The girl toddled on a stone wall while her mother stared at her through the crystal clear window muttering “if only she was normal.” With concerned eyes she opened the door to yell to Bridget to come in off the stone wall before she hurt herself, but she stopped herself before the words came up from her throat. Her daughter was special to say the least. She had her mother’s curly brunette hair but her father’s bright, blue eyes. She looked like a normal six year old.
She finally mustered up the courage, “Bridge, sweetie, come in for dinner.”
The brunette curls swirled in the direction of her mother’s voice. A sly smile came across her face. She knew her mother was terrified. She could fall any second and hurt herself, if she was normal. With a slight bend of the knees and a sweeping motion of her arms, she leaped up and landed with two feet firmly planted on the ground without any shakiness. It was almost as if she flew from the stone wall to the ground. She was like a small bird. With her light feet, she walked directly for the door completely obeying her mother’s wishes.
Dinner was served on their beautifully decorated table made of glass, breakable if a six year old was to smash their fist on it. Three placemats were set, two at the head of each end and one on the side. Bridget took her place in the middle while her mother stood looking anxiously for her husband.
She had let Bridget play outside a little longer than usual because her father was late to dinner. He was never late in the ten years that she was married to him excluding the countless years that they were together unmarried. He was never late; he was mostly on time and sometimes quite early. But something was different about tonight. A dark feeling of disaster was in the air.
“Where’s daddy?”
“I’m sure he is just running late, sweetie.” Even though she knew he never ran late.
“But daddy is never late.” Bridget quickly accused her mother of lying. “Where’s daddy?”
Her mother began to serve the food to get her mind off Bridget’s nagging question that she didn’t have an answer to. “Just eat your food before it gets cold.”
Bridget didn’t say another word. She sat quietly eating her food, while her mother did the same. Neither of them talked about the elephant in the room. Then the phone rang.
The wife jumped from her seat to answer it. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Flood?”
“This is she. Who is this?”
“I have some news. You might want to sit down,” the voice in the other line said ignoring her question. She stayed frozen.
“Erin, your husband is dead.”
Bridget looked in at the bare room that used to be her father’s study. The walls were torn down with no pretty posters of the world or framed photos of the family. The carpeting remained and even that too would be ripped up. A tear trickled slowly gliding along her small cheek as she cried for the loss of her father.
When she heard her mother scream and drop the phone she knew what it meant. Her father was dead. She made her mother believe over the years that she did not know as much as she did. Like she wasn’t supposed to know that her father was a wanted man or that her family was living under secret protection program, none of this she was supposed to know. But she did. And her mother didn’t know this until that night.
“Your husband is dead,” the voice on the phone stated emotionless.
Bridget flipped her head up in the direction of her mother. “Mom?” The phone landed on the ground with a crash. “Mom, who was that? Who did it?”
