*
I wake to bright sun the next day. The sky is a perfectly uniform cobalt bowl, with every cloud banished. The cherry trees on our lane are bursting into pink fluffy blossom. I take Bodhi to the park and she toddles around searching for dandelions and buttercups, her fingers reaching down and pulling at them until the plant releases them. She brings them to me one by one, drops them into my lap until a small pile has formed. I know this is a coronation; she is claiming me as her queen. I show her how the exuberance of the dandelion is different from the concise precision of the buttercup despite their common color. She is intent on these lessons, these moments when she has all my attention. I put the flowers in the fall of my hair, where they glimmer like gems. She sits on my lap and holds her little fist out for me while I lace the minuscule stems together to make her a bracelet. She is in love with me and with these tiny bright flowers, these almost metallic drops of life.
I stand and swing her up on my hip to walk home. I point out a plant with small, downturned white blossoms. Bees are humming, disappearing into the hanging flowers, making them bounce up and down in giant arcs as if the insects are joyriding. When they emerge they are fat with pollen and fly homeward, fuzzy with their golden treasure. “Look, baby,” I say, “the bees are buzzing in the trees. To make some honey just for us.” She laughs and claps her hands in delight. I hold her small, hot, alive body against mine.
*
We go home and I peel and mash a banana for her. She sits on her booster chair, swings her feet in a wide arc, makes her various words at me.
Then everything is alive in my body, like a sparking of electricity. The sense of being watched, of being sighted by someone and held there like a pinned insect, rises. As if my body is a target and secret eyes are homing in. I lift my head to listen, my hackles rising. I push a hand against my mouth. I will not scream. I will not frighten the child. I go to the window, tug the curtain open a sliver. Across the street a man is waiting. He is dripping wet, a pool forming beneath his feet, shiny as knives. He raises his eyes to me; he smiles with jagged teeth. I swirl around, grab my child, run with her to my bedroom. We have to hide. He has come again. He has come. He has truly found me this time. I am sobbing in terror.
In a corner of the dark bedroom, the terrified child held tight against me, I fumble in my pocket for my phone. Daniel’s voice. I gasp, “He’s found me. Please help. Please. Come.”
My hands are shaking so hard I drop the phone, must sweep fingers along the ground for it, saying to the child all along, “Shh … baby, shh … we have to be quiet. Or he will hear us.” In the dark, her terror-stricken eyes gleam, but she does not cry. When I find the phone, he is saying, “What? What’s happened?”
“He’s come. He’s here. Help me. Please.”
“Slow down. Who? Who’s come?”
I can’t believe he doesn’t know. “Samson,” I whisper. “He’s here outside.”
“Who?”
I drop the phone into my lap. Remember that I have never told him. He doesn’t know. I have kept the secrets locked up inside me. No one knows. I raise the phone to my ear. He is saying, “Are you okay? Is Bodhi okay? What happened? Who is Samson?”
“It’s okay. It’s okay. He’s nobody. Nothing. I imagined things. I thought I saw someone outside, but it’s fine. We’re fine.” I force a settled tone into my voice. I make myself sure and steady. If he comes, he will ask questions. He will want to know who Samson is. More than I want to see him, I do not want to open the locked chest of my body.
“Pull yourself together. You’re going to freak out the kid. Give her the phone. I want to make sure you haven’t scared her to death.”
I put my little girl on the floor, leave her babbling with her father. I crawl to the window, stick up just the tip of my head. I flick the curtain. The street below me is empty.
In the corner Bodhi puts the phone on the ground, comes over to me, and falls into my lap. She reaches her hands up to my face. I nuzzle her cheek.
*
When he comes home a half hour later, Bodhi is in her room, I am in bed. This time he shakes me awake but doesn’t hold me. His eyes are ice hard. He runs fingers through his hair and says, “What the hell happened? What was that? You said someone was here.”
“I’m sorry, Daniel. I’m sorry. It was nothing. No one was here.”
He stands up and paces the room. “No, it’s not enough. This isn’t working. I’m worried about Bodhi. I can’t have you around her like this. You need some time. Just to figure things out. Whatever’s bothering you.”
Panic clutches my throat. “Daniel. What are you doing?”
“We’re going to go and live somewhere else. Bodhi and I. Just for part of the time. You can see her, but she’ll stay with me. Until you feel better.”