Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

Skye

T he memory of that flower tattoo on Finn's buttock is cut short. Maddie's sweet voice brings me back to the present.

"Daddy, my new teacher is so pretty!" She can't take her sparkling eyes off me nor can I take mine off her. Her gaze darts to her father. "Don't you think so?"

Finn's eyes soak me in. A slow, dimpled smile spreads on his lips. "Yes, she is, sunshine."

I feel myself blush, flush all over. "Thank you."

"Daddy, can Kangy and I show Ms. Callahan my room?"

Kangy must be the stuffed animal she's holding. I cast my eyes down. For sure, it's the toy kangaroo I cherished as a child. The one my father bought after my mother gave birth to me in Australia. Now lovingly worn and minus the joey that used to be in her pouch. Another melancholic smile forms on my lips.

"If you'd like, you can call me Scarlet." Or Mommy . My heart clenches at that thought.

"That's such a nice name! S-C-A-R-L-E-T."

"Wow! You know how to spell it?"

She nods proudly. "Yup! My daddy has a tube of paint called scarlet red."

Finn smiles proudly. "I told your teacher you're super smart."

An ear-to-ear grin lights up her face. "I am!"

God, she reminds me so much of myself at her age. Bold, confident, and precocious.

Her eyes stay on Finn. "So, Daddy, is it okay if I show Scarlet my room?"

"Sunshine, I think she might want to get settled in first. Unpack her bags and relax a bit."

I quickly correct him. "Actually, Finn, I'd love to see your daughter's room." In truth, I desperately want to spend time with her and I need to get away from him. The devastating effect he's having on me is almost unbearable. The urge to tell him who I really am makes me want to jump out of my skin. And fall into his arms.

Finn agrees and an elated Maddie jumps up and down, shouting "Yay!" On my next breath, she takes my hand, coaxing me to stand up. The warmth of her little hand in mine melts my heart like chocolate, the sensation so overwhelming I stagger to my feet like a drunk.

"C'mon, Scarlet. It's upstairs. I'll show you."

Finn's amused eyes stay on us as she eagerly leads me out of the room to the winding stairs, her plush kangaroo still dangling from her other hand. We march up the steep steps side by side. When we get to the landing, she bolts down a long hallway. I quicken my gait to keep up with her, amazed how energetic my asthma-stricken little girl is. Her room is almost at the very end.

"Here it is!" she says brightly.

I stand at the doorway as still as a statue, her hand still in mine. Truthfully, I'm not sure if I can let go of it. It belongs to me. Now and forever. The connection is so strong it's as if they're melded. A whirling dervish of emotions swirls through me.

Joy.

Excitement.

Love.

Shock.

Fear.

Frustration.

Sadness.

When it all comes to an end, the only one that lingers is shock. I still can't believe I've been reunited with my husband and child. While I yearn to shout out who I am, I need to collect myself and remember why I'm in the Witness Protection Program. Someone tried to kill me and that someone is likely still out there. I could be a threat to their safety.

"Scarlet, isn't it pretty!?" chirps Maddie, her enthralled voice erasing my unsettling thoughts and brightening my spirits. Bubbling with pride, she leads me inside.

It's a far cry from her closet-sized pink and white nursery. A pang of melancholy jabs me. My baby girl has grown up. Whimsically decorated in lavender, white, and moss green, the roomy, sunlit space reflects the personality of a sophisticated but fun-loving little girl. Optimally placed on the whitewashed plank floors are various pieces of sturdy but stylish bleached wood furniture, including a large armoire, a dresser with a mirror, and a queen-size sleigh bed. The bed can easily fit the two of us.

"Scarlet, do you like my room?" She lets go of my hand and prances over to the bed. Hopping on to it, she begins to jump up and down as if it's a trampoline. "Daddy and I picked out everything together from Pottery Barn. He let me have this big girl bed!"

"I love it, sweetie," I say, my eyes roaming. They land on an antique white rocker in the corner. Even with the newly upholstered green gingham cushions, I recognize it instantly. Tears brim in the back of my eyes. It's the chair I sat in while nursing Maddie. Night after night.

She catches my gaze on it and breaks into a smile. "That's my special chair! Daddy says my mommy used to like to rock me in it."

My heartbeat speeds up; my stomach knots. "Your mommy?"

She stops jumping and bobs her head. "She died when I was a baby."

Cautiously, taking advantage of her chattiness, I ask, "How did she die?"

"My daddy told me she was in a terrible car accident."

"I'm sorry." And I'm sorry I can't take you into my arms and hug you to pieces. And that I've missed so many formative years of your life. Your first steps. Your first words. Your first birthday. Your first everything. I'm so, so sorry, my baby. Regret eats away at me like burning acid. My eyes sting.

"Don't be sad, Scarlet. It's okay. I don't remember her."

"Not at all?" Such a stupid question. She was only nine-months old! Yet, there's a hole in my soul that longs to hear that there's some kind of recollection. A connection.

She shakes her head. "My daddy says my mommy is in heaven."

Her words pain me, sending an ache to my gut so great I almost wince. "Sweetie, I think she's right here with you."

Puzzled, my little girl furrows her brows. "What do you mean?"

My heart stutters. I falter for words. "What I mean is that she's in your heart."

"That can't be!"

"Yes. I'll prove it to you." I put her little hand to her heart and hold it there with mine. "Do you feel that?"

She nods. "Why is my heart beating so hard?"

"That's your mommy. Her heart is beating with yours. Every second. Every minute. Every hour of the day."

"But dead people can't be alive!"

"They are in a different kind of way. They live in your heart forever. I want you to believe me, Maddie."

What I can't believe is that I'm having my first conversation with my daughter about me, and it's so heady, so profound. My wiser-than-her-years little girl seems to be taking it all in stride.

"I do believe you, Scarlet!" She jumps off the bed. "Do you want to see a picture of her?"

"Sure." Unsure.

"Look!" She lifts off a small, framed photo from her night table. With hesitant steps, my heartbeat accelerating, I join her. She shows me the picture, pointing at the radiant young woman. "That's my mommy."

I stare at the photo, swallowing past the lump forming in my throat. "Can I hold it?"

"Sure." She hands me the photo. Bringing it closer to my eyes, I battle the tears that threaten to erupt. The old me! Standing next to Finn, holding newly born Maddie in my arms. Big smiles on our faces. I remember the day it was taken as if it were yesterday. It's the very same photo that's in my locket. The locket that's a part of me. Even now it's around my neck concealed beneath my top.

My hand trembling, I lower the photo so it's almost eye-level with Maddie. Rising on tippy-toes, she peers at it again. "My mommy was so pretty! Like you!"

Like you . The irony of her words rattles me. Yet, I'm touched and speechless. While I always considered myself smart, I never thought I was that pretty. Though I photographed well, I always complained about my faults, but Finn saw through them all and loved me all the more for them. He said they gave me character. Made me painterly.

Once again, Maddie's sweet voice brings me back to the moment. "Don't you think so?"

"Yes. She was. And it looks like she really loved you and your daddy." And still does! My wobbly voice is soft and full of emotion. Though I've seen hundreds of images of the old me online, not one of them was of our family. I kept my personal life very private. Away from social media. For a brief minute, I reflect on the past. The way I used to be. So young! Full of life! So fulfilled! A beautiful family... a meaningful career. The old me who possessed undaunted optimism. A sense that the world and its possibilities were open to me. My heart contracts with raw emotion. The present mourns the past. What was can never be. Sorrow soars inside me.

Maddie is oblivious to my sadness. Cheerfully, she says, "Daddy told me I look just like my mommy!"

Despite my grim self, a small smile forms on my lips. I look down at my smiling daughter, and reminisce about how I used to look in my youth. The similarities between us are extraordinary. The same thick cinnamon hair, big expressive chocolate-brown eyes, cute little button nose, and slightly cleft chin. The only thing that's different is that she's inherited Finn's enviable full lips and kissable dimples. "You do, my sweetie."

Maddie cocks her head and looks up at me. "Scarlet, how do you know that?"

I swallow back tears. Three little words. "I just do."

For a brief moment, she digests my words, then takes my hand again, entwining her tiny fingers with mine. My body warms as she tugs me away.

"Come, Scarlet. I want to show you our classroom. It's right next door."

Grabbing her kangaroo from the bed, my energetic little girl ushers me through a door, which I thought was a closet. It opens to another bright, sunlit space with wraparound windows. I take in my surroundings, my eyes flitting from wall to wall of the spacious corner room.

"Do you like it?" asks Maddie as she darts to the child-size table in the middle and plops down on one of the two chairs. "This is where you're going to teach me!"

My eyes continue to circle the room. Low-level shelves line the walls. They're filled with books, educational games, arts and crafts supplies, and other learning aids. In addition to the shelves, there's a play area with assorted toys and colorful mats, and across from it, a comfy cozy slipcovered couch—more the size of a loveseat—the perfect place to curl up and read a book or have one read to you. On the bright yellow walls, I eye a map of the world and a handy whiteboard as well as charming framed paintings obviously done by my talented daughter.

"So, Scarlet, what do you think?" she asks again.

"It's awesome!" It really is the perfect learning environment. Whimsical, cheery, stimulating.

My little girl beams. "My daddy designed it! He built the bookshelves all by himself."

"Wow." What an incredible father Finn has been to our child. Single-handedly grooming her to be bright, insightful, inquisitive, and polite as well as imaginative and creative. My mind fills with his ruggedly handsome face and I ache to see him again. My gaze follows Maddie as she leaps up from the table and waltzes over to a bookshelf. She squats down, setting Kangy on the floor, and surveys the books.

"This is my library. My mommy bought me all these books before I was born."

"I remember them." A wistful smile tugs at my lips. Indeed, I do. That day, in my third trimester, I snuck out of my office at lunchtime and drove to Barnes and Noble, wishing they had a shopping cart for all the books I intended to purchase. I vowed that I would make my child, be it a son or daughter, fall in love with books like I did as a child. And to become a reader. Books, preached my late mother, are dreams you hold in your hand. They open worlds you've never experienced and maybe will never know. From the get-go, I planned to instill the value of reading into my child.

Sliding out a book from the bottom shelf, my little girl looks over her shoulder. She shoots me a puzzled look. "What do you mean you remember them?"

I bite down on my bottom lip. I said something I shouldn't have. Note to self: Think before you speak . I have to be careful. It's not going to be easy. Hastily, I rectify my faux pas. "I mean I remember reading all your books."

Thankfully, with a smile, she buys into my response. "Guess what, Scarlet! I'm an excellent reader." She proudly draws out the word "excellent."

I smile back at her, my heart swelling with pride. "I know. Your daddy told me."

Her grin widens, the dimpled smile just like Finn's and making me ache again for him. Clutching the book, she stands up and faces me. With both hands, she holds it up. "This is my favorite book."

I silently read the title: Madeline.

The fearless, feisty, fictional little girl who inspired my daughter's name. Just knowing her for the short time I have, I can tell my pint-sized bundle of energy is equally fierce and fearless. A girl after my own heart.

"That was my favorite book, too, when I was your age. I loved Madeline."

"You did?"

I nod. "Uh-huh." I asked my mother to read it to me so many times I could recite it by heart.

She looks up at me with hopeful eyes. "Scarlet, do you want to read it together?"

"I can't right now. I need to head back downstairs and talk more with your father and then settle into my quarters."

She frowns with disappointment, but then her face brightens. "Maybe, we can read it together when I go to bed tonight?"

"I'd love to do that."

"Yay!" Returning the book to the shelf, she skips over to me and gives me a hug. Her little arms circle my waist and her head rests on my hips. Tears she can't see break loose and trickle down my cheeks.

I'm drowning with emotion. Unadulterated love.

She squeezes me tighter. "Oh, Scarlet, I'm so happy you're my new teacher!"

"Me too, sweetie. Me too." Happier than she will ever know.