Margot
A sideways glance at Boone is all it takes.
I see it all: his clenched fists, the pulsing muscle running along the side of his face, and the thunderclouds crossing his face.
They let me know he’s worried, and I think he’s probably right to be.
Amelia’s description and possible sighting of a stranger have left us both a little troubled.
Actually, troubled is an understatement.
Before I can talk to him, discuss strategy, or debate the existence of this alleged bad man, he heads for the door.
“I’ll be back,” he tells us, and then he’s gone.
Amazing how quickly bliss can turn to worry in a matter of seconds.
To think a few minutes ago, we were in the pantry with half of our clothes off, blissfully unaware of any potential threat lurking outside.
Amelia has stopped swinging her legs and put her pencil down.
“Did I say something wrong?”
My heart goes out to her.
“No, sweetie, not at all.” I wrap my arms around her.
“Where’s Boone gone?”
I may be imagining things, but it sounds like there’s a mixture of fear, worry, and anxiety in her small voice. These are the tough moments in parenting.
What do you say? If you say too much, you risk increasing their anxiety; if you say too little, you leave them worried about having said and done the wrong thing.
One thing is sure: I don’t want to leave her feeling she’s done wrong by Boone or me.
“He’s just gone to make sure no one’s around.” I opt for the truth, or part of the truth.
Amelia looks at me. Her big deer eyes search mine.
“Is he okay?”
A lump forms in the back of my throat. I nod.
“Of course he is, darling.”
She seems to contemplate my words.
“He’s not mad I drew the bad man watching the house?”
Children hate to disappoint us adults, when I’m sure it’s really us who so often end up disappointing them.
“Boone would never be mad at you,” I reassure her and give her my biggest smile. “You did the right thing telling us about the bad man. We need to know these things.”
Tempted as I am to add that, of course, she should only be telling us about the bad man if he exists, I don’t. Making too much of this could potentially do more harm than good.
At the end of the day, Amelia is only four years old. I’m pretty sure most of the time she understands the concept of telling the truth. Trouble is, sometimes a good story may get in the way of the truth.
And there’s a difference between truth and reality—a difference Amelia may not understand yet.
Not to mention her reality may not be my reality. What worries me is that this alleged bad man is simply a tree she mistook for a human being.
It can be easy, if you’re a child with a vivid imagination, to see something that an adult may not see.
But I understand why Boone’s rushed off to investigate. If there is a ‘bad man’ lurking around, it could spell all kinds of danger.
Although I can’t quite see why anyone would be up here in this isolated part of the world if they didn’t belong here.
It’s a magnificent place. Nature at its best, and yet, it’s so isolated, it’s not really a place where you’d expect a bad person to hang out.
With a sigh, I look at Amelia.
Her head’s now drooping, and the spark in her eyes has gone. The smile is replaced with a frown.
“Hey, cupcake, why the sad face?”
She doesn’t answer, only shrugs.
I use my index finger under her chin to push her face upwards so she’s looking at me again.
Now I’m starting to wonder if she made this entire story up about a bad man. It seems far-fetched.
And yet Amelia doesn’t tend to make up stories about bad men. Any story she has made up has been about unicorns, dragons, and flying horses.
“Are you worried?” I need to know how she’s feeling.
Because I’m holding up her face, she drops her gaze.
“Yes,” she whispers.
Her admission almost makes me cry.
What can I do to take her mind off this terrible situation? We don’t have any of her favorite films here, so we can’t use television as a distraction. There are no books to read either, or at least no kid’s books.
“What about a story? Would you like me to tell you a story?” I stroke her hair and lean forward to kiss the top of her head.
“Yes, please.” She beams, and I’m pleased to see some of her old spark return.
“How about—” I start, but she interrupts me.
“Can you tell me a story about dad, please?”
I resist the temptation to groan out loud.
Of all the times to ask for a story about her father, she’d have to ask here and now. What do you call that again? Murphy’s law or something?
“Okay, princess, a story about dad it is.”
With one arm around her shoulder and the other around her waist, we settle down on the couch together. She snuggles right into me, and I see her eager face peer up at me.
She certainly sprung that one on me. I didn’t see it coming, and I certainly am unprepared. There’s no script I can reach for, no book to consult, and no one to turn to for help.
Boone, her actual father, is out looking for some potential imaginary bad man. Actually, apart from Boone, there’s no one else to turn to anyway.
“Once upon a time,” I start and watch Amelia’s smile widen. “There was a lovely young woman with beautiful blonde hair.”
“That’s you, mommy, isn’t it?”
I nod before I put a finger to my lips.
“Shhh,” I whisper. “And this lovely young woman lived happily in her parents’ house until it became time to go and study at college.”
“What did you study, Mommy?”
I chuckle. “If you keep interrupting me, I won’t be able to tell the story.”
“Sorry,” she mumbles, eyes on me.
“She went off to college and studied really hard. She spent many hours and days in the library, reading books and learning. Then one day, she met a young man. He was very handsome and very kind. He was a real-life prince charming.”
“That’s dad, isn’t it?”
“The first time they met was in the library. He normally didn’t go to the library much. His life was divided between studying, attending lectures, playing on the football team, and sometimes even saving people from burning buildings.
“But this time, he came into the library to look for a book. As it happened, the lovely young lady was looking for the same book. Just when she reached for it, so did he. Their eyes met, and she knew he was the one. He told me later he felt the same way.”
Amelia is clapping her hands together.
“Then what happened?”
“Well, let me see,” I pretend to think to stall. What am I going to say? “Prince Charming was very good at saving people, and one day, he saved the lovely young lady from a fire as well.”
“You were in a fire, Mommy?”
Oh…well, fuck.
Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the fire to her.
“I was. But luckily, your—I mean, Prince Charming was there to rescue me.”
As I ponder how to continue my story, Amelia takes my hand.
“Mommy,” she sounds all serious now. “Is Boone my daddy?”
Her words hit their mark. I try not to flinch. Of course I’ve always known children are perceptive, but I didn’t realize how perceptive.
What will I say? She’s opened up the door for me to tell her, and yet I can’t do it.
At least not now. Not without Boone here. If I tell her, he should be here. But I don’t want to lie to her, either.
“Boone is a very good man,” I start to tell her, my eyes drifting to the door, almost willing the man of whom I speak to walk right through it this very second. Alas, no one comes. “He’s strong and caring and kind.”
They are all true words. I’m not sure if I’m going to get away with my limited response or not.
“He’s good at saving people,” Amelia adds, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief. “He saved us.”
“He did, sweetie, he did.” I sit in silence for a while. “And you know what?”
My daughter looks up at me and shakes her head.
“He’ll look after us while we’re here and make sure we’re safe.”