He may have a negative opinion of female doctors from his traumatic experience, and he may blame me for getting his father shot, but he still wants me as much as I want him. Maybe in another lifetime we could give it a shot, but not this one. In this one, I’ll soon be as far away from Tampa as I can get on the money I have.
Even though my eyes are burning, I’m restless. I get up and dig through my purse for the emergency protein bar I always keep in there. I eat it and sip on a bottle of water as I peer out the window behind the blinds. The parking lot is only lit by one flickering streetlamp. I scan it carefully. No one sitting in the cars, no movement. Satisfied I’m not going to be ambushed, I decide to hit the road.
It's still an hour until sunrise when I swipe my card at the gate and pull into the suburban neighborhood where I’ve rented a house for Celia and Rona. I feel the peace, the safety in the quiet, neatly kept community. My jaw muscles unclench, and I shake my hands out, which are stiff from clutching the steering wheel all the way here.
Celia and Rona are safe in this little bubble of families, so maybe I should just leave. Will it be harder on Rona if she sees me? I sigh. I’m already here. So close. I’m too damn selfish to leave now and holding her in my arms is something I can’t resist.
I make a few loops around the neighborhood to be certain no one followed me here. Yeah, you have to have a card to open the gate, but it is possible to tailgate someone in.
No headlights in the rearview mirror, so I park in their community center parking lot, in front of a small playground. I imagine Rona playing on the swings and the slide. There’s alsoa pool. Celia told me she got Rona arm floaties, and she loves the water. Maybe I can stay for a few hours today and watch her swim. Watch her be happy. My chest warms. Yeah, that would go a long way in helping my anxiety.
I wait until the eastern sky is lightening before I walk through the neighborhood to the front door. Knocking softly, I press a hand to my stomach to quell the butterflies. The body doesn’t know the difference between fear and excitement, and right now, I’m experiencing both.
The blinds on the side of the door shift and then the door flies open.
Celia is there, her blue-gray eyes wide, her delicate hand reaching out and grasping mine. “Oh my God, Mama, what are you doing here?” She yanks me through the door and closes it, holds me at arm’s length, scanning my body. “You okay?”
I give her a smile and a hug. “I’m fine. I wanted to give you a new phone and to… see her.” I swallow back the emotion, glancing behind us into the living room. “Is she awake?”
“No, not yet, but I will make us coffee. You go see your little angel.” With a smile, she leads me deeper into the house and heads to the kitchen on the left. “Second door. Past the bathroom.”
I nod, a nervous flutter deep in my belly. “Thank you.”
I carefully open the door and peer in. My body relaxes; tears spring to my eyes. She’s there. Safe. Curled up on her side in a pink nightgown, cuddling the bear I gave her for her second birthday. I tiptoe across the carpeted floor and lean down next to the bed. Her little tulip lips are parted, tiny snores coming from her.
I reach out and sweep the dark, baby-fine hair from her forehead. My throat is tight as silent tears stream down my face. The flood of gratitude and love are almost too much to hold in my body. Gratitude that this perfect little human came from such a nightmare situation. The universe balancing out evil with good perhaps.
She suddenly takes a deeper breath and her eyes blink open. Bleary-eyed, she stares at me confused for a moment, and then she hops up with a small squeal and throws herself into my arms.
“Mama!”
I’m immediately encased in the scent of baby shampoo. With her warm arms around my neck, her legs straddling my waist, everything falls away. There is nothing outside of this moment, where my little girl is back in my arms where she belongs. “Hi, baby.”
The moment doesn’t last long, though as she squirms to get free. “Mama, look.” She grabs my finger and leads me to her little desk where she’s drawn pink and orange lines with scribbles above them. “Mama and Rona.” She grins up at me.
I lift up the paper, the feel of her hand wrapped around my finger better than Christmas. “I love the colors you used. You’re getting very good at drawing people, aren’t you?”
She nods and tugs me toward the door. “Cece make cakes.”
I let her lead me out into the kitchen, her tiny bare feet padding over to where Celia is indeed pouring pancake batter into a pan.
She turns and grins at the two of us, her eyes sparkling. “Buenos días, agelito.”
“Morning. Mama’s here!” Rona leads me to the round table by the window. “Sit down.”
I sit in the chair and she climbs onto my lap. The weight of her is the only thing that’s making this moment seem real. She pulls a coloring book and box of crayons toward us and hands me a green one.
We color a circus clown together as Celia brings over a pitcher of orange juice and glasses. Rona keeps glancing up at me like she’s checking to make sure I’m really here. And I keep stroking her face, her head, her arms like I’m checking if she’s really in my arms.
Rona and I continue to color as Celia cooks. We don’t talk about anything serious in front of Rona. She’s an intuitive child and though she may not understand our words, she would surely pick up on our anxiety. So, we keep it light. Talk about grocery prices, TV shows, and mostly all the new things Rona has been learning.
After breakfast, Rona shows me how she brushes her teeth, and I marvel at the normalcy of her life here. I made the right decision spending all my money on a safe place for her to stay.
Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever.
We decide to walk over to the community center so Rona can show me how she holds her breath under water.
“I can do it for a hundred minutes,” she says, holding up three fingers.
