to her favorite park. There’s not usually a lot going on there and I can put her in the swings without a lot of children waiting to get on. Today is no different. There are maybe one or two mothers around, playing with their toddlers, and they don’t pay me a lick of attention. Which is all fine, because the last thing I want is catty park moms whispering behind their hands about “the nanny that slept her way to a ring on her finger.”
Violet doesn’t mind either way. She’s too young and too preoccupied with me pushing her in her swing for it to really matter. On a selfish level, I don’t want to share this with anyone just yet. Her peals of laughter, the way she giggles and wiggles in the seat—it helps ease some of the anxiety that brought us here in the first place. It’s hard to stay zeroed in on the negative when my little pumpkin is around. She’s like medicine for me.
When she starts getting antsy in the swing, I know it’s time to pull her out and strap her into the stroller. I usually like having her walk a little, but the girl is getting fussy. She’ll be ready for a nap soon and what better to overcome those last little legs of sleep rebellion than a stroll on a sunny day?
I put one of her favorite plushies in with her and start meandering down the flower-lined trail. It’s easy to get lost in her happy babbling and the scent of jasmine in the warm air.
And then there’s a little prickle at the back of my neck.
My college days slam into the back of my mind. Those nights walking to and from the bar I worked at. The too-drunk frat boys swaggering down the whole sidewalk with their roving paws and the too-sober weirdos leering out of alleys like they might just drag you down them. I learned to keep a key clutched between my knuckles like a talon, just in case the worst happened.
I look around. Nothing weird or out of place today. Just a pretty park.
Then I glance behind us.
There’s a man a few yards back. His pace, like mine, is leisurely. He strolls with his hands in his pockets and when our eyes meet, he smiles. Then he lifts his hand and waves.
I wave back.
It’s just a guy taking a walk at a park. There’s nothing wrong with that.
So why does it feel so wrong?
I pick up the pace but the feeling doesn’t dissipate. Instead, it clings to my spine in a vise grip that I just can’t shake. When I think I should be farther away from him, I look back again.
He’s the same distance away.
Again, he waves. Nothing to see here. Just a guy and a walk that happens to be occurring at the exact same speed as mine. La-di-da.
That late night bar district feeling intensifies. There’s something not right about this.
What should I do? It would be weird to make a scene when he hasn’t done anything. Maybe he recognizes me because of Reese? If he’s just a fan, then there’s probably no harm. It’s not like I would know how to approach someone close to a celebrity that I liked, either.
Well, I probably wouldn’t, because it’s weird creep behavior, but to each their own.
My fingers inch toward my pocket. My first instinct is to call someone. The window to do that is closing, but if I don’t take it and he tries to stop me, there’s no way that I’m going to be able to get out of trouble in time.
My heart is in my throat. If I didn’t have Violet with me, I wouldn’t have any trouble with putting this weirdo in his place. But I don’t want to risk him lashing out on me while I’m with her.
So I continue on around the trail, keeping the pace brisk. It’s no longer the soothing stroll that I’d set out on. Violet squirms and fusses in the stroller. She can sense the shift in the air.
“I know, I know,” I croon, trying to settle her. “We’ll get home and then you can have all the naps in the world.”
The trail seems to stretch out longer the more I walk it. It’s like one of those funhouse horror movie hallways: the closer I think I am to the end, the farther away I appear. I can feel the panic building up again, stacking bricks of adrenaline one on top of the other.
I finally get us to the end of the trail and make a beeline to the car. The sooner I’m out of here, the better. I let out a breath of relief as my feet hit the pavement of the parking lot and I hurry toward my car. In my head, I keep telling myself that it’s just a weird guy, this kind of stuff happens all the time, not everyone is out to ruin your?—
“Your daughter is a cutie, miss.”
I jump at the voice, so sudden and so close to me. I turn, halfway through buckling Violet into her car seat. As soon as I see who it is, my stomach plummets.
It’s the man from the trail.
Up close, I can get a better look at his features. Blonde hair slicked out of his face, hazel eyes, and a solid-set jaw. He’s kind of squared off all over, a brick of a man. He’s dressed a little too formally for a walk at the park, in jeans and an oxford shirt with sweat darkening the armpits.
