Loree Lough - Saving Alyssa

The clock on the battered nightstand said 10:15 p.m. In a little over twelve hours, he and Melissa would board a Baltimore-bound plane and begin the final leg of their slow passage into the unknown. “Don’t think of it that way,” Webster had said. “Think of it as leaving all the bad stuff behind. Focus on starting a whole new life in Maryland.”

Easy for him to say, Nate thought again. But...something to hope for, anyway.

Hope. Pretty much all he had left, thanks to his own stupid choices. Choices that had brought them here.

Last night, when Webster had delivered the packet containing Nate’s and Melissa’s new identities, he’d also delivered what sounded to Nate like a well-rehearsed speech. He’d said he’d coached dozens of kids Melissa’s age, and felt reasonably certain he could stress the importance of sticking to the program and keeping secrets, all without terrifying her.

Reasonably certain. Webster had said the same thing on the day of the trial, when Witness Security had moved Nate from the courthouse to the first of four safe houses by way of a long, meandering route. And it’s what he’d said before each of three additional moves. The agency couldn’t guarantee safe transport. Couldn’t promise security, so what else could they say?

This time, at the conclusion of Webster’s instructions, Nate had heard a worrisome, unspoken postscript: if the details traumatized Melissa, those consequences would be his fault, too.

The chirrup of his throw-away cell phone startled him, and he grabbed it before it could wake Melissa. The glow from the phone’s display led him to the bathroom. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he flicked on the light.

“George,” he whispered, squinting into the brightness, “what time is it?”

“Nearly 9:00 a.m.”

Nate had spent hours, alternately pacing and staring at the jagged ceiling crack that jolted from corner to corner like a black lightning bolt. By his calculations, he’d dozed off at four, maybe four-fifteen. A good thing, he supposed, since he didn’t know when he’d next fall asleep.

“So what’s the plan?”

“I’ll be there in half an hour, with breakfast. I’ll have that little talk with Melissa while she’s distracted by pancakes.”

They hadn’t eaten a meal—hadn’t done anything in public—since the trial. By now, the agent knew Melissa’s preferences almost as well as her own dad did. And pancakes were her all-time favorite breakfast food.

“Unless there’s traffic, I should be there by ten,” George said, and hung up.

Nate showered and dressed, then sat on the edge of Melissa’s cot. And as he’d done every morning since taking her from the only home she’d ever known, he sang her awake.

“Good morning, good morning, good morning....”

Long lashes fluttered as her lips formed a sweet smile. Stretching, she climbed into his lap. “Well,” she said, “what are you waiting for? Let’s sing the rest!”

Nate pressed a kiss to her temple, and they completed the song, together.

When they finished, she told him about the dreams she had had, another tradition that had started the morning after he had taken her from everything and everyone who meant anything to her. Melissa described how a talking ladybug had taken her for a ride, all the way around the world. And after that, she’d dreamed of a red-and-green parrot that sounded like George and told knock-knock jokes.

“Want to hear one?”

Even before he could answer, Melissa said, “Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Boo.”

“Boo who?”

“What are you cryin’ about?”

Laughing, Nate hugged her, then covered her face with kisses.

“Daddy, stop. You’re tickling my cheeks.”

“Sorry, can’t help myself.”

“Knock, knock,” she said again.

“Time for your bath,” he interrupted. “George is on his way over with breakfast. You can tell both of us knock-knock jokes while we eat, okay?”

Melissa slipped on her Barbie slippers and headed to the bathroom. “Okay, Daddy.”

It amazed him that she’d never pressed him for answers; surely she’d wondered why they’d been living in bleak, dark rooms all these months. Why the last home-cooked meal had been prepared on a hot plate. Why they hadn’t visited grandparents or cousins, or talked to anyone on the phone except for George. What amazed him more was that she didn’t seem to miss any of that. Not even her mother. All very normal, according to the agent.

Normal. Nate didn’t think he could remember the definition of the word anymore, let alone experience the sensation.

“When you’re all clean and shiny,” he called to Melissa, “you can watch cartoons while we wait for George.”

“I like George. He’s nice. And funny.”

Yeah. Hilarious. The agent was solely responsible for every inane riddle and groan-inducing knock-knock joke now stored in Melissa’s subconscious. But at least he’d kept her laughing.

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

“I won’t.”

As he packed their meager belongings, Nate heard the telltale splash that told him she still hadn’t tired of the trick he’d taught her that first night away from home. If squeezing a wet bar of soap until it spewed into the air and landed with a plop could produce giggles after all they’d been through, it was worth the time and effort required to clean up the bathroom floor. Far more important than that, maybe George was right, and Melissa would adapt to their new life, quickly, and with no lasting aftereffects.

Nate folded the tiny pj’s purchased during George’s now-famous Fifteen Minute Walmart Expedition, and tucked them into the sparkly pink backpack that had replaced the purple one Melissa had carried to day care for two years. Using the list provided by Nate, George had also bought a week’s worth of clothes and shoes for dad and daughter, puzzles, crayons and coloring books, two Barbies and assorted outfits for each. While adding the last items to her pack, Nate cringed, because later today, Melissa would lose her favorite doll, Cassie, which had been hand-sewn by her mother while pregnant.

He didn’t have time for a lot of self-reproach, because George arrived just then with breakfast. Melissa loved the way the agent changed things up. Doughnuts one day, bagels and cream cheese the next, fast food from the local burger joint the day after that. Nate understood that the different types of food had nothing to do with surprising Melissa. Three meals daily, purchased from the same take-out place by a guy alone, would have sent up red flags.

Today, George produced pancakes from a big white bag. He opened foam containers and handed out plastic flatware, then dealt napkins as if he was playing cards, while Melissa shared last night’s dreams, unwittingly providing the opening that allowed him to introduce her to her new name.

“You know how to play the name game?”

“I guess so,” she said, pretending to feed her doll a bite of sausage.

“Excellent! Let’s pretend your name is Alyssa, and my name is Mr. Poopie Pants, and your dad is—”

“Poopie?” she echoed, wide-eyed. “But...but that’s a potty word!” She clucked her tongue. “You’re lucky Mrs. Cameron isn’t here. She makes everyone who says potty words stay inside when it’s playtime.” Melissa looked at Nate. “I know we’re not allowed to go outside, so how will we teach George about potty words?”

“I think we can let him get away with it. Just this once.” Melissa donned her but-that-isn’t-fair! look so Nate added, “But only because he didn’t know the rules.” Nate shook a warning finger at George. “But next time, mister...”

The agent chuckled while Melissa thought about it.

Brow furrowed, she said, “Not even a time-out?”