TONK JR.

3:05 P.M. three days later I swoop underneath the window with a freshly made tuna sandwich in my hand. It’s got kale and cherry tomatoes on it, and I’ve been looking forward to this ever since my last class ended. I spent time scouring the neighborhood before I came home to man my post, and I am starving. Taking a seat I crunch the right corner of tuna heaven.

Mmm.

Damn, this is good.

“Tonk?”

My eyes spring open at the unexpected sound of her voice and I lean over, looking down. I can’t believe it! Swallowing so I can talk, I start coughing, smacking my chest, my eyes locked on her like if I close them again she’ll vanish. She smiles at my rough hacking. I croak, “Hi!”

“Hi,” she says more quietly, her fingers gripped around the stroller’s handlebar. I don’t know if that’s it’s technical title, but I’m so used to motorcycles, it’ll do. It’s a sunny, eighty-degree day so she’s wearing sunglasses, but her posture says hesitant when her gaze cannot. A soft dress of white hangs to below her knees and there are comfortable sneakers on her shuffling feet. “I was just going to the sculpture.”

“Wait there! Not at the sculpture! I mean here. There! Where you’re standing! Wait there!”

The window gives me trouble. I wrestle using only one hand, win the battle, and swoop inside, running the second my feet hit the floor. Tossing the once-bitten sandwich into the sink, it makes a dull thud and falls apart.

Daniel asks from his video game, “You done with that sandwich?”

“It’s all yours!”

“Cool.”

I race down the stairs while finger-combing my hair, heart racing faster than my feet.

As I explode out of the building, part of me expects her not to be there. Or at least be halfway up the street by now, having second-guessed her choice.

It’s my lucky day, and I slow my steps to stroll up and offer my best smirk that I’ve seen Jett Cocker give so many times to Luna back at the plantation. I’ve practiced it since I was a boy. “I was just heading there, too.”

We start walking and she doesn’t call me out on my white lie.

“How have you been?” I ask her, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“I’ve been okay,” she whispers, staring ahead.

The stroller’s wheels bump gently across cracks in the sidewalk along the way. Traffic on Morningside and 114th St. is congested, as usual. Angry honking is a prerequisite skillset for driving in impatient New York City.

We wait for the green light while I try not to scare her off. As we cross the dirty street, my hand instinctively touches her lower back to guide her, or protect her from cars, or I don’t know what. Never would I have purposefully touched her under these circumstances.

She glances to me but returns to profile again. Behind the glasses I see long eyelashes fluttering with relief, and my gut tells me she likes this touch. Like she needs a hug and this will do since she can’t have more. Am I assuming?

“This okay?”

“Yes.”

“Would you tell me?”

She pauses. “Yes, I would tell you.”

The staircase is a challenge with this stroller so I hurry ahead in order to help. My gaze drops to the baby girl’s flawless, golden skin. “I’m sorry, is it okay if I meet her?”

Stacy’s smile opens in surprise. “I don’t mind. Thank you for asking.”

“Hi Celia, I’m Tonk Jr.” Flicking a glance to Stacy I laugh, “Never thought I’d introduce myself to my older sister! You know what I mean. Feels weird.” Huge brown eyes stare up at me. They dart right as a pigeon swoops into the park, nearly buzzing my head. A smile flashes across little Celia’s face. It’s pure, innocent joy. “Your daughter’s smile could cure wars.”

Taking hold near the front wheels, while Stacy lifts the back, we begin to carry the stroller down the steps. “Stop. What am I doing? Hold onto it.” Coming around to the side, I lift it on my own and carry little Celia down without a problem.

Unencumbered, Stacy fixes her hair with tentative fingers. I’m sure she’s wondering why she came here, maybe even second-guessing it. But each step keeps moving forward and not back. That’s all I can ask for.

“There you go, Celia.” I set the stroller down. “Have you ever seen a faun before?”

“I haven’t brought her down here yet. Those stairs aren’t easy when you’re alone. Especially getting back up. I guess I didn’t have the strength that day,” she quietly says.

“Was it after I said to meet me?”

Her lips flatten. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t show up. Were you here?”

“For a week. I would have waited longer, but I thought perhaps I was missing you walking by my apartment and so I decided to stay there instead. I’ve been there every day since in that exact spot hoping that you would come by. I know that sounds probably crazy, but I kept hoping.”

“Tonk, I wanted to come. But I—” Celia cuts her off by becoming fussy, letting her momma know that she would like to come out and see the world, thank you very much!

Stacy walks around the stroller to pick her up, and in so doing, offers me a view that tightens my chest. Behind her glasses I see a fresh bruise she’d been hiding by walking on one side of me, and turning her head, this whole time.

She lifts Celia onto her chest and murmurs to her, bouncing on the balls of her sneakers. How could he hit her when all I want to do is bring her close to me and protect her? Immediately I want to demand his name, where he is, so I can hurt him back.

But talking to her is like making friends with a deer. Caution wins and I work to slow my heartbeat so that my tone doesn’t come off aggressively. The last thing she needs right now is aggression.

Relaxed, she smiles at Celia and points to the sculpture, but then Stacy freezes, realizing I’m on her right side now. Her head turns and we stare at each other.

I gently remove the glasses. Tears of shame liquefy her eyes. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Celia starts fidgeting, kicking her legs. Stacy caresses the soft scalp, her gaze never faltering from mine. “I’m scared, Tonk. I’m really scared.”

My throat is so tight it’s hard to speak. “I’m glad you came to me. I can help. I want to.”

“You don’t know me. You don’t know him. He is not like you.”

“Are you saying I’m scrawny?” I smile.

A teardrop slips down her cheek. “When he gets angry, he’s impossible to predict.”

I guide her closer to the statute so that Celia has something to touch. Tiny fingers slap the iron bear’s nose as I slide the glasses back on Stacy before the approaching tourists get a peek.

Sniffling, she looks at her daughter. “That’s a bear. That’s his nose. See, you have one to.” She touches it then touches the bear’s, to teach her daughter. “Nose.”

The tourists chat down the path and pause to admire the famous statue. “What a beautiful child,” the woman smiles.

“Thank you,” Stacy says, her smile tight. Our postures suggest we want to be left alone so the tourists take the hint and keep walking. “I’m just glad they weren’t the type that has to take a picture everywhere they go.”

Matching her low volume I agree and add, “Maybe they’ve already seen it. They might be staying at a hotel up the street. They didn’t look like they were that interested, and this is a spot that everyone comes to when they’re in Morningside.”

Celia starts poking at the bear’s eye. “That’s his eye. You have them, too.” Stacy points to her daughter’s set and again at the statue’s. “Eyes, can you say eyes?” Looking at me she explains, “She hasn’t started speaking yet. I think she said mom the other day but that might’ve been wishful thinking. I’ve been hoping she would say Dad first so he didn’t get jealous.” Stacy’s voice catches on that last part and I can’t help it, I have to draw her into a hug.

“Do you want out? Is that why you came to me? I will help you if you want me to.”

Her shoulders shake while she desperately tries to keep the tears at bay. It’s the middle of the afternoon and those weren’t the only people walking by. Sobs hover in her voice as she whispers, “I was afraid he would…kill me last night. He said he wanted to and he might while I was sleeping. I didn’t close my eyes all night.”

Rage twists my soul. She needs a promise which I am ready to give. “I’ll make him go away.”