murderer dressed in a uniform? With a disguise, could somebody fool you? Sure they could.”
I leaned away, wondering how long he’d go on, how long I’d have to stay there. Charlie tilted toward me, whispering dank words. “Somebody might wear a uniform. Like a policeman. Or a dentist. Or he might dress normal, in a business suit, so you wouldn’t even notice him. That would be the best disguise of all. He’d blend in and trap you—miss, please, just smile, act as if we’re shooting the breeze here. please. In case we’re being watched.”
He looked straight ahead again, watching cars drive by, smiling casually and nodding his head. I wondered how long he’d had these thoughts, whether he’d forgotten to take some kind of medication.
“. . . that you and your child are in danger.”
Wait. What was that? “Oh, come on, Charlie—what are you saying? That the mailman’s a murderer? Or some fireman’s planning to hurt me? Because that’s what it sounds like.”
Charlie folded his massive, calloused hands, nodding, relieved. “Not necessarily the mailman. Or a fireman. Evil can take on any form. Any disguise. A taxi driver. A cop. So trust no one. Be on guard. Hear me, miss. Evil is nearby. Watching, lurking, planning. Listen to what I’m saying.”
Charlie’s face was an inch away. His eyes bulged, and a cloud of fermenting breath engulfed my face. It was all I could take. I got to my feet. “Charlie, I’ve got to go in.” I started up the steps.
“Don’t be afraid, miss,” Charlie spoke over his shoulder without moving. “I’ve been protecting you, and I’ll keep on. I’ll protect you both. You can count on me. You and your little one can count on old Charlie. That’s all I have to say.”
“I’ve got to go in.”
When I opened the door, I looked back. Charlie was watching, frowning with concern. The man was disturbed, but he couldn’t be dangerous, not with a face so sincere and troubled. Shutting the door on him would be rude, maybe even cruel. Still, I wanted to discourage his behavior.
“Charlie, don’t worry about us,” I assured him. “Really. We’re fine.” Then, without giving him a chance to reply, I went inside and shut the door. Molly’s jacket and bookbag had landed in the hall.
Angela’s voice floated down the stairs. “Yo, Zoe—that you? We’re upstairs.”
“I’m getting in my gym stuff, Mom.”
“Great. We’ve got about ten minutes,” I called.
unbuttoning my coat, I went to the window. Victor’s shades hung at an odd, twisted angle. Construction trucks blocked my view of Santa. Charlie, having gotten up off my front steps, hobbled back to his side of the street on crooked, unsteady legs.
SEVEN
THURSDAY NIGHT. MOLLY’S GYMNASTICS CLASS. MOST EVENINGS Molly and I stayed home, unwinding after busy days. usually, she’d work on art projects, each of which seemed to require thousands of beads, miles of string, tons of buttons, carloads of markers. Oh—and glue. Gallons of glue. Oceans of it. While she created, I generally got organized. paid bills. prepared paperwork. pretended to clean the house. Thursdays were different. Thursday was our one evening a week of structured out-of-the-house activity. First we went to class, then Molly, Emily, Susan, and I went out to eat.
During class, while kids worked on balance beams and trampolines, their mothers visited in the observation room. Even now I didn’t know all the women’s names, but I knew which kid each belonged to, and I’m sure I was simply Molly’s mom to most of them. We were, to the outside eye, despite our varying ages and body types, indistinguishable, almost interchangeable. A mass of chipped manicures and imperfect hair. A throng, a gaggle of moms, all chattering. Davinder, who had a doctorate in chemical engineering, had finally found a foolproof way to get little Hari to eat vegetables. Karen, an ICU nurse, had found a bargain on pajamas for Nicholas. Gretchen, an amateur tennis champ, couldn’t comprehend how fast her Hannah had outgrown her shoes. To me, the chitchat was soothing, almost musical. Connecting with other women reassured me. It made me confident that divorce hadn’t made me less capable or adoption less maternal than other women. Given the events of the week, that night I especially craved the comfort of normal conversation, the gentle company of women.
Molly and I walked to the Community Center in the fading light. Only five o’clock but already dark. As soon as we got there, Molly peeled off her coat, shoes, and socks, everything but her leotard and