“Ms. Beth! Ms. Beth!” A chorus of children’s voices competed for her attention, but somehow she managed to acknowledge each one with a smile or a nod.
I was intimately familiar with this end-of-the-day chaos. I had been a teacher before I married Langston, and I’d been in charge of the Hope’s Embrace school while at the compound.
Sometimes, I missed it.
I spotted Sophia sitting quietly at her desk, carefully placing her pencils into their case. One by one, eraser end first, points facing the same direction. So meticulous, so controlled. So much like I’d been as a child, before I met Langston. Before I learned that control was just an illusion and could be ripped away in an instant.
Sophia looked up, her serious little face breaking into a smile that made my chest ache. “Mommy!” She carefully closed her pencil case, slid it into her backpack, and pushed in her chair before running to me.
Always orderly, my girl, even in her excitement.
I knelt down to hug her, breathing in the scent of school glue and the strawberry of her shampoo. “Hey, sweet pea. How was your day?”
“We learned about butterflies and how they start as caterpillars and then make a cocoon and transform,” she said, her eyes wide with the miracle of it. “Ms. Beth brought in a real cocoon in a jar. We’re waiting for it to hatch.”
“Emerge,” Beth corrected as she approached us, still somehow managing to clean up a spill and redirect two boys heading for the door without supervision. “Butterflies emerge from chrysalises.”
I straightened. “Sounds like an exciting lesson.”
“Sophia was fascinated,” Beth said. “She asked the most incredible questions about metamorphosis—how the caterpillarknows when to change, whether it hurts to transform. She thinks deeply about things most five-year-olds wouldn’t consider.”
Because she’d seen transformation before. She’d watched her mother shed one life for another twice now.
“She’s always been observant,” I said simply.
Beth nodded, seemingly satisfied with my non-answer. “She’s doing wonderfully, by the way. Her reading skills are well above grade level, and she’s helping some of the other kids with their letters.”
Pride mingled with the ever-present anxiety in my chest. My brilliant, careful daughter. I squeezed Sophia’s hand. “That’s my girl. Always helping others.”
“Don’t forget your permission slip for tomorrow’s nature walk,” Beth reminded me, passing over a slightly crumpled paper. “And maybe a heavy jacket? The weather report says it’ll be chilly in the morning. Thankfully, no snow yet.” She rolled her eyes. “But we all know that’s coming before long.”
I nodded, tucking the form into my purse. “We’ll be ready.”
As we left the classroom, Sophia slipped her small hand into mine. “Can we have mac and cheese for dinner? The kind with the bread crumbs on top?”
“Sure,” I said, though my mind was already elsewhere, scanning the parking lot, noting the unfamiliar blue pickup truck idling near the school entrance.
Just a parent waiting for their child.
Not Carol’s mysterious guest.
Still, I steered Sophia away from the street, toward the path that cut through a field. This way added a few minutes to our walk home, but neither of us minded.
Our rental house sat on the very edge of town, backing up to the scrubby field that eventually gave way to the rimrocks. Not the nicest house in Garnett, but its isolation was a feature, not a flaw. Only one road in, with clear sight lines in all directions.
Inside, Sophia headed straight to her room to change out of her school clothes. I moved to the kitchen, mechanically pulling out ingredients for dinner while keeping my body angled toward the windows. The conversation with Carol this morning had unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.
A stranger in town. A man with a gun. Asking questions.
“I drew a picture of a butterfly today,” Sophia announced, padding into the kitchen in her mismatched home clothes. “Ms. Beth hung it on the wall because she said my colors were very ‘ambitious.’”
“That’s wonderful!” I smiled at her, forcing myself to focus. “Want to help me with dinner?”
She climbed onto her step stool, eager to sprinkle cheese on top of the macaroni. I let her, though I kept glancing out the window, watching as the afternoon light faded toward evening. The shadows grew longer across our small backyard. Perfect hiding places.
“Mommy, you’re not listening,” Sophia’s voice broke through my thoughts.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. What did you say?”
