Page 115 of Vandal Unbound

“You do?” he asks. “That just slipped out, but I mean every word. Not freaking you out by going too fast or anything, right?”

“Definitely not. I see Elsie so I’m gonna go. But I can’t wait for you to tell me again in person when I see you.”

“I’ll make sure to tell you every fucking day. Bye, sweetheart.”

We say a final goodbye, and I hang up the phone and just sit there smiling for a heartbeat. The sun is on my face, I have a man who loves me, and my daughter is happily waiting in the lot of the camp with two other girls and their supervisor.

She’s holding the pink backpack she convinced Vandal to buy her online, when he also bought me a barista-style coffee maker, and one little ankle sock is higher than the other.

“Momma,” she shouts when she sees me. Her supervisor acknowledges me with a wave as Elsie runs to me at full force. I bend down to catch her like the sticky missile she is.

“Oh,” I grunt on impact as I wrap my arms around her. “That’s a serious hug.”

“I had the best day,” she says. “We got to paint volcanoes and mine had extra lava, and everyone said mine was the best.”

“Wow. That sounds like a lot of fun.”

She leans back a little in my arms. “Carly said volcanoes can’t be pink, but one of the camp counselors who knows art, said art is about…exp…exp…”

“Expression?” I ask.

“Yes!” Elsie cries. “Expression. What’s expression mean, Momma?”

I put Elsie back down on the ground and take her hand. “It’s about you letting what’s inside you out.”

“Like when I’m sick? Like barf?”

I huff a laugh at that. “No. Like, your thoughts and ideas, and the way you like to dress, and the things you’re interested in.”

She runs her fingers along the metal fence as we walk. “In that case, I am full of expression.”

“That you are, sweetheart.”

We weave our way back onto the street so we can head in the direction of the car.

“Can we swim again tonight?” Elsie asks.

Seeing as Vandal is picking up dinner, I do have a little time I could spend outside with her. “Sure. We’ll put you in your swimsuit when we get home.”

“Do you think Havoc will come? Because he’s so funny when he jumps in the water. And Vandal makes the biggest splash, and he always says sorry if it splashes my face.”

There are so many tiny pieces of proof that my daughter is healing. Small, ordinary things that would mean nothing to anyone else, but to me they’re everything. Like how she now believes big men can be silly in swimming pools and gentle with stuffed animals and apologize.

“I’m sure we can ask them when Vandal gets home.”

I wonder why I always call him by his road name. I mean, the short form, Van, sounds to others like it could be his name, but?—

The shadows come out of nowhere. Then a hand clamps around Elsie’s upper arm hard enough for her fingers to rip from mine. And I can’t process what’s happening fast enough to stop it. My brain refuses to accept that a man has my child.

A man I don’t know has his hands on Elsie.

“Momma,” Elsie screams, her little face contorted with fear.

Arms band around me from behind as I try to reach her. Another man. “Elsie! Get off her.”

Clawing and fighting, I scream for help, as the man takes Elsie to a silver SUV idling at the curb, the rear door already open. Elsie fights him, kicking and twisting. Her face is red with exertion. One sneaker goes skidding along the asphalt.

Oh, God.