2

It’s my birthday.

I’m wearing a pink taffeta dress with purple bows, the most beautiful piece of clothing I’ve ever owned. I love it. I want to dance around in front of our bathroom mirror, but Mom has a surprise for me. So we take a seemingly endless walk to the fairgrounds, at the edge of town, near the canyon.

My feet begin to hurt, but when we finally get there, it’s so worth it.

A party. For ME. I squeal with excitement.

Mom leads me to a picnic table with a Mylar number eight balloon tied to one end. Thomas is there, and some other kids from school. Not all of them are my friends, but that’s not her fault. I never tell Mom things like that. Only Thomas.

Big Things are going on across the field. Mom planned my party alongside a carnival that just pulled into town. I see rides. Games. A pony. Oh my God, a pony!

This is quickly becoming the best day of my life.

Mom is smiling, laughing as she passes out cups of juice and paper plates stacked with fruit. I love seeing her happy. Even as a brand-new eight-year-old, I know she normally isn’t. I can tell by looking, just like I know Principal Myers doesn’t like people staring at his leg, and that Thomas doesn’t want to talk about his bruises.

Cake. Presents. A ride on the Tea Cups. Then I wait with Thomas while he barfs behind the Ring Toss tent. We both find it pretty funny. He hurries back to the picnic table to get a new shirt, but I don’t follow.

Because the pony. It’s RIGHT. THERE.

I race over to a bearded man who smells like leather. The pony’s name is Princess, and I’m in love with her forever. I wish Mom was there to get a picture, but I’ll tell her all about it when I’m done. When I ask her to buy Princess and keep her behind our trailer.

Too soon, my ride is over. I slip off the pony’s back, hug her to death, and then skip back toward the picnic table.

A man appears and walks beside me. I look up, curious. Is he one of Mom’s friends?

The man looks down at me. He’s wearing a black suit, shiny black boots, and sunglasses.

Yes, he’s a friend of my mother’s. She’s been looking for me.

And out of nowhere, cotton candy!

I take it with a squeal and chomp a mouthful, my free hand grabbing his automatically. The man misses a step, stumbling on nothing but flattened grass, but I don’t tease him for clumsiness. In the fading light, he leads me across the field, toward a knot of trees overlooking the canyon.

I ask where we’re going, sugar coating my lips and glazing my eyes.

To meet my mother. She has another surprise.

We reach the trees and weave through their round trunks, coming to the edge of the ravine. I stare down at the rapids, way far below. I’ve never been so close to the edge before.

The man breathes extra deep, then goes still. I can tell he’s tense and wonder why.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

He releases his grip. “I’m sorry.”

I barely feel the push. Don’t know what’s happening.

I fall, not making a sound.

Not until the moment I hit the rocks.

•   •   •

I wake up in the woods. It’s dark, and I’m alone.

I remember.

The man. The push. The jagged boulders. I begin to cry. Tears streak down my cheeks as I run my hands over my arms and legs.

I’m not hurt. My dress isn’t even dirty.

I scream for anyone who might hear me, racing down the mountainside toward the distant glow of town. I find a path, a road, then a man walking a Yorkshire terrier. His eyes widen as he shouts for someone named Gail.

A blanket enfolds me. Flashing lights. A warm drink with marshmallows.

I get to ride in a police car! All the way home to the trailer park. Mom is there. She’s been crying, hugs me so hard I can’t breathe.

Everyone has questions. Mom. Neighbors. A police officer. Then a hefty man with a mustache appears, and everyone else moves aside. It’s Sheriff Watson, here at our trailer, which means this is a Big Deal. He asks me to tell him what happened, real slow.

I tell about the man in the suit. Cotton candy by the canyon’s rim.

Gasps, quickly covered. I see frightened glances among the adults, but I’m not supposed to notice, so I don’t say anything. Instead I tell them about the fall. How the man pushed me over the edge, the rocks rushing up, and how everything went black.

Silence. Then Sheriff Watson asks me to repeat the last part.

So I tell it again. I keep going, adding details, even though I know my story is making the adults upset. I tell them about waking up alone in the forest. Running toward the lights.

Sheriff Watson turns his back and whispers something to the others. Heads begin to nod. My mother swoops in, crushing me to her chest, telling everyone I need rest. I’ve been traumatized, whatever that means. More nods. I’m hustled off to bed.

As Mom tucks me under the covers, I ask her the question that’s been bugging me.

Who was the black-suited man? Did she see him? Does she know him?

The flinch is slight, but I catch it. She says no. Of course not. My imagination has gotten the best of me. Then she kisses me fiercely, fat tears leaking from her eyes.

Mom tells me not to be afraid. That I’m safe. That I need to sleep more than anything.

The light flicks off. She closes the door.

But I don’t sleep.

I’m only eight, but I know lies when I hear them.