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On the walk to the terminal, Kat was her usual bustling self, oversharing about school and her fellow classmates. She bitched about her math teacher and jabbered away in Italian when Star prompted her to, earning an impressed look from a hot dog vendor who stopped trying to sell us pretzels long enough to chatter with her.
When we approached the waterside, her conversation faded, however. She was quiet as we stepped on board the small vessel, quieter still as we rode to Staten Island and back again because the return journey had the best views of the statue.
When we approached Lady Liberty, that was the first time she let out a shaky sigh. “She’s so pretty. She’s what you fought for, isn’t she, Star?”
“I can’t say that I had her in my mind when I was in the sandbox, kiddo, but what she stands for? Sure. Liberty. Been fighting for that and justice my whole life.”
Kat swallowed. “The bad people who hurt you, they’ve gone away, haven’t they?”
“They’re in the process of going away,” she corrected.
Kat fell silent, her eyes big and round as she peered at the statue. A hat was tugged over her forehead and her scarf covered her from the nose down, so they were all that was visible. Then, she whispered, “My daddy’s name was Bogdan, wasn’t it?”
I stilled. It wasn’t exactly quiet on board, but the whisper had been so faint I could have misheard.
“You remembered that?” Star questioned, twisting on the faux-wood bench to study Kat.
She swallowed. “I did.”
Floating a theory, I asked, “You know when you go away, Kat, is that when you remember something?”
The little girl bit her bottom lip. “Yes.”
“Is that what you remembered today? Your dad’s name?”
She nodded.
“What else have you remembered?”
“My daddy used to make my mommy cry.” Her voice was so small, so fucking small that it made me want to break something. “He used to hurt her. Why did he do that, Conor?”
Christ.
“Because some men are very weak, Kat. They think it makes them ‘strong’ to scare someone, to hurt them, but it just makes them smaller.” Those big eyes of hers peered at me and I knew what she was asking. “I’ll never hurt Star, sweetheart. Or you. I promise.”
Slowly, she nodded, and her gloved hand reached for mine. As she knotted our fingers together, I didn’t think I’d ever been shown such a sign of faith, of trust, than I had at that moment.
I stared at Star over Kat’s head and saw the gratitude and the love beaming back at me and returned it with a smile.
Though it was a total tourist move, I let Star take a picture of us with NYC’s most famous lady in the background, mostly, because I knew that shot would end up on my desk…
The rest of the journey took place in silence, most of us just staring out onto the river, each of us processing what we’d learned.
We picked up burgers for dinner, watched a movie, and headed to bed. Star fell asleep quickly, which didn’t surprise me, to be honest, because the day had been an emotional pit of stress, but by contrast, I couldn’t sleep.
I ended up heading to our office.
Running some programs, I started a search on child shrinks because I figured that it was time we went with some professional help if Kat was remembering her father ‘hurting’ her mother.
Considering the bastard had ended up murdering her, the last thing we needed was Kat remembering that in a dissociative state without having some outside help close by.
Around two AM, I heard Kat scream from a nightmare.
I always woke before Star did when that happened, which spoke of how bad my sleep was, but today was different. Tonight was a new night.
Kat remembered a father who hurt her mother. I needed to replace that memory, needed to do something to make that better.
So I didn’t go and wake Star up. Instead, I cautiously opened Kat’s bedroom door and from the doorway, called, “Katina, you can wake up now. You’re safe.”
