Chapter Three

Over the next several days, Mary and I settled into a routine. We would see Michael for lunch every day, without fail. It was his way of checking in with his niece. It was sweet, yet confusing. If he had so much money, and Soraya was doing so much work, what was he doing, exactly? I wondered whether Michael and Soraya were seeing each other romantically. I mean, this place was so isolated, and they had been here for a little over two years…alone…together. It would make for the perfect story…even if I felt the tiniest stab of jealousy. My employer was quite good-looking. Soraya was drop-dead gorgeous, with long, flowing black hair, olive-toned skin, and picture-perfect features—she could have easily been a model at one point.

Mary and I sat in the kitchen for breakfast. We watched The Today Show, because Mary’s mother would take her to see it filmed live at Rockefeller Plaza when she was alive. The anchors’ banter was lively, and we would jot down any recipes that they featured so that we could try making them during the week.

“So, what would you like to eat, today, Miss Ma’am?” I placed my hands on my hips. She laughed at my nickname for her. When Mary let the quiet side slip away, she had quite a bit of sass, I had found.

“Pancakes,” she replied.

“Again?”

“Again.”

“Magic word?”

“Expecto Patronum.”

“Not what I meant, Miss Granger. Okay. Let’s do this.” The problem with Mary had been solved quite quickly—she was grief-stricken at the loss of her parents, and I didn’t press her about it. That was a wound that would take a long time to heal. The things that I could fix were that she was lonely and bored. Soraya had had other duties running the house and Michael’s business. Michael seemed to disappear for days. So Mary had had little contact with other people, and she was a bright and friendly child. She just needed company.

We took out the ingredients for pancakes, and I had her measure them out before mixing them. I merely read the directions and operated the stove. The concert of the day on the Today Show was DNCE, and Mary and I began to dance along as we waited for the pancakes to be ready to be flipped.

There was a noise by the door to the kitchen, and we turned to find Soraya in the doorway. She wore workout clothes, and appeared to have just come in from a run.

“Can I just check the local news, please?” she asked in her even, flat affect tone of voice. I looked at Mary, who grabbed the remote, handing it to Soraya. The news came on, showing a stretch of road that was in between Chatsworth and Ashford. There was a fence by one of the farms, and it was partially torn down, corpses of large Hereford cows, lying in the grass.

“I ran by this,” Soraya said. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.” The female reporter was beginning her report. The three of us listened as I began to flip the first batch of pancakes.

“During the night, it has been reported that yet another livestock mauling has occurred,” the reporter said. “The maulings have been occurring monthly, almost exactly thirty days since the last one occurred. It appears to be the work of a large canine, potentially a large wolf, or potentially a bear.”

“I heard something,” Mary whispered. “Last night…and then…” I looked at her. She looked terrified. I put my hand on her shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“I hear it in my dreams…a growling, like a large dog,” she said. I could feel her tiny body rigid with fears realized. “Then, in the news, somebody’s animals are dead.” She looked me in the face, and I could see that she believed it to be true.

“It’s only here,” she said. “Only here.” She began to tear up, and I wrapped my arms around her tiny body, picking her up.

“How long has this been going on?” I asked Soraya.

“A few years,” she replied. “They haven’t been able to catch it yet.” She turned, leaving me with my crying charge and pancakes that were beginning to blacken.

I spent the rest of the morning trying to cheer Mary up, but it was looking like it was going to be one of the difficult days. These days were bound to happen to a grieving child. I broke my heart. She sat at her desk, her eyes wide and sad as I tried to engage her in something—anything. Finally, I would give up on lessons and activities, and just take her in my lap and read to her. She was obsessed with Harry Potter.

“Why do you like this so much?” I asked her.

“He’s like me,” she said. “Only Voldemort didn’t kill my mom and dad.”

“But your uncle is nothing like the Dursleys.”

“No… but he’s…” she was struggling to say what she needed to.

“Distant?” I supplied.

“Yeah,” she replied.

“A little bit like Dumbledore, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice reflecting her warming to the idea.

“He loves you, you know,” I said.

“He does. I just wish he’d spend more time with me.” She paused, thinking. “He used to. He used to carry me on his shoulders, and take me apple-picking in the orchard…but then he got sad. He doesn’t even give me hugs anymore.”

“Maybe we can invite him to do something special with us sometime.”

“Like what?”

“How about a picnic?”

“When?”

“Today.”

“Yes!” We got up from the large, plush armchair that was nestled into the corner of Mary’s school room. She took my hand as we exited, walking down the hallway and the large staircase leading down to the first floor. Heading into the kitchen, Mary and I began to plan the picnic lunch.

“What kind of sandwiches should we make?” I asked her.

“Peanut butter and Nutella,” Mary chirped excitedly. She jumped a little as she spoke. I took out the white bread, and Mary ran to the pantry to pull out the spreads.

“Are we having anything else?”

“Will there be apples in the orchard?” Mary asked.

“There should be,” I replied, opening the jar of peanut butter that she handed me. “It is the right season.” There was something enchanting about living in a house with its own orchard. Mary’s life appeared to be some kind of fairytale—the orphan sent to live with a mysterious uncle in an opulent, isolated home. I spread peanut butter onto the bread with a knife, and then used a spoon to scoop Nutella on to the rest.

“What else should we include with our picnic?” I asked.

“Gummy bears,” Mary replied.

“How about something healthier?” I asked.

“Granola and yogurt,” Mary sighed dramatically.

“I thought you liked granola and yogurt,” I said.

“I do,” she replied. “But gummy bears are better.” Her uncle walked in, his hands in his pockets. He was dressed formally, as per usual in an oxford and a pair of nice slacks. Mary was glued to my side. She tugged at my arm.

“Tell him,” she prompted in a small whisper. She was always reticent and mouse-like around her uncle.

“We planned to go on a picnic in the orchard for lunch today,” I explained.

“I…I can’t,” he looked years older than he actually was (According to Forbes, he was thirty). He looked exhausted, and even maybe a little ill. “There was…” he began, then paused for a moment.

“There was another attack on livestock last night,” he said, his voice soft. “You shouldn’t wander.” I felt Mary stiffen beside me.

“Surely we would be safe during the day…”

“More than likely…but just in case.”

“Why don’t you come with us?”

“I’m just…I’m not…” he sighed, and walked out of the kitchen. I was confused. Was he sick? If he was, why didn’t he say so? I looked down at Mary, beside me. She was near tears.

“I knew the monster was nearby. It comes here.” She said.

“No, baby. The monster isn’t here. It just goes after livestock.” I picked her small body up in my arms. “How about we have our picnic on the front lawn? It’s a beautiful, sunny day outside.” She nodded, but her face was solemn.