“Come with me,” she says, tugging on Annie’s shirt hem.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Annie tickles Sue’s arms as they make their way into the kitchen.

Annie hears Mrs. Keller knock on her husband’s office door, whispered voices carrying nothing Annie can discern from all the way down here.

“How was it?” she asks Suzy as she bites into her triceratops-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Suzy shrugs. “It better here.” Soon, though, as Suzy goes back to her usual afternoon routine, school is forgotten.

It’s not until later, when Annie is brewing some tea for herself in the quiet kitchen, lulled by the crickets outside, that she’s confronted with the day, with all that happened to Suzy. Being away from home for the first time, the new people and smells and sights she must have endured, how overstimulating that must have been for such a little girl.

Annie will remember this moment for years to come, store it away in a vessel that she’ll uncork whenever she feels indignant, whenever she wants to wallow in any sort of pity, or to remind herself that actions at that time were justified.

She is feeling her curves, the plump roundness of her ass, the new folds of skin around her jutting hip bones. For once in her life, she is gaining weight. Her skin glows, and her hair has a natural sheen. Maybe she is beautiful. That’s what she is thinking, her hands marveling at her thighs, feeling their swell.

But then, a long-nailed hand grabs her upper arm, so hard she yelps, feels her skin break, flake, right on the spot where she pinched her own arm earlier.

“She wanted you,” Mrs. Keller spits out, so softly that it’s almost benign. “She cried and cried for you during those whole three hours. That’s what they said. I went to the library to read, and when I came around for pickup, she was still crying, and the teacher, the blonde one, asked who Annie was, if Annie could come over and soothe her. Do you know how shameful that was? To have my child ask for the nanny on the first day of school?” She lets go of Annie’s arm and takes a wobbly step back.

She looks around, as if remembering where she is, and coughs out a gasp, staring at Annie’s bruised arm as if it’s a mirage, a vision appearing out of her own dreamscape.

And then she puts a hand over her mouth and retreats, walks out the swinging door, while Annie stands there, relishing the pain in her arm, her heart beating in rhythm with the throbbing.

The teakettle whistles long and high.

15

There is drool smeared on my pillow, in my hair, when I wake up. My cheek wet with it, and I keep my eyes closed for a moment, the morning light already finding its way between my eyelids.