The Stranger in the Mirror(55)

I look down at the comfortable wool-lined boots I’m wearing for all the walking we’ll do today. I don’t relish the idea of trading them for cowboy boots, but it’s worth it for Valentina. “You’re right,” I say to her. “Let’s go back upstairs right now, and I’ll change.”

Valentina claps her hands. “Yay.”

Mission accomplished, we head downstairs, and I can see that she’s anxious to start the day we have been planning for the last two weeks.

“Here you go,” I say, handing her the down coat. “Do you need help with the zipper?”

She gives me a disdainful look. “I’m not a baby, Mom.”

I swallow a laugh. “I know. Sometimes I forget what a big girl you are.” That garners a kinder look from her.

I slip on my own down jacket and grab my handbag. “Off we go,” I say, and open the kitchen door to the garage. When I take the car keys from my purse and hit the button that starts the car, nothing happens. I press on it again. Again nothing. I look at the keys in my hand and shrink back in horror. I am holding the keys to Julian’s Jaguar. I’m hot all of a sudden, and Valentina is asking me what’s wrong. I can’t think. Why are these keys in my handbag? I always leave my purse on the console table in the hall, right next to the key holder. How could I have taken the keys from his pocket and dropped them in my bag without even realizing it? I fish around and find my own car keys and we leave, but I’m shaken and second-guessing myself.

I try my best to put it out of my mind and enjoy the day with Valentina, and mostly I am able to do that. We are both tired when we get home, and she gives me no argument when I suggest we change into cozy pajamas before dinner.

“I’m going to wear my Belle PJs and my Rapunzel slippers,” she says as she prances up the steps singing “Be My Guest.”

When she reaches the landing, I go and put the pizza in the oven before going upstairs to change. Still chilled from spending so much of the day outside, I put on a pair of flannel pajamas and a long fleece robe.

“Pizza’s almost ready,” I say when we walk into the kitchen.

“My favorite,” Valentina says, clambering up onto one of the high stools at the island counter.

I take the round pan from the oven and slice it up, putting a piece on each of our plates. “Be careful,” I tell her, “it’s still hot.”

She leans over so that her face is almost touching her dish and starts to blow on the pizza, short little huffs and puffs. I feel my mood lift as I watch her.

“Is it okay to eat it now?” she asks, poking it with her finger.

I laugh. “How does it feel? Is your finger hot?”

She looks at me, her eyes wide, then shakes her head and picks up the slice, taking a bite.

I can see her eyes begin to droop before I can offer her a second piece, and she rests her head on her hand. “I’m tired, Mommy.”

“You had a big day. Why don’t we read a story and get you tucked in?”

It’s only a little after eight when she falls asleep, and I decide to get an early night myself. Taking my book from the night table and slipping into bed, I pull a second pillow on top of mine and begin to read. It’s not long before my eyes grow heavy, and the next thing I know, the book falls on my chest, rousing me. I switch off the lamp, and as darkness fills the room, I pull the covers up and close my eyes. But sleep eludes me. I can’t stop thinking about Julian’s keys. I need to get some rest, though, so I begin the breathing exercises I learned in therapy. Inhale and count to eight, exhale and count to eight. I’m feeling more relaxed, listening to the silence, when suddenly all of my synapses start firing like it’s the Fourth of July. Voices. Someone is talking, not in my head but out loud. Am I hallucinating? It’s so loud! I lie perfectly still, my eyes wide open, holding my breath and listening. I hear it clearly now, a gravelly voice that sounds angry. Evil. You are evil. Why do you want to hurt Valentina? What kind of mother wants to hurt her child?

“Stop!” I scream, springing to a sitting position. “Who are you?”

All of a sudden, there isn’t a sound. My heart pounding, I turn the light on and get out of bed. The room is empty, and when I peek into Valentina’s room, she is sleeping soundly. In the hall I see that the alarm is armed, the front door securely locked. I tiptoe to the kitchen and take a long butcher knife from the block, clutching it in my hand while I check each room in the house. Every door and window is locked. There’s no one here except Valentina and me. I drop the knife and sink to the floor in tears. I’m losing things, stealing things, and now I’m hearing voices. Is this what it’s like to be going mad?





??46??

Cassandra




I wake up on the wood floor to see soft light streaming through the living room windows, telling me that it’s almost dawn. My mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton, and I’m still groggy after a night of agitation. Feeling something cold against my thigh, I lift my leg and see the knife. It all starts to come back to me. Now I remember taking the knife from the kitchen and searching the house, making sure all the doors and windows were locked. And I remember that voice. That horrible voice. Was it real? I heard it, not just in my head, I’m sure of it. But then I laugh bitterly through my tears. I’ve proved over and over that I can be sure of nothing. I must pull myself together, though, before Valentina wakes up. Valentina! Could I have done something to harm her? I sprint up the stairs, the rush of blood pounding in my ears, and run to her bedroom. The door is closed.