“Good.What else?”
“Umm … the TV remote.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And that weird fern you bought the other day from that plant stand on the side of the road.”
I smiled and glanced at the fern.“I like it.It’s funky looking.What else do you see?”
“I … I see an American robin on the deck railing.A female.”
I didn’t turn around to look at it, but based on the way the pulse in her neck had already started to slow down, I could tell seeing the bird had really helped.
“One more.”
“I … I see your scar.”Then she reached up and slid her index finger along the faint scar above my lip from when I’d had a cleft pallet and split lip repaired as an infant.Running her finger over my scar had been a source of comfort for her since she was a baby.She used to fall asleep rubbing it when I would put her to bed.She would say that she could lose a teddy bear, but my scar would always be there, because I said I would always be there.
She wasn’t wrong.
“Do you need to do four things you can touch?”
She shook her head and dropped her finger from my scar.“I don’t want her in our lives, Dad.”
Sweeping my child into my arms, I hugged her tight.“I know, sweetheart.Me either.And I’m going to do everything I possibly can to keep her out of it.We’re happy here, right?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Holding her out, but keeping a gentle grip on her shoulders, I met her gaze.“I want you to be happy here, kiddo.It’s not just about me.”
“You’ve been through a lot, Dad.I think you deserve to be happy more than anybody.”
I never harbored any concerns that my child was a psychopath or anything.I knew she felt emotions, and if she was close enough with the person, could understand and feel their emotions as well.But seeing the sincerity in her eyes, and the fear, as well as hope written clearly across her face, lightened my heart, and lessened my headache more than acetaminophen ever could.
Wrapping her back into a big hug, I kissed the side of her head.“I’ve protected you for thirteen years, Mabel, and I’m not going to stop now.San Camanez is our home, and we’re safe here.”
“Oh,” she gasped.“It’s a flicker.”She peeled out of my arms and grabbed her sketchpad and binoculars from the coffee table.“I’m going to see if he’ll stay long enough for me to sketch him.He’s really big.”And then she was out the door, like her little panic attack had never even happened.
I collapsed onto the couch and placed the pillow back over my face, turning the room dark.
Kyla was granted parole.
Kyla Tupper-Murchie, my former stepmother, and the woman who groomed, manipulated, and repeatedly raped me for years, was getting out of prison.
She might not be allowed to leave the state of Florida, but morals, ethics, and the law had never stopped her from getting what she wanted before.I highly doubted it would stop her this time.
As far as migraines go, this one wasn’t so bad.The Tylenol kicked in, and combined with the darkness and quiet, I managed to get it down from a level seven pounding to a mid-range two or three throb.I was in no frame of mind to cook, but my child needed to eat, and so did I.
“Pizza?”I asked, chugging another glass of water while standing over the kitchen sink.
“Friday is fajitas.Saturday is—”
“Surprise Saturday,” I finished.“Remember, we don’talwayshave to know what we’re having for dinner every night of the week.”
“You don’t, but I do,” Mabel said from where she sat on the couch, shading in her sketch of the Northern flicker with colored pencils.“I like knowing what to expect.Sunday is lasagna, Monday is meatless, Tuesday is tacos, Wednesday is made in a Wok, Thursday is Indian, Friday is fajitas, Saturday is a surprise, yes, but usually it’s hamburgers or like, steak and a baked potato.I like that schedule.It still allows for variety.You made fish tacos on Tuesday and I didn’t say anything.”
“And I’m generally fine with it as well.But tonight, I don’t feel like cooking.And I’ve heard from quite a few people that the pizza place on the island is really good.They have a wood-fire oven and everything.”I grabbed my phone out of my back pocket.“Here’s their website.”Walking up behind her where she sat on the couch, I handed her my phone.“They even have options to build your own.So you can get your weird bacon, feta, and black olive preference.”
She accepted my phone with a teenager-sized sigh.“Can I get these cheesy bread-looking things too?”
