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I leavethe lake but don’t go far. I dismount from the bike.
The man who was talking to me is now on his phone and is walking away from me. Butterscotch trots alongside him on the sand, and my fingers crave to stroke the cute dog again. To experience the temporary reprieve from the fear, the uncertainty, the emptiness.
The emptiness that comes from my daughter no longer being in my life.
Tears kiss the corners of my eyes, and I push the memories of Amelia aside for now and focus on Butterscotch. He’s not the type of dog I’d expect someone like that man to own. Maybe Butterscotch belongs to his girlfriend.
Thoughts of the man’s smile slip in unguarded. His smile was friendly. Seemed genuine. Nothing like my husband’s. My husband’s smile had a hint of darkness, easily missed unless you were on the wrong side of it.
I bury the memory of the man I was married to and turn to the pastel-colored clouds. Purple, lavender, orange, pink. Together, they’re startling and stunning. It’s been a long time since I’ve last seen a sunset. I’d forgotten how incredible they are. The peaceful beauty makes standing in the cold worth it.
Movement in my periphery catches my attention, and I turn to it. The man throws a ball and Butterscotch chases it. I watch the duo play for a moment, then watch the sunset until the colors are no longer spectacular and the cooling temperature becomes too much.
I pedal home slowly, careful not to twist my body and aggravate the area where I was stabbed. The windows in my new neighborhood are lit with welcoming lights. What would the homeowners think if they knew an ex-con was living on their street? Would they see me as someone who fell in love with the wrong man? Would they see me as someone getting her life back on track? Or would they see me as undesirable, despicable, and dangerous because I spent five years in prison?
Five years is a long time to be locked up with violent criminals. A long time to survive without my psyche being damaged and demolished. A long time for the system to not change me for the worse.
I lock my bike in the garage and check the thread I placed on the back door when I left earlier. It hasn’t been disturbed. I go into the house and make sure the same is true for the front door and the windows.
I put Fred Astaire on the record player, and his voice fills the living room. I dust and vacuum while he sings the songs Grandpa used to dance to with Granny when she was in the kitchen cooking dinner. It’s one of my favorite memories of them together.
By the time I’m finished, exhaustion crashes down on me. But no way am I going to bed yet. The nightmares. The memories. Prison. Fear. It all conspires against me.
I grab a twenty-year-old issue ofPacific Northwest Lifefrom one of the stacks of magazines, sit on the couch, and flip through the issue. I rip out all the interesting pictures I admire and place them on the coffee table.
The rest of the magazine goes in the pile for recycling.
I keep doing this—grab, flip, rip, repeat—until I can barely see. I’ve hardly made a dent in Iris’s collection, but at least I’ve distracted myself.
I drag my weary body upstairs to my bedroom and unzip my suitcase. The clothes Florence bought me are neatly folded. She had no idea what I would like, so it’s mostly long-sleeved T-shirts, the colors muted. Not the height of fashion, but better than prison-issued blue jumpsuits.
It’s been a while since I’ve bought clothes. But since I’m starting over, I get to reinvent myself. I get to be anyone I want to be.
Too bad I have no idea who that is.
An old shoebox lies next to the clothes. I sit on the bed and open the box. A white envelope rests on top of the contents. Underneath it is a baby shoe. Amelia’s shoe. So small and perfect. Just like my daughter back then.
A pain stabs my heart so deep, so sharp, so visceral, it feels real.
I put the envelope beside me on the bed, grab the shoe, and hold it to my chest. And all of a sudden I’m humming the lullaby I used to sing to my baby.
Hush-a-bye baby, my sweet little one.
Fall asleep, my love,
And dream of the stars and the sun.
Unicorn wishes and rainbow dreams,
Fairy-tale princesses and butterfly wings.
Hush-a-bye baby, my sweet little one.
I will protect you while you slumber on.
And I’m rocking and crying and I almost can’t bear the pain.
Once I’m finally all cried out, I trace the tiny pink flowers painted on the white canvas. I haven’t let myself cry since the day the cops arrested me. Since they took Amelia from my arms and handed her to Child Protective Services.
