The pregnancy had been nice, not too high of highs, no low too low, he had been attentive, bringing her flowers, foot rubs, etc. it was hard to pinpoint exactly where it went really wrong, but she would have to say about five years after the baby had been born.
The delivery resembled the rest of her time, not too painful, not too long. Like everything in her life, it was comfortable enough. But something had been, well, off. The doctor cut the cord, the baby–it was a girl–was placed in her arms and she felt…nothing. It was just a baby. She had cracked a smile a moment later, a frown line had started on the doctor’s forehead. I’ll be back to check on you later, he said, and left, and when he’s gone it’s like all the pressure’s been let out of the room. She looked at the baby, and…still nothing. She didn’t have post-partem psychosis, Janet didn’t believe herself capable of being dramatic like that, it was just a vast indifference. Her mind wandered back to the beginning, had she felt the same way? When she waked in the mall with her husband, seeing children pass by, was it genuine affection? It was so hard to tell.
She had lifted it up and studied its features carefully, and found to her surprise that the baby looked like neither of them. She had not her father’s dark complexion, or her mother’s brown-haired frowziness. In fact, the person she resembled most was her uncle Arty, dead now these five years. She had laughed at that small epiphany, a small, sharp sound quickly choked off. Anyone within hearing seeing her just laughing at her baby would immediately take it away from her, she knew. Just like she knew going into it that there was no getting out of it. Once the dough was in the oven, during the time it took to bake and after, she knew it was her sole responsibility. She did almost nothing outside her house, he had discouraged the notion in the first year of marriage. But a baby had been something to do.
Well, until now. It felt–and she kicked herself for feeling this–anticlimactic. Here it was and it was just going to cry and yawn for a long time. It was just…there, like everything else.
Life didn’t really become unpleasant until a day after in the maternity ward, her husband had come up to her, grim and stone faced, telling her he didn’t love her anymore. But, because he was obligated–and here the words struck her like rocks–he would stay on and raise the baby with her. And of course, to save his image. But that had remained unspoken. And did she cry out, wailing and tearing at her hair, begging him to stay, that she would follow, faithful, until she fell down dead? Did she scream at him? Curse him until large orderlies had to come in and restrain her, and she had to be medicated for days after, lest she rip the light switch from the wall? No. She remained demure, eyes on the floor, agreeing lowly with him, yes Tom, that that was the best thing to do really, she would keep up appearances yes, she always did as she was told, yes, yes. She never reminded him that the baby had been his idea, never saying boo or calling his bullshit. This is Janet.
This was Janet’s life.
Poor Janet.
By the time her daughter was in preschool, Janet was a nervous wreck. She was so afraid of doing something, anything wrong that she was forever like a deer in the headlights. How easy must it be, she wondered, for people who love their children, and never want them out of their sight. She had never loved her, she had no compass to steer by. Even if she had, she probably would have ruined her only daughter, acting on instinct. Her own mother had been, for lack of a better word, ghastly. She had been the one to point out that Janet, her name, was as weak as she was, and boys never married pretty girls with plain names, because their names made them plain. She probably should have gotten help. But who cared? Janet couldn’t do on her own, of course not. That was why she married.
That was why she married Tom.
That was why she married Tom the handsome.
That was why she married Tom, Tom who couldn’t go at least a day without someone telling him how great he was. That was why she married Tom, Tom the bottomless money pit, a great bloodsucking sludge who had wormed his way into her heart by insulting her. It was true. It was how they met. He had come right up to her, the only one to ever do so, and had made fun of her sweater, her navy-blue Christmas sweater, the one nana had knitted for Christmas, nana who was gone and the sweater was probably gone too; Tom hated old things. There had been titters of course, and she had giggled nervously, to seem like a good sport, and it was kind of bulky, and he had narrowed his eyebrow at her, his eyebrows like pencil-miniature storm clouds, and demanded, demanded she go to coffee with him.
A year later she had married him.
Tom hated waiting too.
Such was her life.
And she knew she could never do any better, either, she knew. Not with a name like Janet, Janet. A name as bland as she was. She had thought, when younger, whether a different name would make a difference. She had tried introducing herself different. Hello, Jan, Jenny, Jane, Annette, Bette. No difference. A Janet by any other name was just a Janet. A wallflower, her grandfather would have put it. So she had named her daughter special, a name she knew only kind people possessed. Emily. It rolled so nicely off the tongue. Even its spawn were elegant, yet simple in their way. Emma, Molly, Em. She had looked like an Emily, and countless times since her birth, Janet had been endlessly grateful of her daughter’s lack of resemblance.
She had grown, two, four, four-and-a-half, finally five, all years an unremarkable child. She never strongly connected with anybody, other children, dogs, anybody. She had had a bunny, when she was three, but her father had backed the Sedan over it and that had been that. He wasn’t a bad husband, really. She wasn’t a great mother. The girl wasn’t spoiled. They were…nothing.
They were there, and that was all that ever mattered to outside eyes. When kindergarten had started, she had put on a coat and gone out with all the expectant mothers, bustling through the aisles in her way. She was a dutiful mother, no one could accuse her otherwise. But continuing time away from her daughter, and only housework at home, ever, Janet felt something she thought he was incapable of feeling.
Boredom.
Solid, stifling, boredom.
So, she had joined the neighborhood mothers committee, and hadn’t looked back. It was time-consuming and inexpensive, and her husband had merely grunted when she mentioned it over dinner. She had some companionship, finally, with other people, women even. But it was a tenuous bond, she knew, and it only continued with an unspoken agreement. Even in the second meeting, when Veronica Welch had been driven, crying, from the meeting hall. Her husband had been having an indiscretion.
He was discreet.
She was not.
She had never seen Veronica after that, and knew better than to ask. And she vowed to herself, in bed that night, that when her time came, if ever, she would go without much fuss. Perhaps that way she would be let back in when things got better. God knows she wasn’t one to make a fuss. And it was at that meeting she had seen and become acquainted with the closest thing to a saint she had ever seen. Natalie Berman. Natalie. Nat. Natalia.
Within seconds of introduction she had swept Janet into a handshake like a molten python, and had quickly, nonsensically, and chatteringly notified her on the system there, and the obvious consequences.
Natalie was just about everything she was not. She worked out of home, slightly. Too much would have been neglect, she had a daughter about Emily’s age. She cooked fabulously. She could mix drinks Janet had never heard of. She played piano, formal, not that jazzy crap, she had told them. She had a degree in design. She was a dead shot on the hunting range. And she was the greatest mother Janet had ever laid eyes on.
There was hardly a day that went by when she didn’t do something for her daughter. T-ball, swimming, canned food drive, she put the P back into PTA. She had a fiery halo of charisma that hovered over her head, a burning beacon to people miles around. Hardly anybody in town didn’t know Natalie. Those that didn’t weren’t worth knowing. She was amazing, she was stupendous.
But…
Her daughter…
The first time they had been introduced, she was picking up Emily from school, and it was a dry fall day. Emily had spotted her mother and walked solemnly over, macaroni mosaic clutched in one sweaty hand. And then she had seen her, and had blown over like a summer windstorm, hi, hi, I didn’t know our daughters, well they, you sneak! Laughter, laughter. And then she had said, this is my daughter Nina, and for a moment she couldn’t see where she was pointing, her hand hidden by a child's back, and then the big picture snaps into focus, and it is her daughter, good god. Her hair is lank and colorless, her mother’s pitch-black and straight as a linear function, her nose nearly nonexistent, Natalie’s tall and proud on her face, not large, good heavens, no! and her smile is crooked and perverse in its nonsensical cheer. But her eyes, her eyes.
She didn’t want to stare, and far off the good woman said something like: this is our Christine, please call her Nina, and the girl’s little lizard eyes creep over to her mothers face and it’s like a weight lifting. They’re too big for her face, her pale, luminous face, and they’re a blue no blue has any right to be but she isn’t ugly, oh no. No scion of Natalie could be ugly. She was just off. She’s our little fairy girl, her mother proffers with a smile and a shrug, a smile that doesn’t hit her eyes and a shrug that gives up at one shoulder. How nice, she lied, and never went back to the subject again.
They had become friends, at arm’s length, of course, and their daughters got on reasonably well. Further surprises were had when it was found that the lovely white Victorian on the hill behind their house was Natalie’s, not really a surprise to Janet, she had said that at the first NMC meeting. But, politeness aside, she must come over for a play date some evening, and Janet noted the hint of desperation in her voice, dismissed just as quickly, no one like Natalie could be that weak.
So, play dates were set, overalls washed and pressed, leaf piles were fallen into while mothers chatted over absolutely nothing over cups of too-strong coffee. Janet was very proud of how much she had honed her conversation skills, she gave away nothing, flattered everything. Merely exchanged humor at husband commonality, chuckling over coeds in charge of playground duty, and Nina came in and the very air shifted.
Natalie was uncomfortable, and Janet worried, it was the only emotion she had ever seen her show. Nina had come right up to the table, no scuffing of shoes on doormats, bold as brass, and sat down next to her mother. Janet noticed the subtlest hint of disgust in her mother’s eyes, and she asked in a voice with a milligram too much of tremor in it, where was her new friends’ daughter. Nina had swung her legs a little and given that lopsided, repellent smirk.
“Oh, that one.” She said in a voice like a finger on a wineglass rim, “Her. She’s a scarebaby. She’s still in the leaf pile can I have lunch now?”
The last remark was directed at her mother, who got up with a slight air of reluctance and went off to pour cider and serve soup. That left Janet in the dining room with the little one. The silence was like water, and the ticking of the birdhouse clock on the wall cut through the air like rifle shot. Nina’s eyes remained calmly fixed on her face, still grinning, looking vaguely expectant. The moment lasted just a minute too long, and Janet wet her lips to say something, when Natalie burst forth from the kitchen, carrying her bounty of nurturing fare, some of the earlier bustle regained
How silly of her, she prattled, to forget it was lunch, talking so that she hadn’t looked at the clock once. Janet murmured something vague and her eyes flickered uneasily to the door. The stamping of boots in the mud room turned it to relief, and she stood up a titch quicker than necessary, alarming herself slightly and causing the table to tremble minutely. She was instantly mortified, and ready to offer up her own table, if it would sufficiently cover the damage, god, she hadn’t meant to and- she stopped, because they had both risen at the same time.
They looked at each other.
And looked.
And for once, there were no walls between them. There Janet, as she always was, a little too shy and apologetic to be likeable, clumsy, inadequate. And there was Natalie, living a lie. Not a big lie, those have trouble hiding. No. it wasn’t a big lie. A HUGE one. I am here, her gaze said, day after day, and I must deal with many without breaking, I am Natalie, Natalia, and I am forged in cold waters, but with god as my witness, I am scared shitless of this little person beside me, and if you go I will walk into the upstairs closet and put my head down and scream and scream until it goes away because I just can’t take it!
“Well.” She said.
“So.” Janet replied.
“Mom!” Emily called from the mudroom.
The spell, like a spiderweb of thought, snapped, and they found themselves solidly on the bridge of sanity once again, eyeing each other like raw beef. I let you in on it, was Natalie’s dismissive air, because you’re pathetic, and I know you won’t tell. I won’t, Janet’s unspoken response was, but I know, and you know I know, and for now, that is enough.
“I suppose-” Janet began.
“Yes-” Natalie replied.
And they both laughed. It let the tension out of the room, and Janet went dreamily to the source of complaints and yanked open the door.
“Mama, I can’t get my boots off!” Emily stated with quiet fury. She got frustrated easily, a throwback to her father, she supposed and she laid a hand on her arm.
“Leave it. We’ll take care when we get home.”
And her sweater was gathered up, she knew to wear cardigans now, and goodbyes were said, air kisses exchanged, and she was sent tromping down the hill, facing forward, always facing forward. It wasn’t until after she had seen Emily out of play clothes and into her room and had sat herself down with three-fifths of a glass of wine that Janet allowed herself a good shudder. It wasn’t the child itself. It was the way her gaze had remained so fixed upon their faces, watching them, watching them. Probably finding it terribly funny, she thought crankily to her glass, two old biddies making comical faces, trading nonsense. Nothing was quite so new and terrible as a child, she decided while taking a sip, their eyes and hearts were too sharp, they weren’t dulled by age or comfort, or love. She remembered seeing her mother in that light and shuddered again, taking care to scoot away from the table this time. Her mother, her ogress of a mother-now stop that Janet, she told herself, and was a little dismayed because the voice in her head sounded like her mother.
Hadn’t it been odd, she tried to switch gears, how reluctant Natalie was to be in the room with her? How she cringed away slightly from touching her daughter. Here, in night’s cloak of safety, she wondered now if doing all of those things for her daughter, not with her, was possibly her defense against it. God knows, she sipped again, if I could do all that for Emily I would. Not just because she loved her, she realized guiltily, she just wanted to be seen as a good mother. She swirled her glass contemplatively for awhile, Tom was lucky, yes he was, all he ever has to do is show up at the right time, maybe with pants on, to be considered a good father. Janet had to do all the fiddly things, bed, bath, laundry, medical care, appointments, play dates. Tom only had to roll off his secretary once in a while and say something semi-fatherly, and he was applauded. Life, she decided, was far from fair. If it had been, she expounded further, she would be much richer, or deader.
At nine-thirty sharp, she tripped her way lightly up the stairs in sock feet, and read Emma her bedtime story. After it was over, and her daughter’s face shone sleepily in the lamplight, Janet worked up what little courage she could muster and asked what was really nagging her.
“Sweetie,” she said accordingly, “I want to ask you something, about today.”
“Mama, what about?” it was said breathily, sleepily, but her eyes were more alert than a child’s should ever be. there were slight circles underneath them, and she realized with a start that her daughter had seemed unusually fatigued mornings. She hadn’t been sleeping well, hadn’t told her mother. This was unsurprising.
“It’s...about your playmate…” she trailed off, uncertain. It seemed silly now, but Emily sat straight up in bed, she looked like she had been expecting that question.
“Nina?” the syllables repeated monotone and without fondness in her daughter’s dry little mouth.
“Y-yes.” She suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands. “Does she seem a little…”
“She scares me.” Janet wasn’t ready for the reply, and turned to face her daughter. She was earnest, and wide awake.
“W…what?”
“Sometimes I can’t sleep, mom. I think about her face.” She rubbed one eye distractedly.
“Dunno what it is…she’s just…creepy.”
Somewhere, somehow, Janet found her voice.
“I-I’m sure she means-”
“She pushes people, sometimes. You know? She’ll push people down, and then she’ll laugh, like it’s this really great joke. And she’s always hungry. Always.” She concluded to her mother, folding her legs underneath her.
“The teachers don’t like her either. I checked.”
“Now, sweetie-”
“And she never does anything wrong, but she can’t really do anything right. And she smiles, when she messes up too. And she looks at you, like, ‘what are you going to do about it?’.” She looked soberly up at her mother and added, with childlike earnestness,
“She says she likes you.”
“I…honey…I…” they stared at each other for a bit. Then Emily slipped back beneath the covers and gave a little yawn, in case she hadn’t got the message.
“I’m tired now.” She intoned. She glanced up. “’Night mom?”
“’Night, sugar.” Janet repeated numbly, and leaned over mechanically to kiss her daughter’s forehead. An affectionate exchange with all the formality of a business meeting. She clicked out the lamp and made her way to the stairs in the soft glow of the nightlight.
Later, in bed, she rolled her daughter’s word around in her head. Nina. Laughed. Liked her. Hungry. And she rolled over on her side. All night she tried hard, but Nina’s face floated around in her sleep. It would pop up in unexpected places, and cause her to cry out, and stir slightly in her sleep. By morning mother and daughter wore the same look, and at school so did Nina’s mother.
They were not asked back for a play date in a while, but would pass each other on the street and in markets. When Emily was with her, she clung to her mother, peeking out just a little. Natalie was as she always was, full of bluster, energy, ideas, but Janet noticed she seemed drained, and there were lines around her eyes where there had been no lines before. And Nina, god, Nina. Walking past each other on the street, three weeks before Halloween, the mothers gave nods like hats tipping, and Nina carried a pumpkin that should have been far to heavy for a child her size. Her mother had noted her questioning gaze and had tried to laugh it off, oh, she won’t let me carry it, will you dear? And Nina had looked at her daughter and licked her lips. After an awkward goodbye, five minutes of sidewalk later, Janet had placed her finger on what had disturbed her. Nina. The way she licked her lips. That was how Janet did it. It wasn’t as if there weren’t a million similar ways of doing little things, but Janet tended to notice them. It had been right to left, just a tiny bit of tongue stuck out. And she misstepped in her walk and nearly upended her groceries.
It all added up, all these little things. How, when she went to pick up Emily, Nina had noticed her first, and had given her a first-class bear hug, and then had skipped away merrily laughing. How she had come across her one day, nothing special, just a walk through the neighborhood, and Nina had been digging a hole, and had been at it quite a while, judging from the depth. She had crept by uneasily, unnoticed. And during yet another play date, she had stayed slightly longer than before, and witnessed a strange ritual. Lunch. Nina picked up every food item separate, examining it closely, and turning to scrutinize her mother’s face before biting in. It was slow and steady, like clockwork, and Janet had been glad to get out of there.
Little things.
Little noises.
Little looks when no one else was looking.
It all added up to something but of that something, Janet couldn’t guess. It seemed to affect everything, at one of his rare dinner graces her husband had snapped more than usual. Going up stairs that had been there her whole life, Emily had tripped and sprained an ankle, and was off it for a week. Those seven days were interminable, neither stayed in the same room for long unless absolutely necessary. Then, after a series of cold compresses and warm baths, Emily was okayed for school again. That morning when she dropped her off, Janet felt some tiny misgivings for the first time, she suddenly didn’t trust the looks of the caregivers, every shadow was a blind spot. So, in goodbye, she hugged and kissed her daughter affectionately for the first time. Momentary alarm and then contempt, and above all, surprise had graced her daughter’s face, then they were replaced once more with familiar stoicness.
“Bye mom.” She stated. And walked away.
All that day, Janet had a terrible time. It wasn’t “woman’s intuition” that was just silly. It wasn’t PMS, she wasn’t sick, what was it? A lot of little things, she decided. A lot of little things added up to something big, and all she could fathom was that she didn’t like it, whatever it was. She nearly flew out the door when 3p.m. came, dropped the keys in her haste to get the car started, and nearly back over a pedestrian getting out of the drive. At the school, she tapped her fingers nervously on the brickwork, both eyes glued to the door of K-a. throngs of children flooded out, like multicolor leaves whirling down to be snatched into waiting hands. None of them hers. Once or twice, a false alarm, a girl with the same coat as Emily.
The tides ebbed, and she was left standing nearly alone on the blacktop, dazed and a little alarmed. She made several false starts for the kindergarten door, when a forest-green explorer rolled up, and Natalie Berman fell out. She had a cigarette in one corner of her lipsticked mouth, and Janet was shocked to see her expensive-looking French manicure chipped. She strode purposefully over to the door, did a quick once-around, turned to go back to her car, and stopped when she saw Janet. She looked back and forth, Janet, the door, Janet, the door, before making a slight tsking sound and giving her a look of understanding.
“I… I’m waiting for Emily.” She said hollowly, and Natalie gave a smart nod, snapping the cigarette out of her mouth for a brief moment to blow smoke and replacing it instantly.
“Nina just goes home on her own, sometimes.” she told her sympathetically. “maybe she dragged her along.”
“b-but, that’s impossible, Emily would never…” and Natalie shook her head slowly and sadly at her, and Janet realized she could, she had. She gestured for Janet to follow her, and threw her into confusion when they walked right past the car.
“The car, shouldn’t we? I mean…”
Natalie, in the lead already, blew another cloud of smoke.
“Better this way. In the car, we might miss ‘em.”
Halfway home, Natalie turned off into the bushes and Janet followed, helpless. There was no way they’d be able to spot her daughter in all this. and Natalie was getting so far ahead…
“Natalie! Natalie? Nat?” she hated how small he voice sounded she hadn’t realized how many bushes were between their houses. She wished she had worn sensible shoes, she felt like she would need to run soon, and run fast.
“Natalie?” she tried again, and something gurgled nearby. She stood stock-still for a moment, and tried to creep away as silently as she could. She murmured please under her breath, and wondered why a moment later. A sound came from the bushes, quiet, but loud enough to send her in the opposite direction. It had sounded like someone cutting up watermelon, but that wasn’t what it was. She ran until the brush thinned, and she had a nasty stitch in her side. She felt like collapsing, but she didn’t want to be caught vulnerable in this place.
She leaned against a tree, hand over her heart, gasping. A loud noise like a scream suddenly cut off, and Janet started so violently she fell. It was just her luck she landed one knee on a sharp stone, and had to bite her hand to keep from crying out. It bled only a little, but, she noticed with escalating frenzy, it would stop her further from getting away quickly. Away from what? She didn’t know, but she hated this place, she wanted away. She tried to at least calm her breathing down, trying to keep quiet as possible. It was sometime before she felt the eyes at her back, but it was really the giggle that made her turn round.
“Peek-a-boo!”
Nina stood puckishly, leaning against an alder sapling, one foot planted firmly, the other on the trunk, a hand on her hip. The other hand held a very sharp knife. Her mother’s butcher knife. With blood on it. Janet’s mouth went dry and never came back, the pain in her knee forgotten. She looked past Nina’s shoulder to the small clearing where her daughter’s body–she must admit that now–probably lay. Her gaze wavered and for a minute Nina swam in her vision like an ichthyosaur, all teeth and reptilian gaze. She resolutely put her foot down and began walking over, though Janet’s mind screamed that she mustn’t! and all the breath seemed to leave her body. For the first time, Janet thought, I am going to do something. And god, it feels like dying.
“Hello, sweetie!” she exclaimed in a high voice that cracked immediately. The Nina-thing cocked her head like a dog at a cat’s meow. The grin never left her face, but her eyes wavered, for a moment but it was enough.
“So there you are!” she continued, feeling on slightly firmer ground. “Dear, I was so worried! What a bad girl you are, wandering off like that!”
“I don’t mean to be bad, mommy.” Came the girl’s mock-apology, with the slightest undertone of a threat. “I just wanted to play.”
“I know you do.” Her voice sounded slightly calmer, at least to herself. “I just don’t want you to wander off and get hurt. You know I never want anything to happen to you.” She felt brave enough to take a step. The girl grinned wider, if such a thing were possible, and lowered the knife slightly. If she could only get close enough…
“Lunch is waiting at home, and you really should clean up.” She admonished her, amazed at her own bravado. Nina chuckled, and Janet smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. They were close enough to touch now, if only…
“We should both get home, and I think a nap is in order, it’s been quite a day.” She reached out and, with all the courage she would ever have, petted the Nina-thing’s head. It made throaty sound of approval.
“Here now, let’s throw this rusty piece of junk away and go home.” She murmured. She grasped the knife, and tossed it away, somewhere, in the bushes. The girl showed no signs of missing it, rather, she skipped up merrily to catch her hand and as they walked, swing it.
“Can we have soup, and sandwiches for lunch?” Nina crowed, and Janet winced imperceptibly.
“Of course dear.” She patted her on the back.
Their feet hitting the pavement in irregular time, the mismatched couple made their way to Janet’s house, she doubted she would go to Natalie’s ever again. Since she took longer strides, Nina would hop and skip occasionally to catch up, looking at her in those moments. Smug looks, Janet thought. Rather like a child who thinks they’ve done something clever and won’t get caught. God, I wish I didn’t have to see it.
She knew what she had to do. She had been thinking of this, on the back burners of her brain, what to do when she had to take action. She had heard of times like these, and they were usually accompanied by a wave of unearthly calm. She had no idea what they were talking about. Only terror kept her rigid and upright. There was nothing she could do for her daughter or her friend, both of which she was a little sadder about than she thought she ever could be. Nina, though. Nina had to be taken care of. It would be hard, Janet knew, but if she was quick enough she could stop this whole thing.
She didn’t know what she would do after that, just that she had to die, and relatively quickly. Her life, what was left of it, hadn’t been much in the first place. But now it was nothing. She could do nothing to Tom, she supposed, but that didn’t matter. Tom didn’t matter anymore. And he hadn’t much in the first place. She supposed she would go out, find a nice secluded place, lay down, and…what?
She had always been such a coward, but that would change if she could do just this one little thing first. She could correct what had felt like the biggest mistake in her life. Emily, compared to this, Emily was nothing. Emily had cost her nothing, not even the little dignity she had left. This mistake was huge, and it was one her mother had made. Her mother had been like a patchwork quilt of mistakes, and everything that had ever happened to her had been a mistake, chance colliding with chance. Janet wished she had been able to go away sooner, existing wasn’t very funny anymore.
The Nina-thing let out a throaty hum that caught Janet off guard and she started slightly, then began to laugh wildly. It came out in great peals and echoed down the street, bouncing off trees. It came so heard tears came to her eyes, and her tension was gone. The Nina-thing smiled in indulgence, and Janet gave back the only genuine smile she would ever manage for the creature. It calmed her down somewhat, and Janet started walking now, not just putting one foot down in front of the other. It would be easy, she told herself soothingly in her head, there was no need to worry. But she had a worrying personality, and bit her nails every so often.
My god, she thought.
The Nina-thing was wary of poison, but young, too young to know everything.
God, please, she thought.
She checked every morsel of food that entered her mouth, but nothing else.
God, Janet thought, she checks everything else, don’t let her check the salt!
