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.
I stand there frozen, afraid of what I’ll find. Then I press my ear against the door, hoping to hear her breathing. Hearing nothing, I turn the knob to find that the light is just beginning to seep through the pink shades. Valentina is sleeping soundly, her breathing deep and regular and her dark hair stark against the white pillowcase. I sigh with relief as I look down at my child and reach out to touch her cheek. I watch my hand move as if it belongs to someone else, and I see the steely glint of the knife, whose handle my fingers are wrapped around. Taking a step back, I blink several times, shaking my head as I continue to inch away from her. And then I turn and run from the room, the knife still in my hand. I forgot I had it, I keep telling myself. Yes, that’s what it is. I forgot I was holding it. I wasn’t going to hurt Valentina, was I?