I think of all the families she must have worked for, how many small transgressions, domestic conflicts she must have been privy to in all those households throughout the years. How difficult would it become to turn a blind eye, look away when a child was slapped or a parent came home late, their clothes smelling of another partner? What sorts of secrets did she hold? And did anyone realize how much power that gave her?

She would have been around when my mother was dying. Chronologically, that made sense. She must have witnessed so many horrific things alongside my father—those long days of my mom lying in bed, coughing up blood, the diagnosis, the eventual hospice care. Yet he’d never mentioned Anneliese. But how could you conceal someone like that? Who loved your child so deeply and who your child adored back? Because even now I can feel that love in my bones.

4

June 1996

In the last couple of years, Annie had grown soft, her heart pulpy, as if she had lost her steeliness along with part of herself. She wanted someone to give her heart to, who would give their heart back unflinchingly. She was tired of being a shadow, of shouldering the relentless mockery from her father, the exhausted sighs of her junior college professors who couldn’t promise her anything beyond the borders of this town. She wanted to be a sun in someone else’s universe.

And in those first few weeks at the Kellers’, the sly shift from spring to summer, like sweet soft serve ice cream melting on her tongue, she is—the lake water lapping her bare knees, the gentle smell of baby head, the downiness of light curls coiling through her fingers. The nights spent watching Suzy sleep, of building forts with couch cushions, of lathering sunscreen on velvety skin. Lying next to her as she naps, curving her big, grown-up body so that it perfectly fits around the tiny one. Of not moving an inch, lest the child wakes.

It’s their own little world, so much so that objects begin to tower over Annie. She’ll look up and suddenly a flowering plant reaches the sky, and the minnows in the lake are big enough for dinner. Everything, anything, is tinged with a sense of wonder, like walking through the mirror and only knowing joy.

Of course there are the dirty pull-ups, the wet beds, the scrapes, the falls, the wails and red faces and bruised heads. But Annie almost likes these times better, those moments of quiet after Suzy catches her breath, her tears subsiding as she’s rocked. Annie likes tasting the blood after she kisses a boo-boo or the salty tears that evaporate in minutes once Suzy’s attention wanders. Annie likes being the one to make the world a better place for Suzy, if only for a moment.